#i swear i meant for this to be sweeter…..

[ceebit]

hey cece!! hope you're having a great week so far 😘

i was wondering if you could write something for jacob (ik he's your boy but hear me out -) and him being reader's first kiss. this is a huge insecurity of mine as someone who never had any romantic experience and i just need some jacob fluff for the moment.

thank you so much 💖

cobie. the man that u are. he still makes my hands shake so i sincerely apologize if this is not as sweet as i swear i intended it to be…

“are you nervous?”

he’s so close. white t-shirt, grey sweats, and hair mussed by the absentminded pull of fingers. his gaze is kind, non-judgmental. always is, with him.

you think you could lie. you think you could get away with a firm no, heavy on the tip of your tongue, ready to put away assumptions that tighten and squeeze in your chest like a second heart… but the idea fades within the time it takes him to look over your features once.

“it’s okay.” it should be unfair the way those two words from anyone other than him would have made the embarrassment heighten tenfold, spell broken as your body shifts away tensed. but it’s him, and he knows you. “i’d be nervous too.”

“i’m not.” his brows quirk upwards at that, so you quickly add, “not when it’s you.”

you want to capture the little smile that tugs at the corner of his lips. minute, but it makes your heart stutter and the skin under his palms grow hot and your fingers twitch from where they’re placed firmly in your lap.

“yeah?” his thumbs brush gentle circles over your cheeks. “not when it’s me.”

he’s silent for a moment’s pause, and it’s then do you realize he’s put the ball in your court—gaze soft but not expectant in the slightest. you know that if you really didn’t want to, he wouldn’t. you wouldn’t be made to feel inadequate, and he’d let you approach him at your own pace.

and yet.

“can you..” you resist the urge to sink your teeth into your lower lip, to fidget with sleeve-covered fingers, to squirm. the words are lodged in your throat still. his presence only heightens the more.

“can i?”

“kiss me,” you hear your voice ask. your chest constricts once more with barely suppressed nerves. “kiss me.”

the first press of his lips against yours is soft, tentative despite the loud roar of your heart beating in your ears. his hands smooth comforting circles against your cheeks still, and when you relax, shoulders easing downwards, you’re rewarded with a faint hum that washes over your skin like a warm blanket.

it’s easy to get lost, like this. swept up in his arms, his touch, and you briefly wonder if you’ve been cast under a spell. your eyes flutter shut, falling further and further into the serenity of the moment—until he pulls away.

your first reaction is to frown, brows furrowed. you try to lean in again but he shifts back even further, and something akin to petty frustration builds and builds and, “why’d you stop?”

“you only asked for a kiss.” one hand leaves to reach down and squeeze yours, “you weren’t specific.”

you know he wants you to ask. this is for you after all, and you find your stubbornness won’t get him any closer to where you want him to be.

“kiss me,” you murmur once more, and shiver when his lips brush just barely against your skin. “again. please.”

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[im-poe-dameron]

Okay last one I swear "You want me. I was inside you. I tasted you. That is a truth you will never escape." with… do I even need to say his name?? RAT BOI QIMIR

DARKNESS WITHIN

a/n: the way i was determined to write this. my laptop committed itself to death and i hand wrote this until i got a new battery. but anything to appease the current brain rot that has overtaken me. i love that we have a feral sith again. rip maul and revan you would have been obsessed with our boi.

summary: balance - the power of light and dark and everything that lingered between. a truth you held onto tightly for fear of losing yourself. but when false hope begins to fade and power tastes sweeter on your tongue than truth, you're left with what remains.

word count: 3.5k+

pairing: qimir x f!reader; the stranger x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, angst, lightsaber battle written messily, corruption, corruption kink, cumplay, choking, dubcon (possibly but just in case), the arc of a fallen jedi.

Petrichor lingered in the air as you stepped off metal and down into the soft soil below. The holomap still glowed inside your small ship. Illuminating the darkened space with a familiar blue you’d caught yourself staring at while the cold temperatures from hyperspace sunk into your skin. The name listed beneath caused your heart to leap into your mouth—the bitterness of him stuck to your tongue.

Eriadu.

An unknown jungle planet along the outer rim. The last place you expected to visit.

The cover of darkness and clouds blocked even the moon’s soft gleam. Your hand twitched, fingers stretching inadvertently to your lightsaber attached to your hip. From where you could see, the soft silver practically held its own light. As if to tell you this was not a path you walked alone—you would not carry the heaviness of your heart in solitude.

If you focused long enough, you could practically feel the leather grip along your fingertips. The urge to flick the switch and bring forth the comforting teal you’d come to rely on, nearly overtook you. But darkness was your ally on a hunt this straining.

For weeks you’d traveled between planets, digging for any information. A piece of a map that would eventually lead you here.

Though the one you sought out remained unknown, similar to the far reaches of the galaxy, you somehow managed to pick up a trace of him. Of the Force signature that nearly burned its way through your own. Where you expected a shimmer of light, a void of nothing welcomed you. Begged you for a sliver of company: in the hopes that you wouldn’t be able to resist.

The feeling sunk down into your nerves, echoing in your chest even now. A song you wouldn’t soon forget—yet craved to hear more of.

Darkness remained a Jedi’s sole enemy. Even while the tantalizing remnants of something so forbidden threatened to unravel you. The threads you kept a tight hold of were now frayed. And the more time passed, the more you felt his pull. The way his fingers had gripped you tight—leaving invisible marks you’d trace later in your mind. Shards of that cataclysmic emotion which tumbled through you like a tidal wave.

Jedi weren’t meant for this. For silent hopes kept in secret—the yearning for more clawing at your insides. Attachment held many names and you’d seen its power. Yet this…was raw uninhibited need. A hunger for his flesh, his mouth, his taste, for words that spilled so carelessly. But held enough freedom for you to grasp.

You weren’t stupid. You could see the breadth of his power that lingered under the surface. The signature of something foreign, something ancient.

That alone should have sent fear curling around your spine, stiffening your movements. You were taught as a padawan that Jedi fear nothing. They were the symbol of peace; a beacon of hope for the galaxy to look towards.

No matter how much you tried to fight it, that didn’t rid you of the way your body practically flinched at each sound. Your throat, tight and unforgiving the longer you trekked into the forest.

You knew the terror housed in your body didn’t stem from the thought of facing him. The realization bled through your heart the longer you were out there—you were going against the code you promised to uphold the day you were knighted. A vow that would one day cost you your life. But thus was the price to pay for knowledge, for training, for a purpose. Betrayal from another Jedi was a blow to everything your faith centered around. And what you thought was merely a faint blistering second of desire, fanned the flames of something worse.

A searing ache that refused to be ignored.

Your boots sunk into the ground with every step. Clear footprints now marked into the soil for anyone to follow. Forgoing your robes on the ship, you did what you could to look like a passerby. Someone here for peace and a stolen moment of tranquility. Hopefully they wouldn’t spot the heavy breaths you took, or the way your body was wracked with a type of suffering you weren’t used to: guilt. 

Trees engulfed your line of vision, blocking what you hoped was a path. Instead you were left with a vacant hole in the Force.

What once was loud—the embodiment of chaos—suddenly fell silent.

As if it never existed at all.

“You’re still here,” you murmured, eyes falling shut. The pulse of your own heart filled your senses. A reverberation that grounded you to the planet below. “I can feel you.”

Sucking in a lungful of air, you allowed everything else to melt away. The trees, the earth, the glow of the moon. Until you were left with the steady thump, thump, thump, that rang in your chest. The inky black mess of darkness shrouded your vision; hindering what you could reach. Forgoing a river blocking your only way forward.

You did what you could to push through it. Past the barriers of good and evil; beyond life itself. Until you reached the middle, the balance of everything that lingered between.

Your own soft blue green signature wrapped around your body, acting as a shield to what lay beyond. Pressing further, you felt the icy cold bitterness of him. It spread down your spine, wrapping around bone and marrow. A threat layered as a promise.

The obsidian emptiness was tinged with a soft gleam of crimson. Blood. Spilled by the very hands you craved to hold you.

The vibration of power nearly rattled you from the inside out. The amount of his capabilities that once beckoned you forward, now creeped closer. Mirth and malevolence seeped into the air, invading your senses. Until the pungent taste of copper spread across your tongue. Burning you within moments.

The hair stood up on the back of your neck, chills overtaking you with a wolfish eagerness. And you gasped. Calling your saber swiftly to your palm, you spun—the teal igniting like a flame, illuminating the area. Your eyes adjusted to the sudden burst of light, but in the darkness—melted into the shadows—you caught a glimpse of him. Adrenaline coursed through your veins as you swung it forward, until the all too familiar sinister hum of a second lightsaber filled the area.

Red clashed with teal—sparks flying into the air—and you were met with the eyes of your mark.

The man who split you open down the center.

He stole the lid from Pandora’s box and watched in glee as every emotion you kept locked away, spilled free.

“What took you so long?” His lips curved into a smirk. Satisfaction gleamed from his eyes—a red reflection cast itself along his brown irises.

“You knew I’d come.”

“I hoped.”

“Hope…” You scoffed, attempting to steady the beat of your heart. “A dangerous thing for someone like you.”

With the tilt of his head you felt the ground level beneath you. “One could say the same for your kind.”

Heat from your blades clashing bled into the air. Yet neither of you backed away. This was no longer a fight of enemies, but rather you claiming back what he so callously stole. The sanity you once prided yourself on. Death would be an honor if it were to occur in battle. A worthy end to a Jedi as prideful as you, but the doubt he placed began to rise to the surface.

The answers to your myriad of questions—desires you sealed away—were gifted to you by him. As if he’d been waiting with baited breath for you to simply…ask him.

His smile deepened. “I can’t heal what’s been broken.”

You pressed your saber down, victory filling your chest at the sight of him sliding back. He’d been expecting a fight. Not your rage.

“Stay out of my head,” you spit.

“But it’s fun.” He huffed, standing to his full height, the strength of his body shoving you back. “Watching you grapple with the meaning of good and bad.”

“Shut up.” You swung at him again. Only for the attempt to be met with a slice of his blade. It nearly toppled you to the ground.

“It’s a lie. Everything the Jedi told you.” He advanced, his steps steady—measured. “There is no such thing as light or dark. It is just power.”

“You’re trying to get in my head. To tear me apart.” The clash of your blades pierced the air with a crack as you rushed at him.

“No,” he whispered, allowing his Force signature to brush against yours. You fell away, fear lacing your heart. “I was already in your head.” He swiped at you, the red crackle of his lightsaber singed your face as you ducked. “You let me in. You let me see every doubt, every fear, every desire. Willingly.”

“Shut up!” you cried, anger forcing its way forward. Hatred for everything you felt blinded you as you lashed at him with vehemence.

Loathing at the lust you gave into, the fear you let consume you. He worked his way into your heart and there was nothing you could do to combat it. You wanted to strip him from your body, tear away the flesh he touched. Yet the memory of how you begged, how you fell to your knees for him ripped through your head—punching the breath from your lungs.

Blow after blow, you watched as he fought you with ease. His slight shifts were enough to keep you off balance. Right where he wanted. Sweat prickled at your throat, pain spreading down your arms. He was purposefully wearing you down. Until your body gave way to exhaustion. Yet that’s not what fueled the rage you did your best to tamp down.

He was enjoying this. The way you struggled.

The final frail thread in your mind snapped and for the first time, you allowed your anger to bleed through. You let it fuel the adrenaline that filled your veins, pushing your body to keep fighting. With a hoarse shout, you shoved what Force you could his way and watched him slide back along the ground. Falling to one knee with a grunt.

Air burned your lungs as you gasped in time with the beat of your heart. Your arms shook with an unforgivable ache.

But you lifted your lightsaber. Teal casting a soft glow on your sweat slicked face—the echo of wrath glinting in your darkened eyes.

“You are the last person I’d let corrupt me.” You weren’t taught to despise someone this viciously. The Jedi spoke against it, but something hot burned in your chest. A promise that you would return to Coruscant with the handle of his lightsaber. His defeat would be your penance for the pain you caused.

“Why do you lie to yourself?”

“You’re wrong—”

He laughed, his foot slamming into your hip hard enough for you to hear a pop—pain rushing down your thigh. “I’m wrong? Tell me Jedi. What do you think they will do to you when you return corrupted? What will they do…when they find out how much you wanted me?”

Your scream pierced the air, burning your lungs. Ignoring the pain, you leapt to your feet, swung your blade in parries he quickly blocked, at a speed you’d never before witnessed. He fought against you with ease, but your refusal to back down is what threw him off. You wouldn’t let him win, refusing to back away from something like this. If he wanted to finish what started weeks ago, he’d have to impale you with his blade.

To your wonder, he seemed to avoid doing exactly that. Even as you fumbled, weariness settling deep in your bones.

With a twist of your wrist, his blade flew from his hand and landed mere feet away in the dirt. You half expected him to call it back, to end you where you stood, but he fell to his knees when your boot slammed into his leg. The teal of your saber now pressed close to his sweat glistened skin.

His head tilted up, eyes darker than you remembered, yet he never lost the mirthful smile that graced his lips.

“I didn’t want you,” you lied, in the hopes that he wouldn’t prod out the truth.

One final swing would silence him forever. You could release the Jedi from his threat, return home the same person you were before coming across him. And yet…you hesitated. Your eyes met his, the burn of tears welling up until you could barely see straight. His smile deepened, victory painted across his face, as you both came to the realization that would damn you right along with him. He could see it in your stance, feel how your Force signature begged to sink beside his, to feel the strength he once showed you—the tenderness that you knew existed beneath the surface.

Killing him ceased to be an option the second he opened your eyes to the truth.

“You do,” he said, his voice soft and raspy.

“No,” you whimpered, blinking back the tears.

He laughed, his hand calling his saber in the blink of an eye. Red flashed in the air, before your lightsaber was knocked out of your hands, now on the forest floor.

Instead of striking you down, he dragged you forward, your body forced to submit as his hand gripped your chin, angling you to face him. Your mind screamed at you to fight him, to resist the temptation, but his grip merely tightened. His eyes falling to your lips, to the way your jacket fell open at your chest, before finding your gaze again.

“You want me,” he whispered.

Where you expected to struggle against him—to flinch from his touch—you found that you craved more. You wanted him to bend you to his will, to show you the path to the dark side that remained like an echo in the back of your mind. A promise of more, wrapped in the threat of everything.

A gasp tore through your chest when he dropped his blade, his other arm hauling you against him as he walked forward. Your back scraped against a tree. Blood sprouting to the surface on the back of your neck. And if you had the ability to…you’d beg for more.

He grinned, seeing the flicker of uncertainty in the Force, the brightness of your familiar teal now a shade darker. His thumb pressed down, forcing your lips to part. To let him in.

Obedience was never difficult for you; having gone your entire life following orders left and right. But this…this knowledge that to follow his rule, to submit to his words, left you breathless. You were nearly angry at the person you let yourself become. Perhaps the Jedi were lying. You’d never know unless you asked, but to do so was to put a sentence on your head. To put questions in theirs. To push for more would reveal what you’d already done—what you couldn’t take back.

He watched the turmoil stream through you with interest. His eyes grasping what he could as you struggled with the truth he already gave you. Desire, want, hunger, it all stemmed from a place of power.

What mattered wasn’t that you needed it. You wanted it.

“I—” Your eyes fell to his lips, greed screaming through the Force as it all clicked into place.

With a snarl, he turned you, his hand wrapping around your throat as the other delved between your thighs, beneath layers of fabric you longed to get off. “I was inside of you.”

Breathing became secondary when his touch burned everything out of you, leaving a path of fire behind. Where he once caressed you with tenderness before, now turned rough. Shame should have ripped you from this intoxicating high, but the smile pressed to your ear when his fingers met your pool of slick, left you lost in the destitute darkness that consumed you.

“I tasted you,” he murmured, the rough pads of his fingers circling your clit—your mouth parting with a broken moan.

Dignity meant nothing to you when pleasure burned at the edges of your vision. Effectively blocking anything that might have come before.

“That is a truth you will never escape.”

Gripping his arm, you focused on the heavy breaths he exhaled, the shift of his body as he held you up where you couldn’t anymore. And beyond that, in the expanse of his darkness, you allowed light to pour through. To blanket him in what was once familiar, what remained buried in the depths of his mind. You gave him a piece of his past as he drowned you in your future.

“The Jedi will reject you,” he gasped, two fingers pressing into you, the memory of before sparking to life in your mind. “And when they do. You will find me again.”

“T-They’ll brand me a traitor—” If you were to return, you could never be a Jedi again. Never go back to the person you were before him.

Pleasure blinded you with every thrust of his fingers, the stillness of the forest now echoed with the mix of your breaths. You sunk into him, nails digging crescent moons into his skin, and he tightened his hold on your throat. He liked you this way. Pliant beneath his touch, eager and desperate for whatever he could possibly offer you. Being your prey was a mere fantasy, an act he allowed you to divulge in for as long as you needed.

Until the time was right.

His lips slid against yours, the kiss wet and heady. All the things you longed for, the past that you could not escape from. He kissed you without mercy. And you met him with an urgent acquiescence. The memory of his tongue against your clit pulsed in your mind, brighter than the day it happened as he stole the breath from your lungs. Saliva dripped down your chin, connecting you to him.

“Don’t you see?” he breathed, fingers curling forward—searching for something. The sharp inhale of satisfaction nearly tore you apart when your torso crumpled forward, a whimpered moan ripping from your throat. “You became a traitor the day you followed me into that temple.”

“I—”

The heel of his palm roughly pressed to your clit; your hips—acting on their own accord—sought his touch, grinding down with a pleaded out cry. You needed the bliss he once gave you. The sensation that haunted your every waking moment; that threatened to break you down and ruin all that you built for yourself. The feeling you were prepared to give up everything for.

“I can give this to you, all the time.”

“Please,” you sighed.

“Whatever you crave, will be yours.” He felt your walls tighten around his fingers, the hitch in your chest burned a hole through his. And like before when you cupped his face with reverence glowing in your eyes, he ignored it. Shoved it down into the pit with the remainder of his memories and feelings.

Your teeth dug into your lip nearly drawing blood when he sped up. The plunge of his fingers wet and loud in the air. To have you like this. Out in the open for anyone to discover, nearly drove him mad. He wanted to see your face, watch you shatter like before, witness the erosion of the Jedi spirit within you.

He wanted to bear witness to the corruption he caused.

“Say you’ll join me.”

Warning bells rang in the back of your mind, teal bleeding into your vision—the final hope of light that tried to pull you away from him. To remind you of why you were there.

Until darkness swallowed it whole, submerging it beneath the waves of a sea you’d never swim out of.

Grasping for the release you knew wasn’t far away, you bucked against his hand, mouth falling open as a cry pierced the air. With a grunt, he pushed his hips against your back, his teeth clamping down on your shoulder as you came with the taste of him on your lips. White flashed behind your eyes, hot and all consuming, your Force signature slamming into him with enough strength to send him stumbling. All with you still in his arms.

He collapsed to the ground, arm wrapped like a vice around your waist and fingers swirling around your pulsing clit.

“Yes,” you gasped, thigh quaking and face contorted in pleasure. “I will.”

Soft green began to morph behind your closed eyes. Dimming and bleeding to the edge of your senses, something brighter taking you over with a hunger you’d never experienced before. A raw ache that thumped in tune with your own heart. He turned your head, his lips finding yours, as your crimson signature called to his, bending and curving where his led.

He smiled, thumb running along the edge of your jaw. “Welcome my love.”

Your eyes fluttered open, lips pulling into a smile, as yellow slowly seeped into your iris. “Thank you.”

[seresinhangmanjake]

He Will Hope

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Summary: Feyd is obsessed with his bride from the moment he sees her, but on their wedding night he finds out she might not feel the same. (Angst, but hopeful ending)

Warnings/Notes: Feyd POV, pre-smut and smutty-ish intentions (if that makes sense? idk, ignore me), instantly-in-love Feyd, unwanted marriage, baby(heir) talk, typos. Can absolutely be read alone, but also serves as something of a prequel to Do You Love? (same world, but big time skip), so I tried to kind of echo that with specific lines.

Words: 1500

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

You’re so…beautiful. He didn’t expect a peace offering to be this perfect. Yes, he knew his bride would be a daughter of a Great House, but you are one of many sisters and Feyd did not imagine your father would send him the loveliest of his bunch. 

It’s a loveliness that has you sticking out like a sore thumb on Giedi Prime. Hair and makeup and wedding dress styled in the traditions of your home world glue all eyes to you as you walk down the aisle, and he likes that there is so much attention on you. It makes his inability to cease staring more acceptable. 

Harkonnens are not meant to be enthralled by their brides at first glance. Discouraged, even, from caring about their appearance at all. ‘Brides are meant for breeding,’ his uncle told him as a child, ‘It does not matter what they look like.’ But he was not told what to do or how to act in the event the bride makes his heart involuntarily skip a beat. 

Maybe if your heart was reacting in the same manner navigating this new feeling would be less intimidating, but the tears streaming down your cheeks suggest that's far from the case. You can barely look at him and he’s not sure you would be able to speak if it was required of you, but thankfully, verbal agreements are not part of marriage ceremonies on Giedi Prime. 

When he takes hold of your hand and slices your palm with his knife, you give no indication of pain. You are supposed to do the same to him but you seem nervous enough as it is, so he makes the three-inch long slash in his skin for you before pressing his palm against yours. The mixing of blood is a swearing of fidelity from husband to wife and wife to husband; a tradition and promise that wore down with time as concubines became more common. But he will not do that to you. You will be his one, his only, and if he can help it, he will be yours. 

He barely detects the words declaring you married. They're dull and bubbly in his ears as if he's sunk under the surface of his bath water because he's too focused on your mouth. Your plush lips are pink and plump and glistening, and he wants them. So he takes them before he's told to do so.

You taste different than the Harkonnen women he’s had. There is salt from tears, but something distinctly you seeps through. It's sweeter. A bit intoxicating. The kind of taste that collars and leashes the unruliest of men, and he wants more. Much more. But there are too many eyes, some of which are full of relief at the match finally solidified while others are prying and suspicious. If he keeps his lips on yours too long, questions will begin to form from certain witnesses—Does he like her? Does he want her? Can she be used? Can she control him?—and the answer will be plainly obvious.

When he breaks the kiss, your eyelashes flutter with the gentle opening of your eyes and he knows then that nothing—no convincing from advisors, no threats from his uncle, no hatred on your end—could ever have him willing to detach himself and use you for the sake of an heir only to discard you later. You are his wife now, you will be the Baroness upon his uncle’s death, and he will protect you from anyone who values you for the sole purpose of providing a child. 

—

He sees that your assigned servants have quickly learned to manage your hair and clothing. By the time they deliver you to him, the pins have been removed from the twist on your head, letting the strands hang loose to frame your face, and you’ve been unstitched from that heavy gown to be dressed in night clothes from your home. He provided you with a nightgown, so he wonders if wearing the thin dress was your choice or your parents' idea to make you undeniably enticing, but either way, it’s effective. 

What drapes over your body is nothing like the opaque blacks and straight lines of Harkonnen attire. It's intricate both in color and design; flowing fabric that shimmers when you make the slightest movements and, at the moment, does little to hide your shape and curves. 

As you stand in front of him, patiently awaiting instructions, he can only stare at what’s on display. Pebbled nipples, a plane of smooth skin down to your navel, your slit and the folds between your legs—he wants it all. All of you. Now. Here. Wherever he can have you. 

Rising from the chair where he’d been waiting, he dissolves the space between you. His arm snakes around your waist. His hand slides across your cheek to the back of your head. Lips slam into yours, chests meeting despite that sliver of fabric, and he tastes that taste again, instinctually feeling a need to lift his chin, bare his neck, and let you tighten that collar.

It takes you a few seconds but when your lips start to move, he kisses you harder, pulls you closer, weaves his fingers through your hair and lightly tugs. He guides you backward toward the bed, skin warming at the image of sliding the nightgown down your body. That warmth fans into pure fire and he can’t stop kissing you, can’t stop taking from you, collecting what little you’re willing to give him. Two of his fingers tuck themselves under one strap of the nightgown and begin to slip it down your shoulder. 

But then he stops. 

He stops because your lips freeze.

He stops because you're starting to shake under his fingertips.

He pulls back to look at you and it’s undeniable, so terribly undeniable, and he feels a bit ill. “You don’t want this,” he states. 

You don’t answer; you just stare up at him with those doe eyes that he can now see are full of fear, and his heart squeezes. His gut tightens. He suddenly has the urge to throw things, break things, watch things shatter to pieces because you don’t want him. His own wife doesn’t want his touch and he does not like this—not at all—but you’re scared, and he doesn’t like that even more. 

Sighing, he resets the strap on your shoulder, drops his hands from your body, and steps away. 

“I'll leave you alone,” he says. But as he passes by you, you grab onto his wrist. 

“We have to,” you rush out. “They'll know if we don't.”

He shakes his head. “They won't know anything that happens between us unless I allow it,” he tells you.

“B–But they expect an heir.”

“Yes. And eventually, we will have to produce one. That does not mean we have to share a bed tonight if that is not what you want, and it's clear that is not what you want,” he says a little too harshly. He isn’t trying to be snippy, none of this is your fault, but it hurts, and not in the way he enjoys.

You suck in a sharp breath as if preparing to argue, but then something shifts in your eyes. Instead, you say, “Where will you go?”

“The adjoining room,” he answers, nudging his head to the door on the opposite wall: the room for the concubines that he will never take. You turn to get a look.

“Oh,” you swallow. “O-Ok.” 

He grants himself a few more moments to study you, to soak in your soft and delicate features and the swollen lips he cannot have before he walks away, leaving you behind for the bed he had no intention of ever sleeping in. 

When he reaches the door, he glances over his shoulder to get one last look. You’re facing away from him, sitting on the mattress with your head low, your back arched forward and arms wrapped around your middle. You look small like that, slowly huddling into a ball, and he’d do anything to make it stop. Because you are his. His wife. His na-Baroness. He’s well aware he’ll fall for you in no time—it’s already begun—and he wants you to be happy with him. 

But you're not. And that already threatens the predictability of your future together. These foreign feelings he has for you are not guaranteed to be requited; something he isn't sure how to accept, and yet he may not have a choice. He cannot force your affection. He cannot demand you grow to love him. All he can do is try and hope that one day, he will win you over.

So that is what he does.

---

@avidreader73 @alwaysadreamingoptimist @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @workof-a-rr-t

[newtkive]

confectionary clash - carmen berzatto

pairing: carmen berzatto x afab!reader (established relationship)

summary: carmy's girl is the human embodiment of a sweetheart. that is, unless it's that time of the month and richie provokes her.

wordcount: 3.2k

warnings: swearing, fighting, weaponized incompetence from richie but we still love him.

a/n: this was meant to be a drabble but turned into 3k words. so it's written kinda like a drabble?? (hence the lowercase i can't be arsed to change) but just... long. idk hopefully its entertaining. also, i don't mean to demonize richie, he's my favorite character i think,, i just love writing him as problematic lmao cuz he's so funny. anyways, enjoy!

as carmy’s confidant and girlfriend, you were always the voice of reason. with just a string of words, you’d be calming him down after a hectic work day, giving him a fresh perspective on his work dilemmas since you were outside of the restaurant circle. in the time he’s known you, he hadn’t seen you do as much as barely raise your voice. maybe the occasional snap, but you always follow it up with swift apologies and big watery eyes.

that is, unless you’re in pain. specifically cramps. the sight of you 180ing from a sweet girl with a bright smile and even sweeter words, to an evil sorceress with spells rolling off your tongue, inflicting curses onto anyone who irritates you is jarring. a bit dramatic, sure, but that’s what you were during that time of the month—dramatic.

carmy tries best to dote on you. you would never ask him to go out of his way for something, unless it’s grabbing a heating pad or water, but carmy wants you to. it takes prying to hear your desires and cravings after asking a million times, and you begrudgingly give in with no expectations. nevertheless, you end up with exactly what you asked for, or something close to it, and you’re endlessly grateful.

on days when you stop into the restaurant when you’re feeling down, carmy enacts this same routine. if it’s food, he’ll cook it for you; desserts, he’ll grab any extras marcus has (or marcus happily makes it from scratch if they're not busy, claiming he needs the practice). if you want snacks, he sends his right hand man richie out to grab them despite your protests.

richie does it often whenever you stop into the store, and he acts like it’s a chore sometimes, but everyone has a hunch that he really loves it. come on, twenty dollars to get a few items for you and pocket the rest for himself? plus a break from work? done deal.

richie wouldn’t admit it, but he liked taking care of you too. you were always a sweetheart to him, but it wasn’t in his personality to be as sincere as you, so this was a little act of service to show his love. besides, the year and a half you’ve known him has definitely earned you the title of a friend, and you’d agree.

now, you don’t ever want to seem ungrateful, but when you ask for a specific treat, you get disappointed when you don’t really get it. maybe it’s the fluctuating mood talking, but you always end up snapping at richie due to his poor choices. if you ask for one thing, he’ll get you the next, and you even suspect he does it on purpose sometimes. pulling reactions from people is his specialty.

it’s not like you’re a complete bitch about it, because he took his time out to go get you something, but richie has a problem with weaponized competence even with his new and improved attitude. you know he can get you the jolly ranchers you suggested, but he chooses to grab goldfish because it’s closer to checkout. it was annoying, but you never really brought it up to carmy. it's not like you needed to, it wasn't a huge deal. you figured richie could use the little break, and you don’t hate the snacks he brings.

except on days like this.

you were at the restaurant on a slow day, dragged yourself out of bed despite your cramps just to see your little grumpy boyfriend and hide in his office. even as you entered the establishment through the back you glared at richie (who sweetly waved) in passing, side eyeing a few of the newbies who ran in front of you despite their apologies. none of your usual bright smiles and cheery greetings. the bee line straight to the office was a clear enough explanation for how you were feeling.

upon entering, carmy looked up in a panic, which quickly melted into a soft smile at the sight of his girlfriend. “hey, baby.” he cooed softly, immediately scooting back from his desk to reach out to grasp at your waist. you let him, but pushed down the irritation, not favoring touch at the moment. however, his rough hands sliding a little under your shirt to grasp at the flesh of your hips calmed you down, earning a small quirk of the lips from you.

“whatcha doin’ here, love?” he asks, bringing one of your hands to his lips to kiss softly, still looking up at you.

you shrug, squeezing his hand, face a bit stoic. you’d been like this for a couple of days so he wasn’t surprised by your lack of friendliness. knowing you this long, carmy became accustomed to your monthly mood swings, and he felt privileged that you didn’t feel the need to put up an act for him.

“missed you.” you finally sighed, scooting closer so you stood between his knees. palms found both sides of carmy’s face and tilted it upwards a bit so you could study his appearance. stressed and tired. however, he seemed to glow at the mere admission of you missing him. it took a few seconds for his brain to rewire, looking up at you like you created the cosmos. the only reason you heard his soft, shy, ‘missed you too’ was because of the stagnant silence.

“hungry?” carmy asked, beaming from the attention. you shrugged again, allowing him to tighten his grip on your sides and tug you onto his lap. whining a bit in protest, you reposition yourself, legs falling over his lap and arms around his neck. your faces were closer now, and carmy looked at your sad eyes with a little pang in his chest. brows furrowing, he tilted his head and snuck a hand under your chin. long, tattooed fingers tickled at your chin, and before you knew it you were giggling and grinning while batting his hand away.

“cmon, i know you must want somethin’.” your grin was infectious and laced in his soft words. you hummed, already cheered up, and tapped a finger against your chin to make a thinking face. carmy chuckled, brushing a lock of hair away from your eyes and patiently waited.

a thought crossed your mind and you met gazes again. “i might go grab some little debbie snacks from around the corner.” you decided and nodded to yourself as if solidifying your decision.

as you started sitting up more, carmy’s grip tightened on your waist. “ah, ah, no. stay here.” he protested. soon enough he was calling out ‘cousin!’ and richie came bounding over, opening the office door.

richie’s face used to contort in disgust at any visual sign of affection exchanged between you and carmy, but he was used to it now. “what’s up, cousin?” he asked, almost seeming out of breath, eyes flickering between the both of you.

a short exchange between the two occurred: carmy asking richie to run to the corner store, handing richie a twenty, and richie asking you precisely what you wanted. you made it simple and easy, something he could remember: oreos and ho-hos, a midwestern's guilty pleasure.

“ight, cap’n, i’ll be back.” richie says, saluting you two before heading out. both you and carmy exchanged an amused smirk, knowing the only reason richie went was to get himself some cigarettes and hot fries he would scarf down on the walk back.

__

in the twenty minutes richie was gone, the kitchen had gone to shit. the newbies had been running the wrong food to tables, online orders were filling the tablet nonstop due to a discount glitch, and carmy was close to losing it. sitting in the office, now alone with the muffled sound of your boyfriend yelling, you were more grumpy than before. arms crossed, you snapped your head to the side once the door creaked open. in walked richie with a plastic bag, inside of it holding your hope for a better day.

"what took you so long?" you frowned up at him, but sat up straighter in anticipation. you eyes almost shone as you looked at corner store logo on the bag.

"went the long way." he mumbled, digging in the plasic. the skeptical look on your face didn't leave as he pulled out an item and set it on the table. your frown deepened further as you noticed there was nothing at all you asked for, only met with a crushed sleeve of crackers.

“where are the oreos?” you sighed out, lips pursed in a bit of a pout.

“didn’t find any, so i got you some peanut butter crackers.” he mumbled, digging around the bag again, as if he didn’t just break your heart. if it was anyone else you'd believe them, but with richie you figured he just got bored of looking.

your jaw fell slack and you gaped like a fish for a moment, waiting for him to pull out more treats from his bag. but that time didn’t come, as he fished a pack of cigarettes out instead. “and the ho-ho’s?” your voice was hopeful.

richie perked up at that, putting the cigarettes down next to the crackers. the next second he presented you with a smushed mountain of brown and white concealed in a plastic wrapper sitting atop the palm of his hand. eyes flicking between the disappointment before you and his face, you frowned in disbelief.

richie only managed to emote as much as a ‘yikes’ face before placing it on the desk. “got smushed in transit, but tastes the same!” he gave his best attempt at a smile. your brows grew taut together and anger bubbled up in your chest. you were sure your face was quickly turning red.

“carmy gave you twenty dollars, and you come back with this?!” you hiss out, daring to look at the dry crackers and smushed up dream of a ho-ho. the sight only made you become angrier. this was something a senile old person would give you, not a competent 40-something-year-old man. his lack of care was clear, and you were boiling.

richie just scoffed—he had the nerve to scoff.

“no, not just that! i got a sprite and a few pack of cigs for myself and the guy.” he waved around one of them to prove his point. if you thought you were mad before, you reached a new level of anger. usually, you’d deal with the disappointment and thank richie for even going—aside from a smart alec remark.

however, the demon conducting your period for this month did not make your rational decisions seem clear nor enticing. as you shot up from carmy’s chair, you only knew you wanted to make richie as upset as you were in this moment.

with one finger poking his chest, you began raising your voice. as soon as you started talking, richie's eyes turned wide as saucers, exactly like a deer in headlights. a string of curses snuck into your tirade, between phrases such as “you always fucking do this richie!” and “are you fuckin’ dumb?! did you get dropped on your head?!”. you only figured he didn't fire back right away because he was so stunned.

outside of the office, the kitchen was calmer now. things were finally falling into order but still required carmy’s supervision until the sudden rush ended. the only disturbance was you. now, it was your voice yelling behind closed doors and not carmy’s.

the chef—in the middle of helping sydney plate a dish—just about gave himself whiplash with how fast he turned around to look at the barely cracked door of the office. there was the telltale muffled yelling, but what shocked him was it was clearly you yelling.

turning back around, carmy gawked at sydney who silently shared the same look of surprise. it was only until they heard richie start yelling back that sydney silently pushed him toward the door. it didn’t take more than a second for carmy to snap out of his surprise and march over to the office.

throwing the hand towel he was using over his shoulder, he yanked the heavy door open before all but body slamming his way into the room and slamming the door closed. the yelling was suddenly clear, as if carmy was being pulled out from underwater.

“YOU GET ME WHAT I ASKED YOU, OR GET ME NOTHING AT ALL!”

“THEN YOU’D BITCH ABOUT THAT TOO—“

“OR NOTHING AT ALL!”

“hey, hey, HEY!” the two of you were too busy at each others throats to even hear carmy enter, until his voice brought you both to a halt, heads turning towards him.

carmy’s eyes were immediately glued to you, not paying the least bit of attention to richie. your arms were stiff as boards to your sides, fists and jaw clenched, brows taut, and race beet red. the man had never seen you look like this before, and his instinct to comfort you took over. turning to richie with a look that could kill, carmy finally spoke. “what did you do?”

“what did i do?! except take precious time to get your girl shit she didn’t even want?!”

an offended gasp left your mouth, and you retorted instantly. “oh please! because a crushed up sleeve of crackers and a mountain of mushed up cake is just what i asked for!”

“you’re ungrateful.” richie pointed a finger at you now. carmy launched forward and slapped it down. he knew richie would never hurt you, and you knew it too, as you just rolled your eyes in response, but carmy’s instinct’s took over. richie didn’t even look phased, just irritated. carmy stood in front of you and forcefully turned richie around by his shoulders to send him to the door. if carmy didn't have half of a sane mind, he would’ve kicked richie's bottom with his shoe for good measure.

“go take a break chef! or do whatever the fuck, i don’t care.” carmy shouted after richie, and the man left with a slam of the door.

you simply watched the scene unfold with arms crossed and that same deep set frown. carmy turned around to face you as the air settled, a hand running through his hair. blue eyes raked over your tense form and carmy decided he would give you a little space to calm down. however, the second he saw your bottom lip wobbling and eyes grow watery he threw that thought to the wind

“hey, no, no, don’t cry.” carmy extended his arms and collected you into them. the tense posture you held relaxed into his slouched form as he held you close; one hand in your hair, and the other rubbing circles on your back as you sniffled.

a pit of guilt burned in your stomach and spurred you into attempting to bury yourself into carmy. blue straps of his apron rubbed against your cheek as you shuffled impossibly closer. usually, carmy would love this, but right now he'd do anything to not see you so out of it. shushing you, he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

there were a few beats of you hiding away before you decided to pull back a bit to face him again—and boy did you look pitiful.

the same cheeks previously bright with anger were now flush with embarrassment and stained with tears. a tattooed hand found itself sitting on your cheek, thumb rubbing under your eye to collect a fallen tear. at the touch, your eyes fluttered closed, and carmy’s heart broke at the sight.

“you gonna tell me what happened?” your boyfriend asked, trying not to make you feel even more guilty. his full attention was on you. exhaling slowly, your eyes fluttered back open and were met with those bright blue ones that always calmed you down.

“i dunno, i just-“ you shook your head and carmy waited patiently, “it wasn’t even a big deal, but richie just really set me off for some reason.”

“yeah, may as well join the club.” carmen’s words were light, not at all sarcastic, but aiming to ease you and bring out a smile. it worked, your lips turning upwards and carmy mimicking the half smile. he looked down at you with such love, head tilted to follow every time yours moved, and thumb caressing your cheek as he took in every expression.

your smile finally faltered as you glanced back at the office desk. “i feel so awful. he went out and got me stuff and i just yelled at him.” you sputter out.

carmy followed your gaze over his shoulder to finally see what started all of this. at the sight of the crackers and ball of what looked like mush, carmy scoffs in both disbelief and amusement, because of course richie would bring you that. turning back towards you, the chef finally gets it.

“baby, if someone brought me that shit while my insides were shedding i’d kill them.” he chuckled.

“really?” you asked hopefully, smile forming again.

“yes, really. even if i wasn’t goin’ through that i’d actually kick his ass.” carmy mirrored your smile.

nodding, you let yourself chuckle along with him. strong arms found you again and you were wrapped in a tight hug, allowing his squeezes to take away some guilt you were feeling. a moment passed and you knew carmy had to get back to work. with a sigh, you pulled back.

it was your turn to reach up and cup his cheek. guiding his face close, you met him halfway and pressed your lips to his in a kiss. lips moving against his, your noses brushed, and after a moment you let the kiss dissipate; lips slowly falling away from where they were molded together. one last peck was placed on carmy’s lips, as if saying, ‘thank you for being so attentive’. that earned an appreciate hum.

you both beamed, faces still close as you came back down to earth. “you gotta get back to work, and i gotta apologize.” you murmured and carmy nodded obediently.

with apprehension, carmy let you go, arms floating in the air for half a second as he walked backwards towards the door. “don’t go easy on him, though. richie lives for a fight. that was probably his anger management for the day.” carmy smirked, grasping the doorknob.

you just shook your head, eyes narrowed teasingly. before he turned to leave, you called out to him. “thank you, carmy.”

the man just gave you a confused look, chuckling. “don’t thank me, you're my girl.” with that he was back to work and you were left to your own devices. with one more glance at the monstrosity on the office desk, you left the room and went on a search for richie.

thirty minutes later, carmy was due for a smoke break and approached the back door. he slowed his tracks, lighter and cigarette in hand as he cracked the door and heard giggling. the sight before him was drastically different than before: you and richie sitting on a ledge next to each other, giggling and bumping shoulders. carmy breathed out a laugh at the sight and fully walked out. this caught both of your attention, grinning ear to ear as you clearly made up.

“hey, cousin!” richie grinned, and you both waved. figures.

[cute-sucker]

can we see pogue!rafe telling reader one day they're gonna make it and be much more comfortable and then she can have everything she wants IM SORRY pogue rafe makes me angsty

note: this is pup and pogue!rafe all the way. inspiration from pogue!rafe goes to @.princessbrunette

you're very low maintance overall, wearing dirty scuffed shorts, and a wife beater that you stole from rafe. sometimes rafe has to grab you to tell you how dirty you look, smelling of grass with marks of dirt on your jorts.

he gets more annoyed when you continue to wear his clothes. a white unbuttoned shirt with a cropped tee, and while rafe will raise an eyebrow then and then again telling you that you're gonna get cold, you can see the feigned annoyance that flickers in his eyes time and time again. but he doesn't get too annoyed with you, somehow kinder, and sweeter with you than anyone he knew.

sometimes people were surprised, the way that he would cower for you. one time you had come home with a bruised hip after ducking to get a softball for a bunch of ten-year-olds, and came home wobbling for him to soak you a bath, chastening you to be careful. if you told anyone how soft he was for you, they would laugh, swearing that you were lying.

sometimes you had to get rafe to stop doting on you in front of his friends, rugged workers who would raise an eyebrow every single time they saw rafe kneel to tie your shoelaces.

"every goddamn time pup," he muttered lowly, "you're going to trip and i'm gonna have to kiss your boo boos? huh? answer me." rafe whispered crudely, while licking his lips as you flushed trying to look anywhere but his co-workers.

(you hated it so much that later on you were shoving your tongue down his throat telling him how much you loved him)

life was good. life was sweet, even if you couldn't get the nicest thing that there was in town, or that sometimes you had to settle for those cheap restaurants, or even if you had to dig out the nastiest rench out of the toilet after it had dropped. (okay, the last one was just a fun adventure rafe had told you not to do)

but there's something about that dress in the window. that stares back at you, and you can't help but feel this aching in your heart. it's this feeling that you can't escape when you walk past it every single day. the little ruffles, and the sheer beauty of the dress. sometimes you bite your tongue before walking past it, willing yourself to stop yourself.

when people told you a dress was meant for you, you had laughed toying with your jeans, wistfully nodding your head. the worst thing about it was the price tag.

one time you had willed yourself to enter in there, cold hands in your pants, as you skimmed past the other clothing to cut to the dress. just turning it over, you felt as if someone punched you in the stomach. 200 dollars? goddamn it, and then you quickly walked out, forgetting to say goodbye.

when you reached home, you pushed the door open in your shitty apartment, quickly going to get a strawberry soda. you ignored the raised eyebrow that rafe gave you, and before you knew it you were sniffling and running into the bedroom.

"uh—shit, hey, what's wrong?" his muffled voice rings clear into your head, "pup. can't cut me out like that. i thought we worked on that. managing your emotions and n’shit." there's a tone of concern in his voice, and you know he's stopping himself from barging in into the small room.

that was the first thing the two of you worked on. due to how small the place was, and given how much space both of you needed, you had rules to knock if the other went into a room, angry. rafe had started it, sitting you down telling you that sometimes he needed to be alone.

you bite your lip, folding yourself into a ball, as you mewl a "you can come in."

rafe entered the room with a sigh, folding his hands seeing you scrawled on the wooden floor. you bat your eyes, wispy eyelashes wet from crying, and you can't help yourself but reach out for him. he sits next to you, nudging you to scoot closer. you do, pressing your face against the folds of his button-up, smelling in the scent of peppermint and dirt.  

"you wanna tell me what that was about?"

you sober up, as he sits down next to you. you push your face closer to his chest as you shake your head. you couldn't dare tell him why you were feeling so horrible. you couldn't tell him you felt horrible because you couldn't have some stupid dress. money issues were something that rafe was used to, and for you to use it against him would be inhuman. no, you had what was the most important—rafe.

"so you're—you're gonna sulk?" he drawls, voice cruelly sweet, "c'mon kid, you can't just leave me hanging here. my sweet girl can't be crying."

you hiccupped, rubbing your eyes as you detached yourself from him, "no, i really can't tell you."  

now he was on alert, eyes sharp as he looked you over. you were never the one to cry and not tell him what was going on. make matters worse you would mope for weeks over the smallest thing. be it an animal documentary, or a story of a baby dying before meeting their mother. last week you had sobbed over the death of a ladybug.

"hey? hey!" rafe shook his head as he leaned closer to you to wipe away your tear, "did someone say something to you? just give me a name. i'll take care of you, you know i will."

this made you cry even harder, and you watched rafe look completely confused, as he tries to console you, you watched him bite the inside of his cheek, rubbing his hands against his sides. he looks completely helpless, and out of his element.

"it's about a dress," you whisper out, unsure as you look up at him, watching his lips twitch into a jeering smile.

"shit kid. all this-" rafe waved his hands around, a condencing tone edging in his voice, "all of this is about a dress? what's it made out of of—and uh, what the hell happened?"

somehow you can't help but laugh at his increditious tone, and realise how stupid it was of you not to tell him in the first place. he's your boyfriend, practically your best friend and everything to you.

you sniffled, "theres this dress that i see on my way to work, and it's so pretty, and i wish it was mine. every single time i see it, i feel like i'm betraying you."

rafe looked confused, running a hand through his hair "how would you be betraying me? 'just a dress."  

now you feel like crying even more, snot running down your face as he grabs your face to wipe it away, "no, rafe! not the dress. it's—" you let out a heavy sigh, "it's not the dress. it's the concept."

he looked amused, rubbing your back, "and that concept is?"

"that i'm not happy with you, and that i'm so greedy because i want a stupid dress, and that you deserve better, and that i'm just in it for the money!" you burst out, wailing at this point crumbling into rafe's arms. "i'm a bad person, rafe! i'm a bad person-"

and he says nothing. instead he gathers you in his arms, gently rubbing your head, as you whimpered softly. he's whispering something softly to you, as you try to burrow yourself closer to him.

"kid?"

"yea?"

"you're not a bad person for wanting something nice and new. especially if it's something that matters to you, uh, you gotta let yourself feel like that sometimes," he whispered out awkwardly, but when you look up at him you see the way that his eyes crinkled earnestly. he really cares about you, really cares about you.

"hell," he let out a laugh, "sometimes i feel like that. sometimes i want what those kooks have. those private jets, and houses and golf, and that doesn't make me a bad person," and then he gives you a soft smile before sobering up.

"what it means is that we gotta work harder for it," rafe mutters, pulling you closer, "but you and me?"

you nod waiting for him to say something.

"you and me are in for it. big time. and if it's some fancy dress you want, shit, i'm going to get you that dress, but you gotta wait," he coughed.

"i know this looks bad," he said, nudging at the apartment around the two of you, "but it's going to get better."

then he rests your head on his shoulders, and you feel more grateful than you ever.  

[cinnamonroll-anon]

LMK Wukong x Reader who is wearing peach-scented perfume and peach-flavored lip balm??? 🍑🍑🍑

Sun Wukong x Reader: Sweetest Temptations

A/n: Literally loved this idea anon! I hope this wasn't too short!

Warnings: Fluff, Suggestive, Gender Neutral Reader

Sun Wukong was a very affectionate partner, he adored cuddling with you, holding your hand and of course getting spoiled by your kisses. Being his partner meant getting to know most of his antics and favorite things, the thing that stood out to you was his love for peaches. You could be running a quick snack run with him and you swear he always chooses something peach flavored, drinks, chips, candy etc. Heck one of his nicknames for you was Peaches!

Making this observation, you had decided to purchase a peach scented perfume and peach lip balm, just trying to see how he'd react. Now Wukong was wholeheartedly in love with you, he was enamored by your scent, your smile, your laugh and just about everything about you. Except for one day he noticed the change in your scent. At first he brushed it off, you were always so sweet of course you'd smell sweeter, but as time went on that smell wouldn't go away. It was becoming overwhelming, too intoxicating and unbearable for him, yet it was so familiar, the way it mixed with your natural scent was driving him mad.

You were currently over at his place, lazing around on his couch, just wanting to spend some time with him. He eventually walked up to where you were on the couch, he had this adorable pout on his lips as he glarred at you, like if he was inspecting a crime scene.

"Um, do you need something?" You questioned with a nervous smile, you were already backtracking if you had done something to upset him. He crossed his arms over his chest before he answered.

"Yes, I need answers. You changed something about you and I can't figure out what." You only raised a brow before patting the open space next to you on the couch.

"Then can you explain what it is while we cuddle? I didn't want to be lonely here with all this room." It didn't take long for him to give in and plop himself next to you, swiftly arranging himself against you. As he got closer he could feel that intoxicating scent practically drown his other senses as you held him close. He briefly moved around in your hold, letting his head rest between the nape of your neck. He took a deep breath, he could practically taste you, but still couldn't figure out that delicate sweetness he smelled on you.

"Damn Peaches, why do you smell so delicious?" He practically groaned out as he cuddled into your side, wrapping his tail around you, giving your waist a small squeeze.

"Oh? Did you finally notice? It's a peach scented perfume, I thought it would be nice to wear around. It's a comforting smell." That was it!? How had he not noticed before? He took another inhale and it was pure bliss. He didn't expect you go out of your way to do this for him, it couldn't have been a coincidence either, peaches were his favorite afterall.

"Aw, Peaches did you really do this for me? Why's that all of a sudden? Needed more of me?" He asked with a cheeky grin, practically looming over you. Your face felt hot with embarrassment as you chuckled softly.

"Maybe I did, but it took you a while to notice! I was just about to give up wearing it altogether." He laughed before leaning down and giving you a sweet kiss. Wait a minute. It felt- no, it tasted sweeter. As his lips parted from yours he quickly pressed them against you with more fervor. You wrapped your arms around his neck, letting your fingers tangle into his hair. His tongue swiped your bottom lip experimentally before it finally hit him, your lips also tasted like peaches.

"Peaches, were you also wearing that this whole time?" He asked between breaths as he gazed down at you. You only nodded with a cheeky smile. Oh lord, did he ever regret not kissing you sooner, no wonder your lips looked so plump and pretty. He quickly leaned down, sending a barrage of heated kisses against your lips, the ones he knows that take your breath away. The ones that make your legs weak and leave you yearning for more. Your soft lips against his, your delectable scent, it was all clouding his mind in a heavy haze. He just couldn't get enough of you and that sweet flavor. His favorite flavor. He abruptly stopped his attack of kisses to see your dazed expression, smirking in pride.

"You just had to be this tempting, huh Peaches? But tell me, can you handle the tempted?"

Lets say that after that day you were more than encouraged to wear your perfume and lip balm.

back

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: Home from the hospital, Joel is over protective after you give birth.]

“Listen, sweetheart, you just had my baby and I don’t want you lifting a damn finger as long as I’m home. Understood?”

Fluff

It had been a week since you had given birth to your son Luke. You were now home in bed and felt exhaustion like you had never felt before. It was two in the morning when you heard him begin to cry, you sighed pushing yourself up when you suddenly felt Joel’s hand on your arm.

“Lay back down, honey. I got him”

“But Joel, you work at six in the morning-“

“And you need sleep, now lay back down” he proceeded to get up as you looked at him with concern.

“I can get him you know, you don’t have to keep getting up every time he cries” you lay back as Joel walked around your side of the bed and hovered over you.

“Listen, sweetheart, you just had my baby and I don’t want you lifting a damn finger as long as I’m home. Understood?” The baby cried again as you silently nodded. He kissed your forehead and proceeded to pick up Luke from his bassinet. You watched half asleep as he began to gently rock him calming him down.

“It’s alright, buddy, daddy’s got you” Joel turned to find you still awake.

“Look your mamas right there but she needs some sleep alright? Me and you are gonna go get you some milk and hang out on the couch so mama can sleep” he whispered in a voice that made you smile. Before you knew it you fell asleep peacefully.

Joel entered the room a little while later, gently laying Luke back in his bassinet. The sound of Joel getting into bed startled you making you quickly sit up before hearing Joel’s voice.

“Shhh, he’s ok, lay back down” he assured you as you felt his arm wrap around your waist and pull you back in bed against him.

“Did he drink all his milk?”

“Mhm”

“Did you change his diaper?” You turned flat on your back with your face to him.

“Mhm” you took a deep breath as he held you against him.

“Go to sleep woman” he spoke with his eyes closed.

“I’m sorry, I just…I never done this before…I’m so anxious,” his eyes instantly opened.

“Look at me” you looked at Luke in his bassinet.

“Look at me, darlin’” he gently turned your face to him.

“You’re doing just fine, you hear me? I’m here every step of the way with you alright?” You knew he meant every word he said. Silently you nodded and took another deep breath as you looked up at the ceiling.

“I couldn’t have chosen a better mother for my baby boy” he kissed your cheek.

“Now get some sleep, if he’s up again I got him.” He closed his eyes as you smiled to yourself.

A few hours later Joel was getting up for work, you opened your eyes to find him pulling a shirt over his head.

“I’ll make you some breakfast” you pushed yourself up making him turn to you.

“Oh no you won’t”

“Joel you need to eat something”

“I’m not hungry, besides Sarah beat you to it” he smirked leaning in to kiss you.

“You feel ok?” A look of concern in his brown eyes.

“Yes, I’m fine” you assured him yet you could still see the uncertainty in him.

“I swear” you caressed his face looking up at him. He silently nodded and kissed your hand.

“I’ll try to get out of work early” he stood up and looked back to see Luke sleeping peacefully. Joel was always protective of you but the moment he found out you were pregnant, his protective side reached a level you had never seen before. Joel would take Sarah to school in the morning and ask her to help you as soon as she got home which she gladly did. Joel not letting you lift a finger was nothing new, through out your pregnancy he never let you carry a thing, and even with his hands full he still made sure there was room on his arm for you to hold on to. It was sweet having an attentive man but even sweeter seeing him as a dad.

[nonstoplover]

all of my heart ~ carlos sainz (cs55)

my masterlist | my f1 masterlist

pairing: carlos sainz jr. x fem!reader

summary: a short story of carlos becoming a father

words: 2K

warnings: one tiny swear word in spanish ig, otherwise nothing, just fluff fluff fluff and dad!carlos which deserves its own warning tbh

a/n: i know you love the dad!driver trope, @vetteltea, which is why i dedicate this blurb to you (though i think you'd maybe prefer this to be with seb now that i think about it), as a thank you for all the amazing fanfic you provide this fandom with. i love you so much, you're so talented, so inspiring, and i truly wish to be like you. <33

please, don't be a ghost reader, leave a comment or rb!

Carlos is still a little out of breath when he hears it for the first time.

A delayed red-eye flight and an excruciating traffic jam caused him to almost miss this appointment. The first he finally has the chance to attend – having had a race when the initial one happened –, and he almost missed it.

As a drop of sweat rolls down the side of his face, obvious sign of how only seconds ago he was still running up the stairs of the hospital, a smile forms on his lips. Looking at her, lying down, the screen beside the bed showing a picture of their baby.

Well, at least they say it's that. For the love of God, Carlos can't see anything on it. He still nods along with a wide smile when the nurse asks him if he sees it. The focus shouldn't be on him and whether he can see it or not, but on his girlfriend.

God, this woman. He hasn't seen her in over a month now. And this is how they meet again: when they meet the little one officially as well, though on a screen only. Hell, the last time he saw her, they had no clue of this wonderful piece of news. From watching her wave with a smile through the glass at the airport, before he turned a corner towards his flight and disappeared, fast forward to now, when he catches sight of her lying form, just as gorgeous as ever, if not more, with a baby growing inside her. A creation by him and her.

They're gonna have a child, Carlos thinks, and as if it's the first time he realises this, his heart stops for a second. In happiness, in awe, in fear.

Because as the image on the screen gets displayed, and Carlos gets lost in-between words like embryo and transvaginal scan, suddenly the doctor announces that the baby indeed has a heartbeat, listen, you can hear it. And this one sentence, followed by the almost inaudible little thuds, is enough to make everything feel real.

Of course, he already knew what the positive pregnancy test meant, the one she showed him first on a FaceTime call, then sent as a separate picture later. But this, hearing that tiny heartbeat, it made everything even more real. They had actual proof now of what is going to happen in the near future. It might not have been planned, but it doesn't make it any less sweeter.

With his heart beating away in a rapid rhythm, he feels his facial muscles pull as his lips curve into a smile, so wide that it even showcases his pearly white teeth.

When he sees her the next time, the first thing Carlos does is place his palm against her tummy. The bump is already visible – well not in the hoodie she's currently wearing, but it's there underneath, he knows –, and he's been dreaming about holding it for many, many days now.

She lets out a giggle, throwing her head back a little, having expected a kiss upon her arrival, not this. Carlos practically doesn't pay her any attention, his sole focus is on talking with his baby.

Later on in the car she inquires jokingly the reason behind why she's not the first to be greeted by him, and he explains with a serious tone why that's the priority. "You get all this time to speak to her and bond with her, and she's already inside you which is a bonus, but she has to know exactly who her father is."

"She, huh?" she raises a teasing eyebrow, and he simply smiles, shrugging in a nonchalant way.

"I can feel it in my bones."

He looks so self-assured that she can't help but lean in and press her lips against his cheek. She still can't believe she'll get to have a kid with this man.

Doubt starts rising in his mind when they reach the third trimester. The date underlined in bright red in his calendar creeping closer and closer, making him more self-conscious and unsure than he's ever felt.

What if he won't be a good father? What if his job gets in the way of his child really feeling close to him? What is he supposed to do anyway? He already has no idea what he's doing in this whole pregnancy, safe to say, how is it going to be when he finally gets to hold the baby as well?

He's read multiple long articles, spending every flight he's had to take nose deep in his phone, until his eyes hurt and words started to lose their meaning. He wants to be the best father he can be.

This even includes several calls to his parents, asking for advice from them as well, trusting and valuing their words far more than the ones he can find online. He knows that his parents proved already that their methods work, they've been good parents to him and his siblings.

Still, the only thing that seems to reassure him is that they – the baby and him – have her. His superwoman of a girlfriend, who simply seems like she was actually born to do this, to be a mother, taking every obstacle in their way with a cheerful step and a smile reaching from ear to ear on her face.

How did he deserve her?

As he's gritting his teeth to stop himself from letting out a groan while the pain he's feeling in his hand spreads – mierda, this woman is strong – he repeats one sentence as a mantra. Only to keep him from worrying his heart out for the love of his life, who's currently letting out loud gasps and occasional curses, her eyes teary and her cheeks red from the strain of pushing and pushing and pushing.

I hope the baby looks like her.

Why is this so important to him? He has no idea. He doesn't even know why the thought popped into his mind in the first place. He just knows he has to keep on repeating it to divert his mind, otherwise he'll lose his sanity.

Simply, he has to focus on picturing a baby with her eyes, her hair colour, the elegant line of her nose, the curve of her lips, her rosy cheeks. Every inch of their baby looking like a mini-her. Because what would be better than looking at his girlfriend and marvel at her beauty? Of course, looking at her and his daughter, and seeing the exact same beauty? Sure, it would be nice to have a tiny detail of him in their baby girl somewhere, just so that it would be obvious to the whole wide world that this is his baby, that the woman giving birth to her now is his woman. Maybe the exact copy of his eye colour? Or his locks of hair, silky and thick? It doesn't matter. Honestly, who cares about how she looks, he will love her no matter what. With his whole heart, with more love, a deeper connection than he's ever felt before.

Minutes pass, then some more, until it feels like an eternity has gone by since they arrived to the hospital. But then he hears it – crying. The unmistakable baby sound, entering the haze of his mind like a sharp knife, bringing him back to reality in a millisecond.

Everything seems to quicken up, and the next thing he knows is that the bundle of his child is placed in his arms, and after that initial wave of slightly terrified chills running through his body, immediately a mixture of relief, joy and tranquility spreads in his veins. He has no idea why he was so scared this whole time. This is... subconscious. Instinctive. Meant to be.

In that very moment he wordlessly promises the baby to always be there for her, always looking out for her, always caring and loving her with all of his heart. He won't let any harm ever reach her.

"Congratulations, Mr. Sainz, on the birth of your son," the doctor approaches him, and that last word bursts the bubble Carlos has been surrounded with.

Son?

His eyes widen, lips fall slightly open in shock – right until he hears the exhausted sounding but unmistakable giggle coming from the bed. "I told you," she grins.

"A boy," he mumbles dreamily, glancing at his girlfriend, lips curving into a smile matching hers.

"Good thing I came prepared with boy names as well," she continues, slight pants leaving her lungs still.

The memory when she practically wanted to force him into choosing a male name as well, just in case – because he was so sure about their baby being a girl that he didn't even want to spend a moment thinking about names for the other sex –, pops into his mind, and he shakes his head. He was wrong.

Tiny feet patter on the floor, growing louder and louder, before a second later they suddenly cease and get replaced by a high-pitched giggle.

She glances up just as Carlos appears in the doorway to the kitchen, their son hanging from his arms, his little cheeks red from all the laughter. Her heart swells at the sight and sounds, her eyes shine bright, connecting with his easily – the love of her life.

Miracle. That's what the little boy is in their lives.

Watching Carlos be a father has been the best thing she's ever had the chance to witness. The way he plays with him, practically going back to being a child, his sole focus being on entertaining his son.

The Sainz household they established not too long ago is filled with laughter every day, the walls reverberating with the joyous sounds until they fill their hearts.

"When's dinner ready, mi amor?" Carlos leans in, pressing a loving kiss on her temple.

She cheerfully smiles, her fingers moving to caress the impossibly soft, dark brown hair on the little boy's head. "A few minutes," she replies, catching her fiancé's eyes once more. "If you two help me set the table, we can eat sooner."

Her son nods eagerly, as much as his three-year-old energy allows, and waves his tiny arms to wordlessly tell his father to put him down on the ground. Carlos obeys, then opens the cupboard to find the appropriate plates – all plastic, reserved for the times when it's only the three of them eating, to allow the young one to help them without the worry of him breaking anything.

She watches from the corner of her eyes as her two boys move towards the dining table, where Carlos lifts their son to stand on a chair, this way allowing him to reach the tabletop. His hands never leave the boy's waist, just in case, and when he's finished setting the plates, helps him back on the ground.

"Good job, chiquito," Carlos holds his palm out at the proper height.

"Gracias, papá," the little one slaps into his father's hand eagerly, making his mother smile so wide it's close to actually hurt the muscles in her cheeks.

They walk back to the kitchen counter with proud looks on their faces, and she places the bowl of salad in Carlos' hands. "It's too heavy for you, pumpkin," she explains when her son opens his mouth to complain.

"Te adoro," Carlos steals a melting kiss from her lips as his fingers get a hold of the bowl, before leaning back and fully taking it from her. I adore you.

With her heart fluttering with nothing but pure happiness and blood rushing to her face, she enjoys the way that bashful smile forms on her lips that only he can achieve. Her gaze follows his movements, the way the T-shirt clings to his arms, to his back muscles, and how the soft material ripples with every move he makes. He is breathtaking. He truly is, because unawares, she lets out a soft gasp watching him and has to endure the knowing glance and that smirk he casts her way above his shoulder. He knows her too well.

She shakes her head, attention going back to her son still standing by her feet, patiently waiting for his next task. A perfect mini-him, way more than she could've ever asked for.

A perfect child, a perfect man to call the love of her life, a perfect life. And it's all hers.

a/n: i'm back baby!! i've been gone for the longest time ever (since last summer) but i'm in my final year of uni and i had to write my thesis too so hopefully that's a good enough excuse. writer's block ain't fun still. it really just feels nice to post something again.

my masterlist | my f1 masterlist

[aliaology]

WORK SONG

summary: jacks mind runs constantly, and you’re the reason

small a/n: per usual, readers looks wont be described, so reader can look however you want ♡ , does get slightly sensual! not tagging ppl for this one bc i forgot my taglist and im sleepy

pairings: jack hughes x fem!reader

not doing my tags bc im too lazy for this rn

boys workin’ on empty, is that the kinda way to face the burning heat? i just think about my baby. im so full of love i could barely eat

being in love was a full time job, and jack had no complaints. he loved being in love because it meant waking up next to you. it meant he was able to touch you, to feel you, to be with you. oh— how he loved it. he didn’t care if he was at practice, just thinking about you, because you were his motivator. he didn’t need drinks or food or sleep to play, just you.

you brought him the strength he craved, you were his number one fan. the one who supported him through thick and thin even when he was wrong. the one who held their hand out, so he could grab it and begin to climb. you were such an angel.

there’s nothing sweeter than my baby. i’d never want once from the cherry tree. ‘cause my baby’s sweet as can be. she’d give me toothaches just from kissin’ me.

your kisses were sweet. the way you’d pepper them against his skin, over and over and over again, made him fall deeply. you were his muse and your sound was so pretty. the way your mouth would drop open, noises escaping it. oh how you were so beautiful.

your lips tasted like cherries, a favorite fruit that he began liking the second his tongue met with the flavor of you. the flavor would linger, no matter what lips he kissed.

the feeling of your fingers on his face, or his lips, anywhere on his body, was like heaven. giving into you like a drug— he was addicted. he loved your touch, no matter if it was gentle, or the scratches you’d leave on his back. he yearned for more.

and i was burning up a fever. i didn’t care much how long i lived. i swear i thought i dreamed her. she never asked me once about the wrong i did.

jack hated being sick just because of the feeling. the feeling of a stuffy nose, a headache, the cough. all of it. but you somehow made it good. the way you would take care of him, pressing a cold cloth to his forehead when he had a fever. or when you’d make soup from scratch, your grandmas recipe that you keep a secret.

you were too good to be true. you were the embodiment of perfect in jacks eyes. everything about you. from how you spoke and how your tone was always gentle — to how you felt inside and out. every time you grip jacks hand hard— he swears he’s dreaming. you can’t be real. you were ethereal.

my babe would never fret none, about what my hands and my body done. if the lord dont forgive me, i’d still have my baby and my babe would have me.

jack didn’t like you worrying. he hated it, hated how you would get so scared that he would leave to go back to an ex. how you thought you were nothing compared to them— but you were so much more. you were his everything. the one who kept him going. you were his sun, he revolved around you. he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“baby— what if they ever want you back? they’re so pretty.”

“oh baby, they could never compare to you.”

he didn’t care what he’d have to do, but he’d do it all for you to stay happy. in his eyes, you hung the universe. you were his universe.

when i was kissing on my baby, and she put her love down soft and sweet. in the low lamp light i was free. heaven and hell were words to me.

being able to press slow kisses to your neck and shoulders were his favorite things to do. or watching your soft body rock gently with his as your sweet love lit him up. you made jack forget everything in the world no matter where you were. you made jack forget everything else just by talking to him.

skin on skin, heavy breathing, sloppy kisses, it was all sweet. it was all you, you and your love. no time with him was for the hell of it. all of it was love, pure and desirable.

when my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth. no grave can hold my body down, ill crawl home to her.

love. jack loved being in love. he hated the saying ‘til death do us part’ and it wasn’t because he didn’t believe it. he hated it because it would never apply to him. he wanted a saying that would be one he could hold onto forever, just like your hand. he wouldn’t part ways with you once death decided to take over.

no— he’d hold you the entire time. he’d be with you no matter where you were. he’d wait until you two met again— and then he’d take you to another universe because in every one of them, you were soulmates.

jack would not let a grave, or death, part you two. he would hold onto you whether it be with one hand, or with his heart.

[99musings]

jack of all trades, rúben dias

genre: fluff, domestic fluff.

summary: when rúben declines your help to paint your baby's room, you can't hold back your tears. luckily, rúben not only knows how to paint a room, but also stop your tears.

warnings: none.

this fic is a repost of my old previous work on 808heartz.

The straps of his denim overalls sat loosely on his toned shoulders, slipping occasionally and he couldn't be bothered to fix it, focused on the strokes of paint that he was applying on the primed walls.

Rúben was pleased with himself: he didn't consider himself a painter or a carpenter, and hell, he knew he wasn't a journeyman, but he was convinced that he was in another life. He had built the crib, not from scratch, but damn near close, and he made sure it was sturdy-something that was of equal concern to the both of you, but especially for him. He had even learned how to paint the walls, and the process, making sure it was plastered and primed before he even dragged the coated brush against the wall.

"You're full of surprises, you know that?"

He turned to you and grinned, feeling his cheeks flush as the sight of your belly— almost eight months, yet you looked as if you were ready to pop at any moment, and he still couldn't wrap his head around at how quickly time had went by in your pregnancy. He thought everything he's been told about time flying was a lie, as it only felt like just yesterday you told him that the two of you were expecting.

"How'd I get so lucky with you?" You smiled as you waddled into the room, feeling as if getting to where he stood took hours from the seconds it actually was.

Your hand rested on the small of his neck and he looked down at you, brown eyes soft and full of light as he reached down to press a kiss against your lips.

Ruben's cheeks were still full with a sweet warmth, getting shy at your praises. "I got lucky with you," He sighed in content, and of course, he couldn't forget about your baby-setting down the paint brush, so his hands could caress your belly. "And you, too."

The kicks against your belly were no longer a shock to you, but they always took him by a surprise; swearing that there was a world class footballer in-the-making cooking in your stomach right now. The baby always seemed to love the compliment whenever Rúben would make it, as if she knew what he meant already, and took it literally, kicking restlessly whenever his hands laid on your stomach.

"You always know how to get her riled up."

His smile was cheeky, yet embarrassed: this was like a dream to him, something he'd only seen once and knew he had to make happen the moment he knew loved you. He's a father now, and his joy was uncontrollable-something that made the experience of carrying your baby even sweeter.

"What can I say?" Rúben shrugged, picking up the paint brush again. "She already loves her daddy."

The brush moved with a swift and gentle purpose, coating the walls as you watched him in awe.

You didn't know how he picked such a perfect color.

Of course, his newfound extensive knowledge on the most stimulating room colors for babies must've helped him a ton, but his attention to detail and all the handy work was beginning to make you feel as if you weren't doing enough now.

Granted, the forty-weeks were catching up to you, and bed rest was something your body craved nowadays, but you felt bad about Rúben doing this on his own.

Even if he didn't mind.

"Do you want me to help?"

Ruben's head cocked to the side as he sent you a knowing look, one that told you to not ask that again.

It's not that he didn't want your help, but there was no need, and as much as he tried to shout that from the rooftops, the two of you knew that you were too stubborn for your own good. Though, that wouldn't stop him from trying to get you to rest, just for a single second: you carrying his baby was enough for him, you didn't need to do anything else.

"Actually, you can help me with something." He smiled, and with one final swipe of the paint brush, he set it down before grabbing your hand. He carefully escorted you over to the rocking chair-that he built-in the corner of the room, where the rest of the decorations waited to be put to use after he finished painting, and ushered for you to sit down.

"Sit down and rest."

He laughed softly when the beaming smile on your lips fell, replaced with a scowl full of annoyance.

"I'm not gonna break from lifting up a paint brush, you know." You scoffed, plopping down on the rocking chair-a sturdy chair at that, just another thing to be in awe of Rúben and his talent. You could feel your mood changing though, and you damned your hellish pregnancy hormones, letting the tears drip down your cheeks. "Why won't you let me help you?" Your voice was meek, but the quivering of your lips and heavy breaths made your crying sound more intense than it was.

Rúben's hand fell onto your jaw, his thumb brushing over your chin, and he kneeled in front of you with a soft sigh. He made your teary eyes meet his gaze, a look that broke his heart instantaneously, and he felt like a piece of shit, despite him only wanting the best for you and the baby. Your name fell from his lips in a gentle whisper, as if he were trying to bring you right back to center.

"I'm sorry for not letting you help, meu amor," He spoke softly, tone filled with an astronomical amount of empathy and understanding that only he could ever possess. His other hand grabbed yours, intertwining them, and he held it close to his clothed chest. "I just wanted you to rest, like the doctor said. You've been so tired, and our baby girl isn't making it any easier for you... I thought me taking care of the room was going to help you relax more."

"I just feel like you've been doing all the work and I've done nothing but sit here…. and be…. be pregnant."

Your sniffling made his heart ache; he was ready to give you every single paint brush and let you work, but his desire to take care of you and carry every stressor of yours on his shoulders was stronger than he could fight. That's just who he was, and you couldn't help but love him for that.

"I'll tell you what, anjo," Rúben began to propose, and thanks to his soft grin, you suddenly felt better.

"How about you help me with this wall? And if you feel okay after, we can paint the next one together."

The gentle nod in response of yours resulted in his toothy grin, and he helped you up from the rocking chair, even walking you over to the half painted wall.

He was too courteous: coating the brush with paint, knowing that you could barely bend over now, and he handed it to you, smiling when you took it.

As your hand inched towards the wall, his eyes never left it. He was whispering gentle affirmations, soft compliments, when you would brush the paint onto the wall, just wanting to make you feel important and included. He didn't even care that you would hand him back the brush when you needed more paint—he'd be your cheerleader and get all the paint for you.

"You're gonna be an amazing dad, Ruben."

Your soft and sudden murmur made his cheeks flush, an unexpected comment that left him speechless.

That's all he wanted to be, in your eyes. He felt his heart quicken up as his lips turned up into an appreciative smile, the thought of your daughter arriving so soon, and how he'd take care of her just like how he takes care of you: him, and his heart, couldn't wait.

tag list: @lettersofgold @afterpills

[blingblong55]

The end is here...right?-Simon "Ghost" Riley

photo credit @ave661 middle pic Not edited at all!! ---- F!Reader, angst? idk, cheating ---- A/N: honestly, don't even ask me what this is, I felt the need to write this very late at night...so I'm sorry

"I love you." Oh, what a miserable way to begin the end of this love story. How did it end? How did his smiles, kisses and most importantly those eyes that shined when they looked at you end? Why must love be this evil? Soon, after this funeral you and he will walk away and be strangers once more.

One more glance, maybe one that explains why he fell out of love. Maybe it is a hopeful word for a fool like you. If only love was a joke, at least one you understood but it isn't and now you're dying in a room whilst the walls scream at your foolish heart. Can you pretend he never existed? Can you call him and have him there as he holds your lifeless heart? This book that you made wasn't one for the weak. This book was made for those who needed a reminder that they needed to leave. Was it toxic to have him love you that much and then rip it away from you just before you told him the dreams you wanted to have with him? Was it evil that you had already planned a life with him? or was it vile to have you this in love with the idea of a man who couldn't love you like you wanted?

There will be a day when he fades but today isn't that day for he tattooed his name on your heart for the next millennia to see…to whisper about when they hear the chapel weep for a love that it never got to seal. Oh, what a cruel man must Simon but to have you in bed, to kiss your body like there was no other woman for him. Wise men do say death is best when it isn't by the hand of the lover. If only he warned you about him.

His smile will forever be engraved in you just like his lips will be left with scars that once were butterflies on you. "I'm not a good man, love," he once told you and oh what a fool were you when you didn't listen. Did the weeping willow tree not warn you? "You're in terrible danger." it once said but you brushed it off.

His things are still there, his jacket on the chair like the night he came home and hugged you. Did you know it'd end with you waiting for him to come home again? He was here to destroy you and what a job he did.

Maybe someday, in an alternate universe, he hadn't left you for her. Maybe he would have stayed and completed the dreams you once had. And just perhaps you'd be religious to thank whatever is out there for him.

Tonight you curse whatever is out there.

He was never to keep, maybe he should told you that.

Does he love her like he did you? Maybe he kisses her shoulder but does he move the furniture so he can dance with her in the middle of a drunken midnight? Midnight…hm..what a time to be dead and buried with his memories on your headstone.

He was yours.

He was meant to be yours.

Will you one day confess you left the front porch light on in case he needed a guide back home?

"Forgive me, I have sinned. I committed murder, not literal murder but of my own heart," you whisper to the altar you never got to say your vows to. And maybe she'll hear his vows but you swear yours are sweeter than hers.

As the midnight falls, you aimlessly walk to the haunted chapel. The rain pours as you look at the windy sky. You sigh and maybe that should've been your last one for what is life if not with him.

You don't need much, just need him. Maybe you can sacrifice anything…for the love of all hell… sacrifice anything to get him back.

As you sit on the stairs of the chapel, you look dishevelled. There is a ring on your hand. The one he gave you one Christmas when you mentioned you liked the design of one. What a cruel idea that must've been. Your thumb runs over the designs and tears cascade down your face but it's oh so beautifully covered by the rain. "I love you, Simon. I…I fucking love you and it's killing me." you say before you break down in sobs. There's this feeling, the feeling when you cry too much your chest begs you to stop, where your head aches and your face begs to stop this pain.

You hold onto yourself, maybe this way you'll heal some of the love he took with him but it won't until you have him there.

Is it idiotic to want him back? Yes, but damn does it feel good to want him. So what if he broke your heart? Maybe no one understands this feeling. Maybe the poets were right.

You must let him go, it is killing this aching and weak heart of yours.

You do just that. The ring is left on the steps of the chapel and walk away. What an awful way to mourn the loss of his love. The rain will cover your tracks and maybe you can disappear for a little while.

Once you disappear, there is a shadow man who also mindlessly walks to the steps of the chapel. He sits down on the same steps you did. In his heart, there is a funeral that is happening. He lost something…someone. This man is bitter. There is a sour taste he leaves wherever he goes. Does he know the sour taste he left in you?

There is a story that goes around about him and you know it better than those that tell the story.

As he sits there, he looks at his hands. Did he kill his lover? Not physically…well…yes and now but he killed her heart. He is the doctor that collects hearts and he has yours in a golden jar.

As he looks down, he finds the ring he gifted you. As his eyes wander around the area, you are never to be found at least not anymore and maybe he will find you in his dreams. That's the last place you haunt with that ever-lovely smile he oh so adores.

Those who love are fools struck by Cupid.

He holds the ring and lets his thumb run through the designs he will never craft for another lover. He hums and shuts his eyes. If angels were real, they'd pity him and put him out of his misery.

There was a film about this kind of love out there and maybe you two are fools recreating it but adding real emotions into the mix.

"I love you, even if you'll be the end of me," he whispers as he sighs and lets the tears fall.

The end is here…and it wants to sweep you away but Simon clings to you. Was there another woman? No, he lied and it was a damn good lie so he'd let you live the life he can never give you. He is a bump, a major one at that, in your life and maybe one day, you'll forgive him when you sit down with the actual man of your dreams.

Love, what a stupid word.

A/N: not tagging anyone because I don't even know what this is anymore

[tomurawr44]

I have a request!!

Shiggy wins reader the giant plushie she wanted from the claw game of the arcade (he says it’s all rigged but she begs him to help her because he seems like the type to be good at these games “hey, what’s that supposed to mean?!”) and she watches his slender fingers skillfully move the controls and he wins the derpy giant plushie for her in one try.

But then she can’t stop thinking about how those fingers would feel inside of her, and wants to reward him…he’s probably the type to be into knee socks and plaid mini skirts…and she did want to thank him for the plushie…she’s going to rock this virgin’s world.

(Go wild with NSFW plz we’re all a bunch of perverts)

A/N: is it too tmi if i say i did what happened in this fic irl

Warnings: nsfw!! hand kink..finger suckling, face fucking, dangerous sex..

"So close...!" you groaned as you saw the plush fall out of the claw machine again, whining against the glass you pressed against the glass with your fingers clawing at it, sliding down before you rested against the controller. "Why even bother? all these claw machines are rigged y'know." he'd speak up, sipping on his drink while he watched you bent over the machine and crying about some ugly plushie. he was confused and thought you were stupid. as per usual.

"you don't get it! I need this thing and i need it now!" you whined like an immature brat as you stared at it, it was a derpy off brand hatsune miku plush, and it made you want to cry with frustration, with only a few coins left. you turned to him as he scoffed, his irritation only growing. "your blowing all your money on something we could get online for cheap." he stated while he looked around, you knew you looked ridiculous, you knew that you could just buy it but the experience, memories and the challenge is what makes it such a memorable piece to remember. that's why you wanted it so bad, plus, it was hatsune miku, who wouldn't want a hatsune miku plush? but he couldn't lie he found it a little funny. "besides, i could win that easy peasy, there's a bunch of tips i got from online." your eyes lit up upon hearing that, of course Tomura of all people knew how to beat a game meant for kids.

with the clack of your shoe against the floor, you gripped onto him by his shoulders with a pleading pout. "please Tomura please! i-I'll do anything i swear! I'll give you anything you want or a reward for getting me that plush!" you pointed at the derpy miku as he tried to hide the blush on his cheeks, anything he wants? a reward? life couldn't be any damn sweeter for him, and he gets to finally show off cool stuff he's saved from the internet. he pulls out his phone and looks for the tutorial video again before he places coins against the slot and the game music started beeping again.

he moved his fingers delicately, trying not to decay the machine as he fiddled with the joystick almost randomly as he rapidly tapped on the button, the way he handled the machine and the way his slender fingers moved against it made you bite your lip a little as you watched him, a dork in his natural environment. you could see his focused reflection in the glass of the machine as you snapped a quiet pic, god he's adorable. you watched him fail before he angrily put in more coins, rocking the machine a little as he handled it more roughly, mumbling curses while he tried for that miku plush again, the way he was so quick and rough made you stare a little longer than intended before you heard the victory music and the plush gently fall into the slot. a wide smile appearing on your face, he couldn't lie, it found it rather..cute.

"YES! yes! Thank you so much Tomura! i love it so much you don't even—" he stopped you with a cocky grin. he looked so nerdy doing this. "yeah, whatever. what's my reward?" you pause to think over it before you just smiled at him and locked arms. "a hug." was what you said but what really wanted to leave your lips was alot more than just a 'hug.' you could feel your underwear stick to your panties as you let out a small huff, smiling softly at him, poor boy doesn't know what's coming. he kept walking as he truly thought his reward for showing off his awesome hand-eye-coordination was just a hug. "I'll get Kurogiri to warp us home, he isn't home right now so i guess you can hangout awhile longer."

perfect.

when you arrived and stepped out of the purple fog, at the dingy bar, there was no one keeping it and it was empty as always, Tomura led you to his messy room as he plopped down on the bed and watched you cuddle the derpy miku plush. "why do you even like it so much?" he questioned while he ran his fingers against his neck while eyed you up and down with a curious look. "it's ugly, but cute, ugly cute y'know?" you giggled softly before putting it aside and crawling closer to him. "You still waiting on that reward?" you whispered as you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and brought his open hand to your breast. he immediately got the message and nodded his head reaching for his gloves before you stopped him. "no, not yet."

"what the hell do you mean 'not yet'? are you suicidal or something?" he looked at you as if you were stupid before you only giggled and brough his hands together, dropping his right one before you pressed the tips of his left fingers against your lips. "Maybe, not really thinking with my head here." you whispered before you parted your lips and licked them, watching him shiver before you began to slide his middle and pointer finger in and letting your tongue play against them. you let out a few soft moans as he watched you with eyes blown wide. his cock aching painfully against his jeans as he let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. "wh-what the hell are you doing..? i-..you know that-" He was cut off by the sound of you pulling away with a small pant, letting the pade of his fingers rest against the flat and soft surface of your tongue. "can't I appreciate these pretty hands in peace?" you chuckled. "You can't appreciate them if i dust you.."

"but you won't, right pretty boy?" is what you whispered before you slid his fingers back into your mouth, sucking on them like you would with a cock as you even pulled them barely all the way out before you swirled your tongue against the tips before sliding it all the way back in, letting drool leak down your throat as you maintained eye contact with him. he tried to reach down and undo his buttons, grabbing his dick and pulling it out as he jacked off to the sight of you doing that to him, letting out small moans and biting his dry lips while he stroked himself to the sight. "i-i fucking knew you were kinky but..this is new.." he tried to match his pace to your mouth as he felt like absolute heaven.

you pulled away just before he was about to cum, letting his fingers barely connect to your lips with a string of drool before you pulled him to stand up while you got on your knees. you saw him put on his gloves before he let his pants pool around his ankles as he shoved his needy cock into your throat. "G-gah! if this is– wh-what i get for winning...!" he groaned as he thrust into your mouth, grinding against you every now and then. "Fuck- take me to the arcade every weekend- please! let me win for you..!" he babbled as he thrust into your face, his cock sliding against your tongue as you tuned him out a long time ago and let him use you like a fleshlight. it didn't take long for him to shove himself as deep as he could down your throat before cumming, giving you no option to spit out or swallow, besides, who would be spitting him out? certainly not you. he panted as he twitched in your throat, watching you pant as he pulled away and let his saliva soaked dick rest on your face as it leaked remnants of his load onto your cheek.

"What do i get for buying you a cosplay?" he whispered as he looked down at you with a crooked smile, his cock pulsing on your face as you smiled back. this was going to be one..long and spoiled night for you. don't tell All For One why he blew his allowance on clothes that seemed so expensive, or Kurogiri for that matter.

—Ake 2024

[mint-yooxgi]

Depravity - Yandere!Wolf!Bang Chan

Yandere AU & Wolf AU - First Person POV

Genre: Mature, Smutty Themes, Internal Monologue

Pairing: Bang Chan X Implied Chubby!Fem!Reader

Words: 2,024

Warnings: Establish relationship. Predator/prey dynamics, and implications of consensual non-consent (cnc). This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: I honestly had a lot of fun writing this, so I hope you enjoy it, too! It's feral, but sweet? At least, in my opinion lol... Anyways, Feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!~

The Fourteenth of The Feral Drabbles

I can smell you.

Oh, Baby Girl, knowing you’re as excited for this as I am just makes needing to catch you all the more sweeter. The pull you have on me is even stronger than that of the moon itself, and tonight, you’re mine.

I’ll admit, when you first suggested that I chase you around the woods like this, I was a little hesitant. Surprised would be an understatement, considering I thought I was dreaming again. There was no way you were letting one of my deepest fantasies come to life. Yet, here we are.

I wouldn’t want it any other way.

The mental image alone of how your eyes lit up in excitement after I agreed to this fuels every movement I make. I need to get to you. I need to have you. There’s no escaping your fate, Baby. I’ll catch up to you, and when I do, you better be ready. After all, it was you who told me to unleash the beast.

He craves you. I have always craved you. Since the first moment I saw you, I knew that we were meant to be. I did everything in my power to ensure you only ever saw the best of me, but you’ve secretly wanted me to let loose. All this time, and I thought you were perfectly content with me being nothing but a gentleman.

Oh, how wrong I was.

You seek the thrill of the hunt, too. If only I had known sooner, I would have gladly made your heart shudder as it is now while I chase you through the foliage, creeping closer with each step. 

I can hear everything, you know. I can hear the way your breath hitches with every snap of a twig. You heart stutters each time my footsteps approach you. I can tell you’re trying to be sneaky, but there’s nothing you can do that would throw me off your trail. Your very being calls to me, and like hell am I letting you slip away.

Though, I’m not unreasonable. I even gave you a head start, just like you wanted. The goal is to end in our little cabin, deep within the darkness of the woods. No one to disturb us; I can have you all to myself. 

I plan to make you scream tonight, Baby Girl; only you, me, and the moon.

Tracking you has never been easier. I’m already attuned to your every move. I have to be. I care too much about you to not know every little detail I can about the beauty I plan to spend the rest of my life with. Our story will be timeless, as will our love. I’ll make sure of it, even if it’s the last thing I ever do. I’m never letting you go, though from the way your excited giggles fill the air, I can tell you don’t want me to, either.

With every passing moment, your scent becomes stronger. I could end this quickly, but you wanted to draw this out. Besides, I want to give us a satisfactory prelude to the night I’m about to give you. You told me not to hold back, and the longer I spend hunting you, the more that burning desire within me swirls and builds.

Fuck- I can’t wait to have you spread out beneath me, naked and trembling in ecstasy. I want to see your eyes roll, and your thighs shake. I want to hear you scream my fucking name, praising the moon for bringing us together just as it has always been fated to be. I plan to take everything from you, and give everything of me in return. I won’t stop until we’re both satisfied, Baby Girl. I’ll show you just how insatiable I can be…

I’m getting closer, I can tell. I wonder if you’ll be able to see my golden eyes cutting through the darkness. You told me not to hold back, and I don’t intend to. Of course, I promised not to chase you in my true form, that’s just unfair. There wouldn’t be a chase if I did that, and I swore I would never hurt you. Though, it would be fun to see your reaction when a large, handsome wolf comes bounding up to you, only for it to shift into me in the next second.

Perhaps next time…

Just wait until you see how strong I can be. All those times I’ve held you close, I’ve cut back on how tightly my arms would wrap around you. Now, I don’t have to. You want me to lose control. You want me to claim you, just as I’ve always desired. By the time I’m done with you, all you’ll be able to think about is the way my hands feel all over your body. Your mind will be so consumed by the pleasure of it all, the only thing you’ll be able to remember is my name. My fingers will leave marks all over your skin, igniting a fire over your body just as your touch does to mine. Tonight, as with every other night, I serve you. I will always serve you.

Fuck- just thinking about the way my fingers are going to sink into your plush skin makes me quicken my pace. I want to feel you beneath me, squirming and begging for more. I want to make your hips buck into my mouth as my tongue explores every dip and crevice of you. I already know you taste amazing, but tonight, it’ll mean that much more.

Oh, Baby… I can’t wait to feel you dripping all over me. My fingers ache to be buried in that tight little cunt of yours. My lips long to be pressed against every inch of your body. A body which brings me to my knees every single goddamn time I look at you. If only you could have heard the way I whined for you when this whole thing started. I’m desperate, Baby, and you should know that it’s all for you. All because of you, and once I’ve unleashed him, there’s no turning back.

I’m going to have you fucking begging me for more as my tongue buries itself in that precious cunt of yours. I can’t wait to taste you, and have you dripping down my chin like you usually do. I want to feel your thighs squeezing around my head as I drown in that addictive nectar that flows from between your legs. I’m gonna fucking lose myself in you, just like I always do.

Hmm, I wonder how many times I can make you squirt? Five? Six? …Seven?

No matter. I plan to lose count, anyways.

I’m almost there…

With every step I make, there’s a steady crunch of leaves beneath my feet, and I can heart your heartbeat growing louder and louder. Even you can tell I’m close, and that only makes the thrill rushing through my own veins that much stronger. Once I catch you, I’m dragging your ass back to that cabin and having my way with you. There’s no escaping the monster lurking in these woods. He belongs to you, and he always will.

Oh, you cleaver little minx…

You purposely threw me off with your scent. You left a little gift for me to find, and at the giggle I can hear drifting through the air, I can still tell you’re close. Only now, I’m not holding back. My Baby is walking around these dark, cold woods without a shirt on. I can’t let you weather the elements like that alone. What type of beast would I be if I let My Girl get cold?

Your playfulness might just be your downfall.

I’m coming for you, Baby Girl. You ain’t seen nothing, yet.

Alright, then…

Ready or not, here I come…

Every sense I have is honed in on you. Your scent, your breathing, your heartbeat. I can feel you surrounding me, and even I can tell my eyes are getting darker with each passing moment. The beast is lurking beneath the surface, just waiting to come out. I can practically taste the desire and excitement rolling off of you, and it only makes me move faster.

I need to get to you. Now.

Low growls escape me, my teeth sharpening into fangs as my claws extend. I know you can hear me using the trees to propel myself towards you, leaving my marks on them just as I’m going to leave my marks all over you.

My eyes scan the woods frantically, low snarls escaping me with every breath. I can hear you. I can smell you right in front of me, yet you’re not-

My breath hitches, and I look up, a wild grin pulling at my features as pride swells in my chest.

Clever girl.

Have I ever told you that I love it when I make your heart skip a beat? You seem to enjoy it when I grin like this, but I never thought I’d get this type of reaction from you. Perhaps I should do it more often… There truly is no greater feeling than knowing the effect I have on you.

That’s it, Baby Girl, let me hear your heart race as you attempt to climb further up the tree you’re in. It’s cute that you think you can escape me now.

It takes me no time at all to race up the tree, appearing right in front of you in the blink of an eye. The way your breath hitches is music to my ears. And that spike of arousal? Divine.

I’ve got you now.

Struggle all you want, I’m never letting you go. Though, it’s quite amusing to feel you attempt to break free from my hold, even as I jump down from the tree. I always told you that I could easily carry you if I wanted to, and getting to prove that fact now only makes this moment that much more sweeter. Your body was made for me, and mine for you. See how well we fit together?

The warmth of your skin against my shoulder only makes my own heart race that much faster. Fuck, Baby- you said anything goes, but just being able to hold your ass in my hand as I carry you towards the best fucking night of our lives is making my head spin. Always so plush and soft… 

Can’t wait to have my hands all over you… 

You’ve already made me so fucking hard from all the thoughts about what I’m going to do to you. From your intoxicating scent that surrounds me, I can already tell you’re fucking dripping, too.

Do you like the fact that I’ve been stalking you around these woods without a shirt on, letting you see all of me as I hunt you down like the precious little prey you are? Do you feel the electricity between us as your bare skin touches mine? Can you feel the way you make my own heart race, aching for you inside my chest? Everything I am, everything I do… Do you know that it’s all for you? That I’ve always been all for you?

No matter. Tonight, I’ll show you. There’s not an inch of this plush body that will go untouched by me. Lips, hands, cock, tongue… everything I am is yours tonight, Baby. You’re mine, just as I am yours.

That’s it, Baby Girl, go ahead and whimper my name like that all you want. Beg for me… It’ll only makes the beast inside that much more desperate to claim you. I’ve kept him at bay while the chase was on, but as soon as we step through that cabin door, you’ll see a whole new side of me. 

I would never hurt you, though. Even I have my limits. That being said, I’m not finished tonight until you’re either begging me to stop, or you pass out from the pleasure of it all. 

Finally, the beast is going to claim his prize.

It’s you. It will forever and always be you.

[gingermintpepper]

“Your hair’s gotten longer.” 

It’s conscious effort that keeps him from tucking the strands behind his ear, from taking the knife at his hip and shearing it all off. He keeps his stance focused, attentive, there’s little else he can do when he’s taken so completely after his mother when it comes to his hair. His father scratches his chin, the clouds of his beard snaking about his finger like mist parting for mountain-peaks. Ares’ chin is still child-smooth. He can feel the tickle of his over-long fringe against his soft jaw. There’s no heart in his chest, but still he feels as though a pulse is lodged in his throat. 

Father sighs, put-upon, disappointed, and Ares feels a slight tremor start in his calves from holding himself so tense. “Well done, Ares. Go clean yourself up and get some rest. Phoebus will want to look you over later.” 

He should be ecstatic to be praised by his father. Over-the-moon with joy. There should be pride emanating from every pore of his body, the blood on his skin should be sweeter than ambrosia. 

Instead, he bows, manages a soft ‘thank you, Father’ around the lump in his throat and immediately flees the room. A mild ‘make sure to trim your hair’ hits the back of his head like a spear through the skull. He almost wishes the great door had slammed on his foot so he would have reason to feel this horrid in his retreat.  

Phoebus Apollo is waiting for him in his infirmary. 

He’s gilded as ever, gold from crown to heel. Perfect like the statues they carve of him in his temples. He has a smile for Ares when he sees him, a crinkle at the edges of his pretty eyes from the weight of his joy. Ares is waiting to see the crack in the marble, to see if that’s the chip that’ll reveal his fangs.

“Brother,” he greets, and his voice is warm - like the arms that embrace him, his voice is so warm, “Welcome back. I’ve heard you’ve done well.”  

There’s a tremble in Ares’ fingers he hadn’t noticed before. Strain from carrying his sword for so many days, a throb from wounds he hadn’t noticed he’d accrued. “Heard? There’s already gossip?” 

Phoebus blinks, disarming, demure, coquettish, “But of course,” and Phoebus’ voice is honey to Ares’ gravel, the juxtaposition is grating on his skin, “It’s Olympus. The gossip began long before you set your course.” Those warm hands lead him further into the room, bodily sits him on the chaise, pulls his helmet from his head. It’s all one, unbroken motion, “It’s summer alas, so I could not watch your war myself, but I hear it was quite the decisive victory.” 

A thousand thoughts run on horseback through his mind then. 

Did Father overhear some terrible slander that pre-emptively disappointed him? Was Ares’ victory merely a rumour, a bet his father hadn’t bothered to take? Was the gossip more enticing than the stark truth? That Ares wasn’t some child toddling about in the shadow of his sister, that his sword and spear weren’t merely for show - he’d think such a thing would warrant celebration. Not -

“Oh my,” Phoebus is in front of him, pleasant warmth more sticky heat with how close he’s pressed himself into Ares’ space. From this angle, Ares can see the multi-coloured flecks of his eyes, like shards of golden glass suspended in ichor. From this angle, with his hand so gently holding his hair, were Ares to blink too hard, he’d swear Phoebus looked just like his mother. “Your hair’s grown long again.” 

He pushes Phoebus off with such force that he bangs into the wall. It’s Phoebus, it won’t make even the impression of a scratch on him, but Ares wishes it would. Wishes he’d hit his shoulder or crack his neck or hit his head just hard enough for all that perfect, gilded gold to bleed. 

“I’m only here for you to heal me,” the tremble in his hand extends to his shoulder now. He flexes and unflexes his palm. Gods what he would give to just have a sword - “Don’t waste time with the pleasant-work.” 

Phoebus huffs, adjusts the fit of his himation, “...Only because we’re meant to be celebrating your victory.” He crosses the room in two great strides, his hair a swirling tempest behind him as he gathers his poultices and wraps. “The only reason I’ll not throw you from the window is because we are meant to be celebrating your victory.”  

There’s not enough acid in his tone for this to truly be a fight. Ares’ jaw clenches, he bites out a terse, “How benevolent.” 

“Aren’t I?” He’s got nectar and his sutures in hand, that focused look falling upon his face when he switches from overbearing busybody to Paeon of the Gods. “Now strip unfaltering Ares, let us see the measure of damage done to your indomitable flesh.” 

(Somewhere between the fifth set of stitches and the gentle frown that crosses Phoebus’ face when he notices the persistent tremble in his fingers, Ares pins his eyes to the far wall and asks, “What does it mean when Father says ‘well done’?” 

Any other sibling would mock before they gave a true response. Any other sibling would laugh and dismiss it, would say that praise is praise and any lingering ill feeling is just the worst of the war still fogging his mind. Phoebus does not answer immediately. He doesn’t make a single sound. The question settles like fetid water between them, unignorable, the scent right there on the tip of the tongue yet firmly unacknowledged. Ares closes his eyes and tries again to settle his squirming so he does not interfere with Phoebus’ work.  The metallic snip of scissors cutting thread breaks the silence. Phoebus bids him to sit up and slides his warm palms up his back until his fingers tangle gently in the ends of his hair. He twists the dark red strands until he’s gathered it all into a neat handful, holding it loosely as he switches his scissors for his shearing blade. “You should know it was not praise,” Phoebus says softly. The first of Ares cut hairs fall like viscera from his head. Phoebus treats each cutting with the sacredness of a blood-sacrifice. If he focused on the moment of tension right before the blade cuts though, Ares thinks he can imagine the agony of his sister’s sacred birth. “It is acknowledgement. Father thinks you’ve done well so he says ‘well done’.”

Gently, Phoebus releases him. Ruffles his head so all the extra hairs fall like red rain to the floor. Ares runs his fingers through the ends now curling against his ear. “Has he ever told you ‘well done’?” 

A laugh, warm and gilded, “No, and it would not make you feel better if he had.” 

Ares swallows down a thousand different questions. Phoebus wouldn’t answer them, he’s infuriating like that. Instead, he clenches his teeth, the phantom of Father’s dizzying tangle of grey cloud-hairs persistent in the corner of his eyes. “Cut it shorter.”

Phoebus doesn’t protest. He never seems to say a word when it really matters.)

[imfoive]

Crystal Bird - Chapter 8

Crown Prince! Chan x Princess (fem.) Genre: Royal au! Angst, Romance, Historical, hidden identity, slow-burn Warnings: mentions of war, assassination, animal hunting/cruelty, disease, death, somewhat proofread WC: 6.3k A/N: god I loved writing this chapter!! I’m so excited for the next one! Feedback, Reblogs, Likes are greatly appreciated! Happy reading! ── MASTERLIST

Synopsis: The Crown Prince is saved by the Princess of a rival kingdom, and he swears his second life to his savior. A forbidden friendship no one knew of, grows deeper with every secret meeting. As the two are kept apart, memories of their sunset playdates by the serene river, begin blossoming into something beautiful. Cheeks blushed, stomach butterflies fluttered at the thought of each other. Years of yearning and imagining had only made them crave a sweeter reunion. And finally meeting at a Royal banquet, he could only stare at the now grown Princess, taken by her beauty, while she only watches as he gives his heart to the wrong princess.

Missed a chapter? - Prologue / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7

CHAPTER 8 ───────────────────

The sound of horses trotting echoed through the Grand Forest, the terrain suddenly foreign yet familiar to Chris who had visited briefly on his first day in Elysium. Tell-tale signs of his carvings that he had marked the trees with, still vaguely visible against the wood, but this time, he felt out of place. 

Surrounded by haughty noble lords who laughed among themselves, he spotted Prince Ian ahead, engrossed in conversation with his friends. The foreign princes remained silent on their horses, observing and waiting at the rear end of the group.

Glancing at Hyunjin, Chris noted the way the Sylvancrest Prince took in the foreign greenery, clearly amazed. It seemed he had reverted to his polite, naive demeanor, as if their tense game of chess had never occurred. Hyunjin caught Chris’ gaze, his lips curving into a smile that irritated the Nightshade Prince, prompting him to quickly look away.

Their guards, Han and Seungmin, lingered several yards back among the Elysium Knights accompanying their hunting party, their attention fixed on their respective princes.

Han felt uneasy, acutely aware that Minho was somewhere in the forest, perhaps in the midst of completing his own mission. Chris’ earlier remark about the possibility of an ambush, even if meant as a joke, lingered in his mind, an unsettling thought that something dangerous could unfold hadn’t left his mind.

The warrior guard would have taken a deep breath to rid him of his anxious thoughts. He would have convinced himself that nothing unusual would happen that afternoon. But a sudden stench of blood filled his nose. A distant, but lingering smell that made him stare straight ahead to his Prince’s form, aware that Prince Christopher had probably picked up on it as well.

The Nightshade Prince’s eyes narrowed, his sharp gaze suddenly scanning the lush greenery around them, instantly guarded as he caught a whiff.

The metallic stench of blood hung faintly in the air, a looming scent that only the Nightshade Warriors seemed to detect, it seemed. Hyunjin remained absorbed in the foliage, while Ian and his entourage appeared completely unbothered, laughing and chatting as if nothing was amiss. 

   “Are you ready princes?” One of the young lords exclaimed as the group gathered, their horses forming a circle. 

They began discussing what was to come.

The rules were straightforward. The more kills, the more points. Bigger kills earned double points, and the winner would receive a thousand gold coins.

   “Last year, Prince Ian got a moose!” Another young noble had exclaimed, impressed anew as he recalled the memory.

Chris and Hyunjin exchanged glances as they watched Ian try to downplay his achievement. Yet the grin on his face and the smug expression betrayed his pride.

   “Knowing Prince Hyunjin’s nature from the brief time I’ve had to observe him, it’s safe to say he isn’t particularly skilled with a bow. Isn’t that right, Prince Hyunjin?” Ian almost snickered, turning to the Sylvancrest prince. 

Hyunjin maintained his calm demeanor, his lips thinning into a smile.

   “Maybe. I’m not very competitive so your observation might be accurate indeed.” Hyunjin replied, his words dripping with politeness. 

The other young nobles erupted in “Ohhh’s,” clearly amused by his calm retort.

All this was pre-game banter. Jabs that were meant to rile everyone up, to make them unleash their rage through hunting.

Ian’s laughter gradually faded as he turned his attention to the Nightshade Prince. Chris, focused on identifying the source of the lingering stench of blood, didn’t have any particular interest in this small talk, let alone have anything to snicker about.

   “I’m very intrigued to see what kind of game our ferocious warrior prince will bring us.” Ian taunted next, locking eyes with Prince Christopher. 

Chris sat upright, his expression impassive, though he raised an eyebrow in response.

   “I fought a bear once, back in Nightshade. Who knows what creatures I might encounter here on your Elysium soil?” He delivered the words with a laugh, but Ian’s gaze sharpened, sensing the subtle slight in Chris’ tone. 

With a final muttering of, “We’ll see,” from Prince Ian, an Elysium guard, who was the referee for this god-awful hunting sport, approached them. The game had officially begun. Each participant slung a pouch of arrows across their back, gripping their bows tightly in hand.��

At the sound of a horn, the noble and royal men dispersed, the atmosphere shifting from playful banter to a sudden seriousness. The competitiveness that had previously masked itself as a leisurely excursion, now surged to the forefront, each hunter focused on claiming victory in the hunt.

They were all prideful, a common personality trait amongst Elysium society it seemed.

Of course Chris couldn’t fall behind, glancing back at his personal guard, who sat stiffly in the distance, before nodding and urging his horse to pick up its pace.

As Prince Christopher disappeared into the greenery of tall trees, Han turned to Seungmin, who remained silent, his narrowed gaze fixed on the direction where his own prince had galloped off in. 

   “Aren’t you worried.” Han found himself asking, the earlier talk of ambushes and poison creeping into his thoughts, the lingering stench of blood still sharp in his nose.

Seungmin shot him a brief glance before returning his focus to the dense greenery of the forest. 

   “My prince is quite capable.” His words were curt, almost mumbled, but just loud enough for Han to catch, suddenly making him realize it was the first time he had heard Seungmin speak.

Han blinked, looking around at the Elysium knights, especially Ian’s head knight, who lingered at the edge of the forest marking the starting line. It was clear they took this game seriously. Even the guards were not allowed to intrude, as if there were no threats in these woods. But for Ian and his noble friends, who could barely handle a bow, it seemed safe. For the foreign princes, however, even the snap of a twig could pose a threat in this unfamiliar territory of the Grand Forest.

Deeper into the forest, there was a stillness, a quiet calm that enveloped the Warrior Prince, eyes wandering around at every rustle of bushes, of leaves underneath the gallop of horses.

   “Why are you following me?” Chris muttered, turning to spare a glance at Prince Hyunjin trailing behind.

The Sylvancrest Prince broke into a smile, speeding up to ride alongside him. 

   “I’m not very good at hunting animals.” He confessed, looking around.

Chris couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle at his honest words, surprised that this man was the same one that played chess with him earlier that day. He had been slightly competitive back then, slightly something else. With a look in his eyes that was not present now. Instead looking at the Warrior Prince with a friendly, playful gaze.

   “I don’t think anyone here is as good at hunting as they claim to be.” Chris replied, exhaling in slight frustration as he recalled lord what’s-his-face asking which hand to pull the arrow with.

This time the Sylvancrest Prince laughed lightly, his eyes still wide with wonder at the lush foliage of the Grand Forest. 

   “Then maybe I’ll have a chance to easily catch a moose myself.”  He mused, still fascinated by a scenery he wouldn’t find back in Sylvancrest.

Chris didn’t respond, his attention focused on the trail ahead. He studied the path, still trying to pinpoint the source of the distant blood scent. His senses heightened, he remained alert, ready to fight if the situation demanded it.

   “Prince Ian seemed to be quite skilled, though. At least skilled enough to graze the second princess with his arrow.” Hyunjin said casually, but it was enough to make Chris pull the reins of his horse to a halt.

   “She seemed fine earlier. Did she have any complaints?—Is she in pain?” The Nightshade Prince’s words were laced with concern, his gaze betraying a hint of worry.

Hyunjin blinked, surprised by Chris’ reaction, before his brows relaxed. 

   “She didn’t mention any pain. I was just recalling her unusual behavior from last night.” He replied, referring to her stumbling in the dining hall corridors from the injured shoulder.

Except recalling last night, all Chris could think about was the chill of the night air as he snuck into her chambers. Her wide eyes filled with shock. Her lips trembling under his touch. 

Suddenly anger bubbled up inside him all over again, darkening his expression.

Hyunjin noticed the change, his eyes widening in confusion anew. 

   “Did something I say make you uncomfortable?” His voice cut through Chris’ thoughts, causing the Nightshade Prince to tighten his grip on the reins as he glanced at him.

Then there was this Eastern Sea prince, this man who was becoming increasingly annoying. His riddle-like conversations and air-headed demeanor, which Chris suspected was feigned, his constant hovering around the second princess, all began to grate on his nerves.

   “Focus on the game. I’m going to find my moose.” Chris muttered, a dark glint flashed in his eyes. 

With a spirited “yip!” Chris spurred his horse into a swift gallop, leaving the Sylvancrest prince behind, who watched the Nightshade Prince’s figure disappear into the greenery, a mix of suspicion and curiosity lingering in his expression.

Yet, only a few minutes later, Chris began to falter, his horse slowing to a stop. He sniffed the air, his narrowed gaze scanning the surroundings as the scent of blood grew stronger. It seemed he was getting closer to whatever had been slain, the heavy stench hitting him with increasing intensity.

Finally, as he approached a suspicious heap, his eyes took in the sight of the dead animal underneath the tall weeds and grass. 

The slain moose lie lifeless on the cold forest ground in a pool of its own blood. Multiple arrows were lodged in the body that Chris’ eyes flitted over, catching sight of the bright purple ribbons tied to their tails. The vibrant color stood out starkly against the greenery. Arrows that belonged to Prince Ian, marking his claim on the kill. 

Except Ian hadn’t shot a single arrow, let alone killed anything. 

He had been too busy gloating and boasting to his friends. How could he claim this kill when the hunt had just begun? Unless he had the skills of an archery master, or this moose had simply been waiting for him to arrive and take its life. Both scenarios were so ridiculous, Chris could laugh.

It was a clear conclusion to come to, a guess anyone could make in such a situation.

This moose was killed beforehand, to stage a grand win for the crown prince, who not only sucked at archery, but was perhaps one of the biggest losers Chris had met. 

Maybe he should laugh out loud.

But of course, he didn’t laugh. The approaching sound of hoofbeats forced him to hide, moving out of sight.

It was Prince Ian, the star of this show. He had entered the stage, knowing exactly where he should stand, where he would find the animal he supposedly killed. 

The Elysium Crown Prince dismounted, hands on his hips, staring down at the slain creature. He crouched to count his arrows, making a disgusted face as he did so, his chuckles echoing in the stillness of the forest before he stood. The sound made Chris’ expression harden, anger rising as he watched Ian gloat over the dead animal. Staring at Ian looking down at this dead animal. 

He suddenly recalled how Ian looked down at everyone he deemed beneath him, 

How he looked down on Y/N, his smug smile, villainous as he struck her with that arrow.  

Chris watched, his gaze intent. That of a ferocious beast.

A predator locking onto his prey.

A Nightshade Warrior staring at his moose.

Prince Christopher’s hands had moved on their own, as if he had no control over them. One hand gripped the bow, while the other pulled an arrow taut. And with a single exhale he let go, the arrow instantly released into the air, slicing the silence of the forest before the sharp thud of its impact resonated through the trees.

Prince Ian froze, his eyes widening as he stared at the arrow that had pierced the tree in front of him, just inches from where he stood. Staring at the arrow that shook to a still, the phantom sensation of its swift passage by his ear, still lingered on him. As he exhaled, his breath trembled, fear etched on his face as he grasped just how narrowly he had escaped a deadly strike.

Then his eyes darted to the ribbon tied on the end. The bright red color that had been assigned to the Nightshade Prince was vibrant against the tree. The sound of hooves approached, pulling him from his thoughts. His legs trembled slightly from the near-death experience as he turned to face Prince Christopher, looking up to his figure mounted on his dark horse. Chris still held his bow, staring down with a unreadable intensity at the stunned Elysium Prince. A slight smirk tugged at his lips, but he quickly lowered his head to mask his amusement.

The Warrior Prince finally let out a loud “tsk”, looking back up.

   “You are such a skilled archer indeed, Prince Ian. Striking that moose before I could even nock my arrow.” Chris’ lies flowed effortlessly through his lips as he gazed down at the shaken prince.

Except his made-up scenario only made Ian stiffen further, the color draining from his face. Before he could utter a response, before he could even accuse the foreign prince of anything, the group of the other lords approached, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief as they took in the scene they stumbled upon.

The fallen moose. The countless arrows that stuck out of it. The single arrow lodged in the tree just behind their crown prince.

Their eyes flickered around, settling on the Nightshade Prince who was still mounted on his horse, awaiting for answers. Answers that easily left Chris’ lips, upturned into a gentle smile now.

   “Prince Ian’s aim is far superior to mine. How did he manage to hit this large fellow while my shot barely missed?” He glanced at the arrow embedded in the tree, an action mirrored by the young nobles.

Ian opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. Instead, he felt the weight of their stares, their cheers and praises echoing in his ears.

He remained silent. Acknowledging this made up scenario, perhaps even an act of an assassination that had been attempted. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to speak out against it. 

His pride was too large. So, he thinned his lips into a smile, masking the turmoil within.

──────────────────────── 

Y/N stared at Anna, who had just returned from running errands in town. Areas which Y/N would have snuck out herself to find solace from the suffocating environment of the palace grounds, but couldn’t due to the personal knight that seemed to not leave her tail. Especially since her mother learned of the arrow incident, berating her knight for leaving her alone after the royal dinner the previous evening.

The older woman had entered her chambers with a fury unsurprising, yet she didn’t know if she should scold her daughter for being an idiotic fool for her bold actions the previous afternoon. Or if she should glance over her wound to ensure that she was alright.

Perhaps Lady Katherine’s motherly instincts had kicked in.

Or maybe it was the fear of losing her ticket to a golden life that kept her anger at bay.

Instead of reprimanding Y/N, she insisted her daughter stay confined to her chambers.

With Sienna summoned to the Queen’s court and no tasks to occupy the second princess, it was an easy arrangement. It was for her own apparent good, for her chance to recover. The mother had claimed, despite Y/N’s protests, that she felt fine, thanks to the Nightshade medicine tucked in the drawers of her dresser.

But alas, she was not allowed out unless summoned. Now, Y/N sat with a new concern as she observed her personal maid. Her mind had been clouded with Sienna’s sad gaze and the words exchanged during their earlier walk, but Anna’s entrance shifted her focus. The girl’s usual cheerful demeanor had darkened, replaced by a solemn expression, as if something weighed heavily on her mind. Y/N couldn’t help but wonder what had happened in town, given that Anna had been bubbly right until she left.

   “What bad news has come to you?” Y/N asked, her thoughts slipping out easily between them.

Anna, busy unwrapping various items she’d brought from town, blinked rapidly at her princess’s words before furrowing her brows. She glanced toward the grand bedroom doors, where Y/N’s personal knight stood watch.

   “You know you can speak freely in the privacy of my chambers. Worry not.” Y/N reassured her, easily reading the maid’s doubt.

Anna sighed, shaking her head as she settled into the open chair. 

   “It’s the usual. The townspeople are quite upset with the royal family for not addressing the ongoing Fading Ill sickness spreading in the slums. They’re afraid it might reach them and have been trying to urge the King’s court to take action.” Her mood had visibly soured from the whispers and murmurs she’d heard from merchants and shopkeepers.

Y/N fell into her own deep thoughts, recalling the illness Anna had mentioned. 

Fading Ill. 

The Second Princess had first heard about it in Melgarde, when she had snuck out of the estate and into the town square. There, people had openly discussed the sickness that seemed to emerge from nowhere. They blamed the harsh winters, the slum dwellers. The poor, who couldn’t care for themselves, spread the disease. After returning to the capital, she had stumbled upon the kitchen maids gossiping about the sickness and the royal court’s apathy, too preoccupied with preparations for celebrations while their citizens suffered.

Y/N pondered whether there was a way for her to help. She had even tried to gather information about the Fading Ill, but nothing useful had surfaced. Eventually, her responsibilities caught up with her, and the whispers of the sickness began to dwindle down as well.

She had assumed her father had taken action, but now, hearing Anna’s recounting of the news, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt. Burdened by the weight of this situation. Responsibilities that weren’t hers to address, to solve.

   “My lady, it’s time for you to apply your medicine.” Anna said with a final sigh, as if resolving to let go of the troubling news from town.

Y/N nodded and as she began to undress, her eyes suddenly lit up. An idea making her stare with wide eyes of enthusiasm at Anna. The young girl who had already understood what that look meant, was quick to settle her back into her seat.

   “Let us apply this salve first. Else you will dash out and forget about your own wounds.” She pointed, rushed fingers already undoing the ties of Y/N’s dress before the princess decided it could wait.

The Second Princess begrudgingly agreed, allowing for the young maid to tend to her.

Her eyes started in fascination, peering down to look at her healing wound as best as she could. It truly felt like magic. The wounded area was no longer tender, now dry, and the skin looked significantly improved from what she remembered that morning. The Nightshade were indeed masters of the healing arts.

The Nightshade Kingdom held the exact solution this ambitious second princess had been searching for.

──────────────────────── 

Ian had been seething. In anger, in embarrassment, that coursed through him. The smug expression of that Nightshade Prince flashed before his eyes, a reminder of his humiliation in the forest. After downing an entire bottle of liquor, the intense rage still simmered within him, refusing to ease. He had stumbled into the royal library, unsure how he had even arrived there, but it was silent and dark, allowing him to stew in his fury.

The hour was late, and Ian struggled to recall what had transpired after winning the hunting game. An achievement that should have filled him with elation and pride. Instead, all he could think about was Prince Christopher. His lies, the arrow that had grazed past him, and the mockery hidden in that smirk. The victory felt hollow, overshadowed by the humiliation he couldn’t shake off.

The library doors creaked open, a sliver of light spilling in from the brightly-lit corridors outside, before the darkness reclaimed the space as the doors closed.

   “I knew I would find you holed up here.” The Queen’s voice pierced through Ian’s inner turmoil, her commanding tone shattering the stillness of the dimly lit library.

   “No one besides that stupid bastard-girl frequents this place.” He muttered, taking another swig from his bottle of liquor.

The Queen Mother inhaled sharply, her eyes darting around the seemingly empty library. His words were true. This wing of the royal library was primarily visited by the second princess and the occasional curious guest. Yet it was here that her son sought refuge in the late hours every now and then, drawn to the lightly guarded doors that allowed him to drink himself into a mess.

   “What is bothering you so that you’re drinking here like a fool?” The Queen’s words were curt, her narrowed eyes fixed on her son with a mix of annoyance and concern.

A bolt of thunder crashed outside, illuminating the library for a brief moment through the grand floor-to ceiling windows. The tumultuous weather seemed to mirror Ian’s emotions that had been bubbling within him all evening.

   “That Nightshade Prince.” He spat, his words dripping with venom.

It was clear something had happened. The Queen Mother had heard that Prince Ian had won today’s hunt, but his current state made it evident that the victory meant little to him.

   “He thinks he’s all high and mighty for being a warrior. And those stupid nobles look at him with admiration that they try to mask in my presence. I just know it.” The Crown Prince spat, taking another swig from his bottle.

The Queen only observed him, the sound of rain pattering against the windows echoed loudly in the tense atmosphere of the library.

It seemed that Prince Ian was feeling insecure, that much she could tell. 

But Ian’s thoughts drifted back to this afternoon in the Grand Forest. While he had to stage a win, the Warrior Prince had effortlessly shot an arrow at him. 

Missing him on purpose. 

Something he couldn’t even voice out loud from embarrassment. It made him even angrier. 

   “They supposedly hold disdain for him and his kind, yet behind my back, I’m sure they compare us. What comparison is there to make with a barbarian?” Ian’s eyes shot up to meet his mother’s grim expression.

   “Who dares to compare?” The Queen’s tone had hardened, yet there was no answer to the question he had asked.

Perhaps she thought her son was indeed less than the Nightshade Prince, true in many ways.

It wouldn’t be surprising.

The Warrior Prince was the perfect example of a future ruler. He spoke when it mattered, fit into any situation, and had sharp observational skills. His impressive defense mechanisms only highlighted what the Elysium Prince lacked.

Ian scoffed at her counter question, at her lack of an answer, dropping his gaze to the wood of the table he was slumped over. His expression darkened as he slowly glanced back up to meet the Queen Mother’s gaze.

   “Mother, when do we get rid of him.”

The Queen inhaled deeply, glancing around the room once again, before settling her gaze on her hunched over son. 

   “Soon. You need not worry. Focus on your upcoming marriage.” Her reply was cold, cutting through the heavy atmosphere.

Another jolt of thunder and lightning ricocheted through the room.

In the shadows at the back of the seemingly empty library, behind the large bookcases, Princess Y/N stood frozen, hands pressed against her lips to muffle any sound. Her downcast eyes widened as she stared at the tiles that glimmered under the flashes of thunder. Her face drained of color, mind reeling as whatever she overheard sank in.

The Second Princess had always been an expert at slipping away, and had done just that earlier in the evening.

Anna had warned her it wasn’t a good idea, that she should listen to her mother this one time and settle in for the night to allow her shoulder to recover. But, of course, the steadfast princess had decided she wanted to do some research. Perhaps she could uncover details about the Fading Ill sickness in the Nightshade texts housed in the royal library. Though the collection was limited, Y/N knew exactly where to find them, recalling the few times she had pulled them from the shelves.

Anna had sighed but reluctantly agreed to help with the escapade. She too had been worried about the spreading disease, especially after what she had heard out in town. Except they wondered how she would sneak out.

But it turned out to be an easy task.

The young maid peered out into the hall and caught a glimpse of the young knight standing rigid at his post. Upon closer inspection, she realized he had fallen asleep.

It made sense.

Ever since he was assigned to guard the second princess, who had no real threats posed against her, he had stood alone all night, often dozing off while keeping watch over a forgotten princess. Every night he had stood guarding against nothing. And he had quickly became comfortable. He had even perfected the art of sleeping on duty, appearing to stand guard.

If Anna had caught him any other time, she would have berated him for daring to look away from the princess. But tonight, she could only roll her eyes, feeling slightly grateful that he felt safe enough to neglect his duties and fall asleep.

That was how Y/N found herself sneaking into the library, a single handheld candlestick in her grip, glancing back every once and then as she cut through the rose garden to arrive without being seen. The library was easy to access, the palace knights stationed in this wing, mostly lingered by the King’s study, briefly passing by the part of the library only Y/N frequented. It was why she enjoyed coming here, able to scour books for hours without disturbance.

Once behind the large bookcases at the back, she began raking through the titles on the shelves, pulling out a few that might be helpful, settling on the ground as she flipped pages.

The loud creak of the library doors jolted her from her studious trance. She quickly scurried to her feet, instinctively blowing out the candle that provided her light. Pressing her back against the bookshelf, she held her breath, grateful for the shadows that concealed her.

Prince Ian’s voice broke the silence, laced with curses, followed by the sounds of chairs and stools being knocked about before he settled atop a table. The hidden princess strained to catch his mutterings, but couldn’t quite grasp them, only hearing more curses and the sloshing of liquor in a bottle.

She expected to remain hidden for as long as Ian lamented whatever had driven him to drink, to come in here. She planned to sneak out once he finished his cursing, either leaving swiftly after him or after he drank himself to sleep.

But she didn’t expect to overhear such vile plans. The words made her heart hammer against her chest, her throat going dry.

The thunder continued to roar in the night sky, its echo jolting the hidden princess out of her trance.

Now there she stood, concealed, processing everything she had overheard in that brief moment between Prince Ian and the Queen Mother. The implied words that made her heart race and her breath quicken.

There were some more murmurs and words exchanged between the Queen and the Crown Prince, but Y/N was too preoccupied with her own worries. The fear of getting caught and the weight of their insinuations clouded her mind.

   “You shall endure it, and entertain him for just a little longer.” The Queen’s final words came out with authority, words her son begrudgingly accepted.

Y/N stiffened as she heard more loud shuffling, her head shooting toward the edge of the bookcase to peek out of the shadows. She caught a glimpse of Prince Ian’s back as he followed the Queen Mother out, before the library doors closed with an echoing thud.

The silence that followed was eerie. Y/N found that she had been holding her breath and finally exhaled, leaning against the large bookcase to steady herself. Her heart raced, her ears rang from the tension, and tears welled in her eyes.

What did he mean by “get rid of him?” 

His tone, his words, replayed in her mind.

Her thoughts darted back and forth, trying to decipher Ian’s vague words.

Surely he meant to send the Warrior Prince back, to rid Elysium of his presence and urge him to return to Nightshade.

Princess Y/N’s heart tried to comfort her. But her mind, the sharper part of her, the part that was always thinking, always curious, understood the implications of that conversation between the two royals.

Get rid of him.

Breach the peace agreement. Perhaps start a war.

Assassinate the Nightshade Crown Prince.

Kill her Chan.

Y/N’s hands flew to her mouth again as the realization hit her, her heart pounding in the heavy silence. She held back a sob, gripping her dress for support as she leaned against the bookcase. Her eyes darted toward the large doors that had just closed, emerging slowly from the darkness. She was trying to figure out what to do with the shocking information she had uncovered.

She had come to the library seeking a solution to a different problem, but now her mind reeled with the new mess she found herself in. The justice-driven princess couldn’t allow the Elysium royals to assassinate Prince Christopher simply because Ian felt inferior.

Teary-eyed, she glanced around the now eerie library before her gaze settled outside, watching the rain pour against the glass. Each flash of lightning illuminated the darkened room.

Y/N inhaled deeply, bracing herself. She had made her decision.

She could let them kill the man she loved.

But she didn’t know what to do. Her mind raced, her heart pounded. Anxiety gripped her as she hurried out of the library, glancing over her shoulder in the now-darkened corridors.

The Second Princess inhaled, backtracking to hide behind a column, catching sight of a flickering fire ahead. It was a patrol guard, making his rounds of this area before he headed back to the second floor where the King’s study was. Sure there was no reason for her to hide, she was a Princess and he was a guard on duty. Yet what frightened her the most was the whispers of her presence here tonight reaching the Queen’s ears. Putting her in the library, the place where the royals had discussed about the Nightshade Prince openly.

Princess Y/N had never stayed out this late. She had never let herself become so engrossed in her books that she lost track of time. Especially on a night like this, with rain pattering loudly against the windows.

She gulped, waiting for the guard’s footsteps to fade into silence. When the corridor was quiet again, illuminated only by a few flickering wall sconces, she moved cautiously forward.

Perhaps she should have listened to Anna, or even her mother, as the young maid had urged her to do. It was a part of her nature that often led her into trouble. Yet as she stepped into the outdoor corridors, the heavy rain drumming in her ears, she convinced herself eavesdropping had been worth it.

The shortcut through the garden was treacherous, especially on dreary nights like tonight. The rain-soaked mud squelched beneath her feet as she navigated through the dark foliage. The shadows seemed to envelop her, the storm masking the sounds of her hasty movements.

The Second Princess thought she was safe, hidden from the patrol guards off the main path. But then, a sudden presence loomed behind her. A masked man pressed against her, one hand covering her mouth to stifle her scream, the other gripping her waist, pulling her close.

Y/N’s wide, fearful eyes locked onto his. Even in the darkness, in this unforgiving downpour, she recognized that piercing gaze.

Chan’s gaze bore into hers.

Eyes darting over her before narrowing, as he took a quick glance in the direction she emerged from, to ensure no one was on her trail. He pulled down the fabric that masked the lower half of his face.

   “Princess…” His voice carried a hint of frustration, mixed with an emotion she couldn’t quite place.

Realizing he still had her pressed against him, his hand resting on her back, he instinctively recoiled. Yet his eyes that held those unknown emotions stared down at her with a new intensity.

Y/N took in the sight of him, standing in the rain amidst the maze of tall bushes and shrubbery. Her eye raked over his all-black attire, the mask concealing his identity, soaked from head to toe. Suggesting he was out in the night with questionable intentions.

An enemy princess would have summoned the palace knights.

A capable princess would have accused him of treachery, questioning the Foreign Prince’s suspicious presence here, his motives.

A competent princess wouldn’t have been sneaking around in the first place.

Instead, Y/N’s face contorted, and she finally let out her cries that she tried her best to push back as she looked at him.

Looked at her childhood friend, the man she was enamored with.

The man whose life was in danger, a target of vile plans.

Chris’ eyes widened at her expression, at the tears streaming down her cheeks amidst her sobs. He watched as she pressed her hands over her eyes, shielding them from the rain. Confusion flickered in him for a moment, reaching out but instantly faltering. Her shivering form, her cries were enough to urge him to reach out, gripping her arms tightly.

   “Are you hurt? Did someone do something? Princess Y/N, tell me what happened!” He sounded frantic, eyes raking over her to ensure she wasn’t hurt, raking over her shoulder to check if the injury there left her in pain.

The Second Princess grasped the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer into a hug that left the Warrior Prince stunned. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, and amidst the sound of rain pouring all around them, he was certain she could hear it too.

But it wasn’t just her hug that made his heart clench, it was the sight of her crying in his arms that filled him with a sudden sense of helplessness.

Chris pulled back slightly, enough to gaze down at her tear-streaked face, drenched by both rain and sorrow. His hands cupped her jaw, his touch gentle and tender. Like the soft touches from the night before, when he had brushed his fingers against her wounded flesh.

The Warrior Prince didn’t question his actions, gazing down at Y/N with the gentlest expression he had ever worn. A twinge of desperation stirred within him as he tried to figure out what had driven her to run through the rain in this dark, like a wild thing, now crying in his arms.

Y/N locked her eyes onto his, letting them drift over his features. His furrowed brows, his parted lips. Slowly, her expression softened as she took in his warmth. She calmed, breaking free from the anxious thoughts that had plagued her, all thanks to his presence and the comfort of his touch. His grip was both gentle and firm, her eyes raking over at the raindrops clinging to the ends of his hair, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

   “You must leave Prince Christopher.” Her whispered words were enough to break his worrisome silence, eyebrows relaxing as he took in the sight of her hardened expression staring up at him.

Here stood the Second Princess of Elysium, the steadfast and stubborn princess who always managed to irk him. The vulnerable girl he had glimpsed was gone.

And here she was telling him to leave, yet her hands gripped tightly at his shirt. Clinging to him, pulling him closer.

Prince Christopher felt something snap. Something not in the world around them, but rather something within himself, had finally come undone.

His fingers, still cradling her jaw, drew her face nearer, diving in to meet her in the middle. His lips finally pressing against hers.

It was a kiss that felt achingly real.

A kiss that Y/N found herself falling into with ease, her hands tugging at him with a hint of desperation, yearning to kiss him deeper, to pull him closer, flush against her.

Chris felt himself drowning in her as well. Her arms, her lips, the kiss that left him breathless. The Warrior Prince pulled back just enough to glance over her closed eyes, gaze scouring over her serene expression. Her lips let out a shaky breath and the enemy prince found himself leaning in for a second kiss.

The thunder roared loudly in the dark sky. Yet, even such a loud sound was not enough to bring them back to reality.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ to be continued.

── ask to be tagged! - @stayceebs97, @palindrome969, @tsunderelino, @solzale, @fixation-dump, @ellelabelle, @gaslasyttune, @qwonyoung23, @minh0scat, @candyquokka, @sellomaybe, @kat-unzel, @gujter, @aeri-skzver, @hefflez8

[drabblesandimagines]

Pinned

Leon Kennedy x reader, established relationship, fluffy

“Leon,” you huff. It feels all the air had been knocked out of you from when he tackled you down to the mat for the umpteenth time. He has your hips trapped flush to the ground with his thighs, your arms spread out above your head as he pins each wrist in place.

“What?” He grins, not having the good grace to even pretend to be out of breath.

“You’re meant to be teaching me how to get out of this.” You try and buck your hips to get some sort of leverage, but he squeezes his thighs together to stop you – the man never misses leg day.

“Yes, but to teach you how to get out, you need to know how it feels to be trapped first, right?”

He’s inches away from your face and all he can think about is how easy it would be to kiss you right now. Your face is flushed, chest heaving up and down as you try and catch your breath. He’d be a liar if he didn’t admit to enjoying having you in this position. Something about you squirming under him – his poor, helpless sweetheart.

“I think you’ve demonstrated the pinning part of the exercise well enough.” None of the self-defense tricks you’d learnt years ago seem to be dislodging him – your opponent far stronger than the average attacker, perhaps.

“Edwards wouldn’t have given you the full experience.”

You stop trying to push him off and look up at him, a knowing smile on your lips. You’d mentioned over dinner the night before you were going to be late home this evening - that Edwards, the man who sits opposite your desk in the office, had offered to go over some techniques with you after you admitted you were feeling a little rusty. Leon had looked offended at the idea, insisting the two of you would hit the gym instead after the day was done. “You’re jealous.”

“And whatever would I be jealous of, sweetpea?” He looks annoyingly smug.

“I don’t know – possibly the idea of another man straddling me.”

“Nah, I know it’s only me that could get you this flustered.”

“Frustrated, you mean.” You renew your efforts of escaping his grasp, trying to buck your hips again to get to throw him off balance but he proves once again unmovable. “Ugh!”

“Oh, you’re not flustered. Hm.” Leon replies in a teasing tone. “Well, let’s see how I can remedy that…”

You’re about to ask what he means when he starts his assault of pressing his lips along your jaw line in quick succession, once again stealing your breath. You swear you can feel the arrogance in his kisses, but that self-confidence had been part of what had attracted to you to him all those months ago, before he revealed a sweeter, softer side behind closed doors – something he claimed that you brought out in him, reminding him of a time when he wasn’t a government weapon.

You catch your breath, flexing your fingers in a test to see if his iron grip had loosened any, though the tense muscle of his bicep suggests otherwise. He stops, chuckling into your cheek. “Baby, you know I’m good at multitasking.”  

And then he moves down to your neck, nipping and sucking at your skin in alternate kisses, apparently on a mission to cover every single inch.

“Though enjoyable,” your voice is tight as his lips find your throat, “I don’t understand how this is helping me learn.”

“Oh, no, this isn’t part of the lesson." He mumbles. "I was just getting bored.”

You bristle, you want to let out of a grunt of annoyance, but all that comes out of your mouth is more of a whimper and that won’t do at all. Leon S Kennedy is not going to win this, you’ll never live it down otherwise. With renewed vigor, you jerk down your elbows towards your shoulders and follow the momentum to try and buck your hips once more, forcing him to break his grip on your wrists. You enter into a roll then, raising up your knee, pressing it into his chest to keep him at a distance and then yanking his arm forward with enough pull to bring him along with you, your other hand pressing into his shoulder until he is now straddled between your legs. You grab his other wrist and smile in triumph.

“You were getting bored?”

“Knew you just needed a bit of motivation.” He grins up at you, not even fighting the grip you have him in. You knew that he could easily break free if he so desired – there’s only ever going to be one of you who will win in an arm wrestle, after all – but he’s gracious in letting you have your moment. “I’m an excellent teacher, sweetheart.”

“An excellent tease.” You correct, keeping your gaze focused on his face. It would be far too easy for your eyes to drift down to the compression shirt he was wearing to train in.

“Sure you’re not getting bored now?” He lifts up his neck in an invitation, biting his lip as he looks at you.

You sigh, catching sight of the clock on the gym wall. “Nice try, Kennedy. Come on,” you let go of his wrists and climb off of him. “But there’s a class starting in under ten minutes and I don’t really fancy sharing your moans with them.”

He jumps up to his feet – unnecessarily so – before he presses a kiss to your temple, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you close as he does so.

“Now who’s jealous?”

-- Self-indulgent nonsense cos I'm feeling poorly - bleh. Comments, likes and reblogs make my whole day x

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