#sea of fantasy gleam | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iniquitousyearning · 5 months ago

Text

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 1st. theodore — size kink, big dick.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST | 2024.

summary: there’s a rumour going around that theodore nott has a big dick…..why not see it for yourself?

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, hogwarts uni (obviously), big dick!theo, size difference, size kink ofc, fingering, PIV, dirty talk, slowish sex, put on your fantasy cap for this one bc it’s a little wild, also, anyone know any wheelchair providers?

How the hell did you end up here? How had a night meant for celebration, for laughter and drinks and the triumph of a Quidditch victory, lead to this—

Fevered kisses, teeth clashing—your breath catching in the dim, muted glow of Theodore Nott's dorm—spine pressed against his door as his lips attacked yours, moving to your neck with a hunger that had your knees weak. There was a party, still alive somewhere down the hall, warmth spilling into the corridors, the echo of cheers and laughter floating past—but it was all a distant memory now. All of it blurred, lost in the way Theo's hands roamed over your hips, tugging you closer like he was starved.

Oh, right—the rumours.

Rumours have always had a way of creeping into places they don't belong. A whisper here, a careless word there. Stupid little fires, barely a spark until someone fans the flames. You've seen it before—how a single rumour can grow, how it can warp a simple night into something bigger. Something chaotic.

And now, well, you're living it.

Curiosity was what pulled you into his orbit tonight, what sparked the embers that had been burning between you two for far too long. Because Pansy Parkinson—loud, exaggerative, and far-too-tipsy—couldn't resist spilling some gossip mid-party, something about Daphne, something about Theodore and nine goddamn inches.

You know, the usual Quidditch post-match talk.

And it should have been nothing. It should have got lost in all the other Slytherin boy ramblings but instead, it stuck. Gods, it fucking stuck. Pansy's little comment sparked the fire in you, a fire that led to a conversation over drinks, your hand grazing his, and before you knew it, you were leaning into Theodore Nott at the punch bowl, asking questions you had no blasted right asking, yet went ahead and did anyways.

Something about...well—

"You've heard, then," he'd replied, voice low as those blue eyes watched you over the rim of his glass.

It wasn't a question. It was a challenge. For all the audacity you had—Theodore had just as much.

"I have," you leaned closer, your voice almost teasing as you whispered against the curve of his ear. "Big rumours, Teddy...huge, even."

He tensed, just slightly, the kind of reaction you noticed only because you were watching him so closely. You're pretty sure he wasn't expecting something like that to come out of your mouth—and you couldn't blame him, because truthfully, you weren't expecting it either.

That was, what you'd like to call, the point of no return.

There was a response from him. Something cocky enough—something like; "and do you make a habit of believing everything you hear?"

"Not everything," you said with a shrug, though your heart was in your fucking throat. "But I'm open to proof."

There weren't very many words exchanged after that—maybe some slight teasing—maybe another brush of his hand—but Theo was never a man to waste time, and it was clear that whatever curiosity you held for him had bubbled up now—heady and bold—and created a mess between you that couldn’t be contained.

The party, the victory, the cheers—it all became static as his hand slipped around your waist, his lips at your ear in a whisper. "Then let's put these rumours to rest."

You barely had the chance to nod before Theodore moved—grabbing your wrist and moving you through the crowd like you were something to be expedited, the sea of students parting before him. Pansy spotted you leaving, her eyes gleaming as she threw you a wicked smile and a drunken thumbs-up. You rolled your eyes, smirking back, but everything else blurred into the background as Theodore led you out of the common room, and before you knew it, you were inside his dorm.

The door slammed shut behind you, the cold surface meeting your back before his lips found yours—urgent, consuming. His hands moved with purpose, sliding under your shirt, lifting it over your head before you even realized what was happening. His own shirt followed, discarded carelessly onto the floor as he pressed his body against yours.

The memory blurred as the urgency of the present took over. You gasped at the feel of him, his entirety—hard, aching, massive. The outline of him was impossible to ignore, the mere suggestion of what was to come already making your heart pound wildly in your chest.

The rumours had seemed absurd at first, but now...now, they felt terrifyingly real. He was huge.

"Tell me," he breathed, his voice a low rumble against your lips as his fingers worked deftly at removing your skirt. "About those rumours..."

Your head fell back against the door, exposing the line of your throat as his mouth moved lower, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Whimpering, you caressed his shoulders, up his neck, finding his hair, fingers teasing the warm, hidden shell of his ears. At this, his back crested, and he moaned, pitching forward, hips working to fuse you with the door.

"I—I heard..." you tried to speak, but his mouth was on your neck, and the words tangled in your throat. "Gods—something about...nine inches..."

Theo hummed against your skin, the sound vibrating through you, sending blood pooling low. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his lips hovering over yours, his breath hot and heavy as he wrapped his hands around your thighs and lifted you up—carrying you toward his bed.

"What else." He muttered against your mouth.

"Daphne..." you panted, barely able to think straight with the way he was touching you, the way he was looking at you. "She...she said she couldn't take it all..."

"And if I say that's true?" He rasped, laying you down onto his comforter. "What then?"

A shiver shook you from the base of your spine, and you curled your legs around him, core clenching hard—he sprawled over you, his body massive—engulfing yours, roving his hands up and down your bare thighs as his lips left wet, warm kisses across your breasts, teeth digging into the sheer fabric of your bra—you were gasping, whimpering under him, your chest rising and falling so rapidly you'd think you'd ran a marathon.

"Gods—that's...an odd question, Teddy..." your hips bucked, seeking his touch, and he grazed your pussy over your underwear, thumb ghosting your clit through the fabric. You squeaked, and he silenced you with his mouth, tugging at the fabric until he'd fit his thick fingers under the hem. "Are you...mm..asking if I can handle it?"

"Fucking soaked already," Theo peeled away, gasping, watching you as he slid a digit through your hot slit, his breath hitching. "Yes—I'm asking if you can handle it."

"Fuck—I don't—I don't know..." he dragged a slickened finger over your clit—you quivered, biting your lip until you found your words. "Only one way to find out."

"You're right," he breathed, swirling his finger, your body pulsing underneath him—every nerve within you roaring to life. "I'll be easy on you...I'll go slow..." his thumb took over, his middle and fourth finger teasing your entrance, lips hovering over your ear. "Let's stretch you out first."

"I—" you began, and he plunged into you. "—fuck."

Theo crooked his fingers in your cunt, eyes focused on your flushing face, the flow of your moans, his breath shallow as you clenched and pulsed around him. His thumb traced rapid little lines around your swollen clit, two long fingers filling you full. He wet his lips, pressing his mouth to yours in a brief kiss as he snapped his wrist, curling and scissoring inside of you. His hips rocked with his rhythm, and you caught sight of his erection straining against his jeans—

"Tight little thing," he growled, head dipping low as he watched his fingers disappear inside your dripping cunt. "I might fucking break you."

He jutted his erection against your thigh and you moaned, clenching around him. "Mm—Theo—"

His eyes followed yours toward his crotch—you couldn't help yourself, your fingers burned to feel him—to stroke him—to feel the weight of him in your hand. He nodded, and amidst your gasps and moans you reached for him, grasping at his zipper and undoing the button, tugging his jeans and boxers down his thighs—

Theo groaned and your mouth watered. Those rumours—Gods, those fucking rumours—

"Fucking hell—" you breathed, wrapping your fingers around his thick, heavy cock—he choked, digits pumping you deep—your thighs shook, your pulse in your throat. You tightened your fist and stroked him, watching him from half-lidded eyes. "Theo—holy fuck.."

His lungs sputtered. "That enough proof for you, Bella?"

You nodded and he throbbed—twitched under your grip, blood biting his cheeks when you coated his head with the bead of his pre-cum, his breath uneven, tattered from the weight of lust—but so was yours.

You moaned. "Oh—Gods—I'm—"

Theo circled your stiff nub, pumping his fingers into your pussy, and pleasure wracked you, pouring into your pulse, your orgasm charging toward you at light speed—his lips found yours, softly, muffling your moans.

"You're close, I can feel it..." he muttered against your mouth, fingers dragging at your walls, groaning as you clenched—as your free hand gripped his hair harder. "Cum on my fingers, Bella, go on..."

You shuddered and snapped—pleasure pulsating from your core and through your limbs, your orgasm lighting up your spine. In its intensity, you bit at his bottom lip while your cunt clamped down around his fingers, a feral energy coursing—the need for more—the need for every goddamn thing he was willing to give you eating away at your sanity—all coherent thought gone, only dissipating further as Theo pulled his fingers from your soaked cunt and sucked them clean with a growl.

"As fucking delicious as I'd imagined," he cooed, drifting his other hand up your thigh, fingers kneading the trembling flesh. You swallowed, lungs still working to find their rhythm. "I don't think you have any idea how long l've wanted this...any idea what you do to me..."

Gods—you almost wanted to laugh—this felt like a fever dream. You'd been friends for years, the fact it took this to get you both here was astonishing. His blue eyes peered down at you—wide and waiting.

"Look at you," you muttered, eyes dipping down to his throbbing dick, still twitching insistently in your hand. "I think I know exactly what I do to you."

Theo snuffed a groan in his throat, but his cock twitched again, despite himself—there was no preventing that.

"Cocky as ever," he whispered, lips curling in a teasing grin. "But now's not the time, principessa..."

"I can handle you," you breathed out, though a tremor in your voice hinted at the uncertainty you felt.

"We'll see." He said. "Lay on your side."

With a flush creeping up your neck, you complied, turning to face the window. The moonlight filtered through the glass, casting a silver sheen over the rippling surface of the Black Lake. Theo moved behind you, his body flush against yours, the slickness of sweat making your skin cling together—one arm slipped beneath your head, cradling it, while the other slid under your thigh, lifting it with a deliberate, practiced motion.

His dick slid against you, the girth daunting enough if not for the sheer fucking length of it—his body was massive behind yours, dwarfing you, a solid wall of heat at your back. You'd never felt so small, so fragile in a way that screamed breakable.

Theo teased your slit, covering himself in your juices—

"Just the tip, yeah?" He whispered, and fuck—you almost moaned. His voice was ruined. "For now."

"Theo—I—I think I can handle it..." you were trying to convince yourself as much as him. You wanted him to enjoy himself, too. "Just…fuck me, please.."

"Merlin help you..." Theo groaned and it almost sounded pitying—dragging the swollen head of his cock against your clit before dipping lower, pressing against the folds of your greedy cunt— "you don't know what you're saying..."

His arm under your head curled inward, wrapping around your neck and holding you in place against him—his other hand guiding his length to your entrance and pressing in—shushing you softly as the first inch breached you and you cried out—as your mind blanked.

"Theo—" you gasped through the chokehold he had you in, his free hand holding your thigh up as it trembled. "That's—you're—fuck—"

He pulled out and rocked along you again, testing you, offering you centimeters of his length at time. Gooseflesh flooded you.

His lips pressed against your ear. "Shhh, you said you could handle me, yeah?"

His hand on your thigh shifted lower, resting on the crease. He rutted against you a few more times, dragging this out for everything it was worth until he brought the tip back to your entrance and pushed in—slowly, inexorably—spearing you open, splitting your cunt and prying you wide in a way that rid your breath.

You whimpered, hand scrambling for purchase on his hip behind you. "Ohhh—h-holy fuck.."

"Fucking hell...you're tight..." his arm around your neck tightened, holding you against him and he pressed in deeper. "That's barely half..."

You fought for air and found absolutely none, every muscle in your body tensing, your limbs trembling, your mind fizzing with staticky pleasure. You felt as though you could break in two.

"Fuck," he drew out again, and pressed back in. "You can barely take it."

He was right. You could barely fucking take it. A revelation that you weren’t surprised by—but that made all the blood in your body pool low, walls fluttering around him in protest.

"Gods, Theo—T-theo—" you grasped his wrist, nails digging into his skin, eyes squeezed shut. "Wait—"

"Little more...you're doing so good, Bella..." he was cooing now, pressing kisses to your cheek. "I'll make it fit...we'll make it fit, won't we?"

You couldn't find a fucking modicum of sense to articulate a response. All you could do was feel—take and feel—the way he slid out, only to drive into you again, slowly, with a hiss of air through his teeth—drawing out loud, shameless groans from your chest.

"Mmm—breathe, Bella..." it was soft, soothing, like he was trying to coax you open with words. "Relax for me, yeah? Let me in...let me in..."

You obeyed without even thinking, pulling in shaky breaths, forcing your body to comply, even as your muscles screamed to stay tense—to fight the overwhelming fullness of him. You felt as though he couldn't possibly get deeper, but then he did, and he continued to until he bottomed out—his cockhead kissing your cervix, forcing a sound out of your chest that was more a sob than a moan.

Your eyes were shut so tight. "That's—"

"All of me," he interrupted, satisfaction dripping from every syllable. He rolled his hips, grinding against you, barely pulling out before pushing back in, and your whole body clenched in response. "Does it hurt?"

Every movement proved indefinitely that he was as long as he was thick—your core stretching to accommodate him. You felt him in places you'd never felt before—moulding and carving you out just for him, digging out new space inside you that only he could occupy.

"A little—“ the words were a whimper, and your walls tightened around him instinctively, fighting to adjust, to accommodate the impossible size of him. “Gods—“

"Then why are you making it worse?" He hissed through his teeth, strain bleeding into his tone. You could hear the shift—wrecked, ruined, like he was barely holding onto himself. "Fuck, you're squeezing me...too tight...relax.."

He pulled out and thrust back in, harder this time, sucking in air through his teeth as he worked you wider with each plunge into your soaked cunt. Your body rebelled, clenching down around him again, and he groaned, the sound vibrating through you, his hips snapping against yours in response.

"That's not going to make it easier, you know." His voice was a tight growl, but there was a grin in it, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. "Keep that up and I'm going to leave you sore all day."

The thought made you clench again, your body betraying you as a broken apology fell from your lips—pain giving way to pleasure. "I'm—ohh—sorry-"

"Oh, you're going to be sorry." His pace quickened and you were seeing stars—bright and flashing and blurring your vision. "When you're spending all day in bed tomorrow...recovering..."

It only took seconds before he was grunting behind you—lost in your tight heat as he held you against him, hooking your thigh up toward your chest as his arm tightened around your neck, cock ramming your cunt—colliding with your cervix, pushing screams from your lungs. You couldn't think—couldn't catch your breath as he drove into you over and over.

"Fuck—so good…so fucking wet..." Theo moaned, the sound of his cock slippery and lewd, broadcasting evidence of your arousal. Face on fire, you tossed your head back against his shoulder and closed your eyes, chewing your lip, rocking with the force of his strokes. “You like that—being filled like this...greedy little thing..."

You whinged; he was boring into your stomach, delight gushing through your veins. You had never been with a man this endowed, and this fucking ruthless. It made you throb, set you aflame, whirled your brain with desire. Words eluded you.

"Ohh—yes,” you choked out between moans. "Gods—you're huge—"

"I am," he groaned in your ear, the hand on your thigh shifting to your belly, palm pressing against your pelvis—he eased his pace, offering you deep, slow strokes, letting you spasm around every goddamn inch. "That's how deep I'm in you."

At that, you moaned, shamelessly. Cocky bastard he was. You knew now that he was more than entitled to it.

"Can...fuck—can I cum in you?" His fingers slipped to your clit, slowly swirling over it—you didn't even have a second to process that question before the pleasure wracked you so hard you cried out, and he growled. "Fuck—let me cum in you...in this pretty little cunt.."

Somewhere in the blur, you registered his words—low, rough, pulling at the frayed edges of your sanity. Contraceptives. You were on them. It was the last rational thought you had left, buried deep under layers of heat and want. You knew you were fine, but the way he asked, in that voice—Gods—

His fingers increased their pace and you wailed. "Theo—holy f-fuck—yes—yes please!"

Lightning euphoria ripped up your spine with a shameless shriek, your climax shattering you. Your cunt throbbed and milked his dick, your thighs twitching, and your back reached for the wall but his arm around you kept you in place, pleasure possessing your nerves. It seemed an eternity—he was still fucking you through it, breaking you deep, and then he shattered too—breath washing over the back of your neck, chest heaving and lungs sputtering as he spilled his release into you, deep and sticky and hot.

You were still floating between realms of sensation and reality—your mind struggling to tether itself back to consciousness when Theo finally pulled out, releasing you. Both of you were heaving, chests rising and falling in tandem, your bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction.

A moment passed, your breaths slowly steadying, when you felt his arm snake around your waist, pulling you effortlessly against his chest. You shot him a weak, lopsided smile over your shoulder, still catching your breath.

"You okay?" He murmured, his voice a quiet hum in the afterglow.

"More than," you nodded, though your body still hummed with the remnants of pleasure. A hollow ache replaced where he'd been, leaving you startlingly aware of how empty you felt without him. "That was...you are...

"I know," he purred, lips grazing the sensitive spot behind your ear, the smirk practically carved into his breath. You could feel his smugness radiating off him, a tangible thing. "Hope your curiosity was sated."

You let out a breathy laugh, the warmth of his body seeping into your skin. "That, among other things."

"Good," he whispered, "I went easy on you."

You huffed, a slow smile creeping across your face. "Is that so?"

"Extremely so," he murmured, fingers tracing lazy circles over your hip. "Took all the willpower I had."

"Sure," you teased. "You're just saying that because I took you so well."

He chuckled, low and sinful, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your spine.

"Oh, she's cocky," he drawled, lips brushing your shoulder. "We'll see about that after I put you in ten different positions."

Your heart stuttered, your muscles tensing at the sheer boldness of the statement. Heat pooled in your belly once more, that insatiable curiosity sparking again. You knew this night was far from over.

Perhaps a little more proof wouldn’t hurt...

You turned your head just slightly, voice breathy but wanting. "Please do."

7K notes · View notes

astralnymphh · 1 year ago

Text

fuck and pretend ౨ৎ

𖤐 .ellie williams with a breeding kink⊱.

౨ৎ "gon' make you a baby mama, hm?" 🌸

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.

⋆' summary; bright blessings, aphrodite. hazy harbor of your lust, loose ribbons, and smooth touch. a strawberry sun kisses the earth with its sunset, a gradient so divinely captured above your picket fence visible from the kitchen window. a front row seat to dusk settling as you get fucked, the soppy wet clashing of your loins erupts. ellie, with her goddess given right, will knock you the hell up.

⋆' cw; dom!ellie, horndog!ellie, farm!ellie, breeding kink obv, depictions of cum + spit + nipple play + slight food play + spanking + fondiling + very slight lactation kink + rough mannerisms + dirty talk + rough talk + cum kink-ish + gentle dominance + cocktip teasing + strap sex + fingering (r, barely) + finger sucking + multiple positions (bent over, on the counter) , 'her cock' used more than 'strap', some plot + backstory, very detailed descriptions of fucking, smut heavy, reader has fem style/wears skirt, petnames; babe, baby, mama(kinda), slut, whore(not in dialogue), bitch(not in dialogue)

⋆' pairing; farm!ellie x housewife!reader

⋆' a/n; i'm horny. ⋆' wc: 6.7k ellie's masterlist 𖤐

a brilliant orb in the sky permeates a hot singe to your skin, making a day meant for mundane mutilation of vegetable roots drinking up the rich soil, dreadful. oh how you longed to be inside with your girlfriend, ellie, the rufescent headed mutt that pawed you to take a break, on the bed, in her lap. 'later, baby.', you just had to say that. but no, you just had to work, huh? the autumn sun bearing tidings of a good harvest just had to sing an enchanting tune, lulling you to the outdoors.

a heap of green already lines your wheelbarrow, a yelling chance to dip and jump into ellie's arms, who ensconces her bottom to the pleasures of a springy sofa in the family room, scribbling away matters that clot her noggin. oh, it would be so divine to just die of exhaustion in her grasp, straddling that tepid lap beckoning a cozy seat, melding your fingertips with the tense ache that mantles her neck, while she lewdly palpates the chub fat of your ass she deems 'a cute tush' with those strapping hands of hers.

"fuck it." the barrows handles drop to the grassy ground, giving the produce in the basin a bit of a bumpy ride.

the most salivating notion wins, food, fucking food. you burst into that kitchen with a sugar craving, a hellacious craving that puppeteers your fingers to fondle the beige flour into a meshy dough, powdering up your fingertips til it caked under your nail. eugh.

a strawberry and cream pastry of crispy golden beige delight is your end goal, pictured to be a celestial five star treat in your rather delusive fantasies. the butts of ruby strawberries stabbed through as you pull the stems out, gleaming juices of a translucent pink coating up your fingers so sweetly, you just had to pop them in your mouth. sucking all that flavor off, like a fuckin' lollipop.

you drift your finger out clean, a long smack squeaking from your lips, and then hum in rumination, "hmm, lemons– or no lemons? lemons.. or no lemons?" quietly spoken, tossing your eyes between a ripe lemon and the pulped strawberry.

"no lemons," ellie, bearing the element of surprise, intrudes on your introspection. speaking with a low, coarse timbre, pitch breathy, "hi babe." her body is then suddenly pressed into your backside, hand slithering down your hip and caressing your pantyhose– clad thigh gently.

"oh shit– ellie!" you yelp, instinctively pushing your rump back on her groin devoid of purpose, "ya' spooked me.." a throaty whine thrums from you.

"nah– u're just easily spooked." her brows pinch opposingly, slowly creeping her jaw in the cornered nook of your neck, parched lips nipping the flesh with summery hot licks.

"hehe– that tickles.." you jerk away slightly from her scruffy tuft of coppery hair like a plume stroking your skin.

a smile grows pliable against your skin, "good.." muffled ellie, wet smacks eliciting from her hungry latch.

"bored of ur' journal?"

"uh–huh.."

"or just happy that I'm here?"

"mhm.." she dozily agrees, slinking her head off your scruff, "missed you' out there."

"oh, i bet." you frolick kittenly, snatching up the same strawberry you pulped through earlier to cut it, "got fucking tired of hauling that barrow 'round anyway." you complain, speaking with discernable strain in your tune.

"hmm." she hums in consideration, worried about the amount of work you lug on your shoulder from a day–to–day basis, "l'mme help."

her fingers cottonly twine through yours, biceps hugging yours, chin perched softly upon your neck, taking both the strawberry and knife from you and cutting it deftly, chhp, chhhp, chop!– goes the sound of buttery slices.

you slump your head aside, just relishing the warmth for a moment, at genuine peace that your girlfriend was there. she was so soft with you, softer than petals, gently domineering at any split mention of fatigue. laying the midday away on the couch? joins you instantly, pressing and kneading the tender skin of your swollen feet while discussing more than humdrum topics. stomach rumbling loud enough to raise the dead? she immediately rounded the kitchen's trim to cook you a plethora of meals, taking every picky craving into heavy consideration. indecisive about your outfit? she would glide an oaken chair up to the dresser, plant you on her lap– in your undergarments, and choose what she personally fancies, sneaky hand groping your thigh.

"there you go." she mutters ardent to your shoulder with throaty rasp, knife clanking as she sets it aside.

"thanks baby.."

"n'problem.." her lips fumble the words, settling on bespattering the biome of your stretched neck with wet kisses– subtly hungry ones, and reposes her arms to slink over your hips, enticing them closer into her groin.

you scoop one pile of diced strawberries into the gullies of both palms, letting them plummet into a plastic green mixing bowl, plop.. plop, humming a tune, "hmmmm…hhmhmmm…"

you hear her chuckle, a small vibration amassing the length of your skin with an accompanied smile growing.

"you laughin' at my song?"

"mhh, that's not a song." she criticizes, lips pursing into a bud.

"hmph, rude." you circle your eyes in offense, faintly swaying your hips while you pestle the fruit into a sweet puree.

her hips react and ungulate a sluggish grind into your rump, acting impassive to it, "s'bored.." she croaks, clammy forehead sticking to your jaw.

"hmm?"

she doesn't clarify, instead, begins to nick your neck with pinched lips, letting the skin gingerly spring out each time. her hips, however, grow rough– wanton. little bounces of her humps smush your thighs into the counter, mind clearly anchored in her imagination.

"els?"

her relentless chafing continues, piling up the fabric of your skirt into a creased mess which only gets worse when her hand wedges between your bodies, palming her crotch with a few squeezes, "mhhn.."

your fingers nearly slip off the pestle, the stimuli of her humps withering away that poise calmness, "baby.." you whine.

"so, so– bored, baby." her grubby mitts fall and knead the shallow flesh of your hip bones, applying detectable pressure in the crevice beneath your hip bone. smutty, balmy prints sunk into your skin.

this fucking horndog, this auburn maned lovergirl could never let you rest on a busy afternoon like today. all the time, she was just pleading for pussy– pussywhipped, grinding her pelvis on your thigh amidst cuddling, to nudging your butt against her groin with both hands, whenever you bend over. you can hear the indecencies boiling on her wicked tongue right about now, pleading for a tryst.

a long suspire whorls from your nostrils as you turn in her embrace, nudging her fervid laps off.

she pouts a petulance, wet lips sheer in the frosty panes light, "why'd you move?"

"talk t'me," wisped sweet like honey, "what's on your mind?" you lace your fingers with hers, swinging your linked hands side to side playfully.

she pours a groan out, screwing her lids tight and throwing her head back, "baaabbee.." ellie was plagued, at minimum. lewdly plagued. a notion that topped her mind and wouldn't let go.

you thought it was, temptingly cute. the way she reels her head back down, jarring her weary eyes open to beadily gaze upon you, lips parting moistly.

"i have this.." a sharp gust waves off her throat, humbled to even say this, "dirty fuckin' idea.."

"enlighten me."

"i just think.." her eyes deviate from yours, staring at the cupboard, "you'd be really hot as a mama." a hint of smokiness grits in her voice, gazing at you with the most haunting bedroom eyes known to womankind.

"oh really? that's illuminating." you knit your brows, feigning marvel.

"tcch–" her textured lips creak into a cresten grin, hissing shortly, "like.." her fingers flee yours, drifting two brawny grips on your waistline, inching closer with each idea she lists, "i could take care of you, start baths for you, cook you meals and carry you to–"

you intervene gently, "you say it like you can get me pregnant." and laxly cross your arms.

her forehead creases in offense, "uh, i mean," and eyes barrel roll to the ceiling, then on you, chiseling a smirk opulent with smutty intention, "don't need a baby t'do.. whatever."

"whatever?" your tune curls.

"could just.." she pulls your groin snug to hers, pelvis protruding farther than her torso, thighs melding together, "fuck, and pretend."

you blush, mouth gaping in muted elation observing the way she pushes her crotch into you, "so foul.." you giggle.

"so?" a hand lifts from your hip, notching your chin firmly up to face her, "can i convince you?"

"how?"

an absolutely mischievous look casts over her features at that 'how?' , prominent dimples that plot her next words to flow out.

"here," she releases your chin and swipes a grip on your wrist, jerking you forward as she tugs that hand between her legs, "feel that, baby?" whispering a fingerbreadth away, toasty breath misting like perspiration on your earlobe.

you palpate the inseam, knobbing over a phallic bulge with her hand guiding you. oh my goddess, she's been wearing that shit all day.

"can i fuck y'with it, hmm?" she begs, voice drenched with silken clemency, and leathery callousness– control awaiting your word, lips of coquetry avid to your ear.

truth of the matter, at the back of her perv–diluted noggin, she knows she can't exactly get you pregnant. however, that's the hidden perk nobody talks about. play the part, make it feel real, and it still sticks the same. she can fuck you over, and over– and over again, sow her seed and never reap the physical consequences.

that girl can pretend well.

you feel the heat clump on your cheeks, turned on by her forthright request, "here?" you question foxily, feeling the excitement slowly trickle through your loins.

"yeah– right on this fuckin' counter." unfiltered and dirty, so suddenly, so tantalizing. her hands pitch up and draw upon your skin like a woven page, lurking the entire span of both arms around your hips.

"god, els.." you cling your arms around her nape, chest pressing firmly on hers, "i'd fucking love that."

her face lit up brighter than all the stars combined. reclining brows, smug–smothered eyes, and the most uneven smirk to ever jerk her lips. a brightness– so carnal.

"yes.." sounded so relieved in her breathy mutter, wetting her chapped lips before she slinks onto yours, dragging hers over the plush of your buds with a passion.

"mhh..mh.." you moan onto her lips, pushing with tantamount force to her hungry kisses.

a wet smack snaps the huddled space as she parts, "can taste those strawberries, ooh~" she huskily frisks with arching brows, returning to your lips with a pucker and slobber.

all during your tepid makeout eggs you both on, pink muscles entwining, mouths nearly trying to swallow each other up, bodies rocking like a ship riding the tide– her willowy digits tuck under the fat of your asscheeks, groping and pulling the two globes apart in rounded circles tight enough to cleft the chub with creases, frilly fabric of your skirt snagging on the ridge of her bouncing palms.

"love' this cute tush." she states with a satisfied scratch in her voice, a deep laugh gusting onto your lips.

"a fuckin' slut for it huh?"

"yeah baby!" she halfway hollers into your mouth, gripping your asscheeks like crab claws and giving a good shake– featherlike slap included.

you buck your ass out for her usage, urged to wave your hips in a figure eight motion, which she really likes, too much maybe. a booming smack! resounds the kitchen as her hand draws back to indulge a harsher slap, rubbing the red streak left in its path.

you yelp throatily, spitting from her avid lips, "fuck! ellie.."

"hey– c'm back here." her head follows your retreating one, plastering your mouth sealed and tongue–fucking you with that pushy muscle worming past your teeth.

her horny ass just kept spanking both cheeks, which triggered a proud "mmm.. mhm…" to intone on your lips as you jolt in reaction, caressing the flush heat gathered by each whack.

"more?"

"ghhnn– elli.."

"fuckin' take more." she veers that hand back and lands another blow, creeping over your shoulder to perv at the nylon–confined skin. right, your pantyhose.

you tuck and bat your lashes in the crook of her neck, whining right into the ears eager to hear you break.

but, she couldn't do that with all this fabric, could she now?

"nice.. but.." her grubby claws then prod the cloaked crack of your ass, a shrill ripping through the air as she tears a massive hole in your pantyhose– wholly for better access, now exposing your full behind.

you quench a lapse in your throat, "oh, my god." and peek over to eyeball the torn material, noticing how discolored your butt has become and poking your hip out.

"hurt too much?"

"n–no.." you swallow again, reverting your pupils to her, "hurts just right.."

she smirks merry to one cheek, hollowing an alto, "makes' you a dirty fucking slut, amiright?" spoken on a crescendo, second–guessing with her lips gravitating back to yours, but she pauses.

it dawned on her.

something even more impure tethers her attention, down– down, on that chest of yours.

the rustiling of fabric chafes as her hands slide from torturing that delicate rump further, then splutters, "take ur' fuckin' tits out, 'gunna suck on them." just straight up, stern edge like metal to her tone.

no hesitation hurdles your hands, straying from her neck you pleat your shirt over your head and stretch back to unclasp your bra with a pinch, letting it tumble off your chest and hit the ground with a padded thud. the gale of cold air hardens your nipples, perking up two nice targets for ellie to ogle– both in sight, and in taste.

a sweet– tart taste.

"hmm," ellie's pupils wander off your drooped chest and fixate on the separate dish of intact strawberries, glowing pink in the dying suns' radiance. her elbows straighten and forearm extends towards these gems of interest, scooping one up with her thumb, index and middle combined.

"what are you doing with my–"

"shh, just watch." her prudent fingers then toughen and squash the berry above your clavicle, letting the barmy pink liquids squeeze through her knuckles and drip onto your chest.

a gasp dries your throat, "ellie!"

a few mashed bits plunk down amongst the heavy fall of berry juices, managing to drizzle down the rise of your breast and split over your nipple. mission success? though now the victim strawberry– squelched to a gross chunk, makes a home chucked into the handy trash bin.

ellie licks her lips and stares dead straight on your hardened nipples. itching for a taste of that strawberry deluge.

"fuck.." her throat quivers, taking no time in searing the distance between her tongue and your breast promptly with a hunched back, bringing her heart–shaped pucker to the strawberry–saturated nub and locking on, sucking hard, making you jerk. ellie definitely has a thing for this.

"was wasting that strawberry– mhhf'– worth it?" you sport a quip quickly, the small vacuum sensation on your nipples only just starting to nip that pleasure kernel in your brain.

it definitely was. cause ellie had already vampire–suckled all the flavor off your bud, now snaking her tongue up the excess stream of juices and retreating back. those juice–coated lips squelch open, muttering, "so' fucking worth it."

so fucking worth the lady boner penned behind that zinc rivet.

her lips wrinkle around your other nipple, opening and closing her mouth around the bud with a slow nutate of her head. inside her mouth was so warm, so wet, and the fleshy texture of her lips felt fucking riveting. the stimulated twang of salacity brought in the form of sucks and licks has your pussy sappy and caked in precum, and ellie could tell how wet you've gotten by the yearning chafe of your thighs, so she forcefully wedges her knee there– making you grunt at the pressure, and her giggle at your response.

you card your fingers through her hairline, fondling her autumn tuft while she sucks that swelling nipple dry, causing an 'mmhhh.' to vibrate from the depths of her lungs, guttural on your boob. one of her hands rove up and cusps the same boob against the webbing of her thumb and pointer, squeezing the blubber of mass further into her wet rosy hole– like she's genuinely sucking something out of them– thirsty, her parched tongue laps a gloss of gleaming saliva over the bumpy node, determined to have you unravel.

"oh, els.. baby~" you tug on her hair, piqued by the blossoming ache in your clit raring for ellie to just get on with it.

"mhhpghmm.." her lips suction with a pop, roads of ruby red mottled on her cheeks from your angle. so eager to toy with that forming arousal, but with persuasive control. "s'this convincing enough?"

you toss your head back, extending the curved surface of your neck, "i'm already convinced.." you gasp for air, surfing a breathless moan behind the carry of your voice.

another pop sound has her lips wandering up from that sensitive bump and craning to your lips, taking advantage of the situation. her fantasies overrun that dirty mind of hers, aching mentally– and physically, to have that pussy engulfing her thickset cock. to fuck you raw. fortunate for her, you were already won over by the rough terrain of her tongue setting you over the edge.

"m'kay baby.." her humid syllables shudder over the span of your midface, promptly, churning into a demanding growl. "turn around, n' bend over the counter. doin' it right here, c'mon." her words usher you and fingers force you, contorting your hips with her steely grip without even giving you the chance to move yourself, other hand reaching over to knock the bowl of strawberries– now scattered across the tiles like the starry sky.

you wobble around on your ankles as she bucks you into the counters' rounded steel rim, laying her palm plumb between your shoulder blades and pinning you down, pitching a yelp from you when the cold surface practically freezes your nipples.

that's when you realized, she wasn't playing around.

ellie's spindly fingers pleat your skirt up with a swat, then drift down to catch and tuck in the lacy band of your panties and tug hard, pulling the thread to the point of frayed snapping– without giving you a wedgie– until she could remove it from your hips through the hole in your pantyhose, chucking it somewhere east of you. now she could gape at everything. the bare truth of your engorged pussy rearing for her, splayed out like a whore. nuder than an amaretto.

and it made her giggle in gratification, lugging that adams apple around with her wheezy laugh.

"look at 'chu bent over like this," she gruffily awes at your ass jacked to her hips, golfing up a 'hawwkkk' and a 'puh!' as she aims a spit down the crack of your ass.

it streamlines through the canyon of your backside 'til it mixes with the slick of your slit. can't let it go to waste, so– she jams the soapy spit into your hole, to which you clamp her in.

a jerky chuckle croaks from her chest, rustiling her mullet with each jounce, "sensitive now, are we?"

"ellie–"

"okay, okay– i'll stop." she slides her fingers out, popping them in her mouth while she observes you from this lewd position.

in the sorbet light, you were gorgeous. cunt dripping nectar like a waterfall to your thighs, ass hiked up and sloping into the plateau of your back. you looked so perfect. perfect for her hands to melt into. perfect for her cock to sheathe into. just divine. positively divine.

"alright.." her voice rattles deep, slightly muted in a gulp after tasting your cunt on her tongue, swishing her spit around to pick up every note of flavor.

moments later, you hear the metal clank of a buckle jingle from behind, the prongs strike the floor as her jeans clump up at the base of her ankles, blanketing her feet. then, a silicone tip slots it's bulbous nature between the top of your thighs, smacking up onto your slickened labia playfully.

"god– it's like a fuckin' waterpark back here babe."

her feet scoot closer, poking the chub of your globes with her jutting hip crests, enraptured in the pure way your folds already look like they want to swallow her up. they faintly part as the silicone cockhead smears your arousal from clit to hole, hole to clit. a half–moon smile dilates into the apples of her cheeks, prideful. a smirk you can hear loud and clear in her dirty, outrageous comment.

"gonna knock that pussy up, hmm? gonna fuck a pair of twins in you so good baby~" she coos, delirious seeing the head of her cock slosh around the fat lips of your pussy, grooving two concentrated lines between her brows and wagging her peachy muscle wedged in her lips. she was like a devil in heaven, and you an angel in heat. two strapping grips slap and clutch onto your ass, the fat bulging through each finger gap, calloused fingertips blending with the texture. her knees bend to crouch her hips slightly, dragging the hem of her brown button–down up by the protrusion of your ass as she aligns her frame level to your cunt. one hand drops down to catch hold of the faux cock and toys the rim of your gummy hole, sinking the head in just barely.

your sensitive entrances' involuntary answer to this scant plugging of your hole clenches the tip up fast, sucking it further in. ellie loved that. loved how your pussy was taking her without a halt. a love so dazing, she begins slipping and inserting the head only, eyeing the contracting hole gorging over the rotund spade each and every small thrust.

a whiny complaint trebles off your gullet, "are y'putting it in? baby.. please." but the petulance in your plea just rouses ellie up– excessively.

ignoring you, her focus tunnels solely on the tight hole kissing her cock in intervals, pleating up her earth brown shirt to eye her constricting muscles speckled in freckles, the pale blue–glossy v–line cadreing her hunter green cock that only deepened the lines in her abdomen with each pump. with her gaze aimed downwards, she speaks directly downwards, "be a good pussy and take my cock, yeah?"

that was her game. her conflicting game. the only words you heard before she fastens the dick bulky in her wrapped grip and lugs her entire length inside, blowing your vulva thin with how straining her size was. wow. a sight she froths over.

"mhm–" she continues, tensing her chords up to flow out a breathy, gritty, whisper, "take my cock like a good pussy."

you feel the force impact your cervix straightaway, globs of clear lubricant slip and pool through the slim opening her cock barely provides and drips onto your thigh, cold and sticky, marks like paint. "ellie– h'oh fuck!" you wail in the stinging sensation of sudden brimming, which only drives her to crack another slap blistering red on your ass, "eeah!" you squeak, tears scorching the shoreline of your blurred eyes.

she wanted a tear to slip out. she wanted a cohesive sign that her cock felt tight, warm, filling. a kind of filling that bumps your stomach, makes you feel pregnant. cause you would be, take my word for it.

ellie analyzes the new ring of creamy serum wrapping her base like a ribbon of white lace, milky delight. it fades as she drags her length out, and bubbles when she sheathes back in. nothing could stop her finger from sampling the slimy slick, but, no. not this time.

in her mind, that's her precum. her sperm. not a drop should be dripping out of you.

"g'nna fuck my seed– so, so.. deep."

and by her word, she knurls her torso into a convex bend as she swathes over you, cottony shirt to back, tickling your flesh. like a dog licking your ear, she mashes the lobe of your ear with her soaked lips. chanting a one–lined hymn in your ear as her cock skids along your ridged walls and returns with a pumping rhythm, keeping your pelvis steady in her slack grip.

"makin' you–" slap, slap, slap, "a mama'," plop, plop, plop, "with my c-cock.. no–one else's." her huffs fan the baby hairs near your ear, lips brushing so dearly on the conch. each sticky bop of your hips plays like a hand smacking water, bringing shame to the ears of every wall witnessing this dirtier–than–porn event.

your features tog up into a woozy countenance. lips wedged open like an orange slice, pupils reading your upper lashes like a string of musical notes, head jiggling with each lavish pump into your pretty little pussy. it feels so fucking good. spurts of pleasure that make you wish on every damnable star for her to actually get you pregnant. the way she fucks you like this, all pathetically horny with her own ass clenching into each thrust. you'd take her babies in a yoctosecond.

her bushy brows curl and furrow in enthrallment, enthralled by every honeyed whimper she pulls out of you with her dick. it fed her ego, the greedy ego telling her she is impregnating you. each vein, bumpy on the creasing skirt of your blushing hole shaped to fit her cock, felt so real– it hurts. ellies' had enough. she skims her palms just a hairbreadth down the planet of your ass to sink her talons in the supple crevice of your hip and thigh, held hard enough to move you. this meant only one thing.

ellie was tired of playing it safe.

her torso pastily unsticks from your back, casting a gray shadow with her hover, grunting, "listen– t'me," her hips sway and punch with heftier, vehement– stickier thrusts, the fat plastic cockhead sending a flux of pressure with each smash into the tacky wall of your vagina, "answer– d'ya think, mhh– our kids will have auburn hair, like me? frhm– freckles, like me? my eyes?"

the constant abuse to your cervix chokes up your throat, warbling and going "guh, guhp– unh! fhhummk.." with your flaccid lips damp in slob, like a filthy mess of a bitch.

wrong answer.

you should have just offered up her name in an exaggerated moan instead.

the extent of her hand extracts from your hips– not without her gift of nail–birthed sickles indenting your skin like scales, and coils back to whack your vainly treated glute. it makes your vision go white, tenderizes your skin and makes you scream.

"n–nnono, els–"

"so– no they won't look like me?" she laughs to herself, and it almost sounds– amusingly disappointed.

"n– yes, yes! they w–"

your throat then nearly guzzles her fingers base knuckles deep, muffled and choking on their stacked width.

"just shut up." ellie warns in a gruff. thing is, she knows that as long as her thickset tip keeps slamming into that assaulted cunt– she'll never hear the end of it. and that's the best part. confliction.

the counter was virtually warming up on your compressed cheek from how long you were in that position. slippery sweat dampened a puddle under your face in a thin pellucid coat. from your current view, you could only see her wrist pushing on your chin– cranking your jaw ajar, and her humping motions bleary in your peripherals. not like seeing her was necessary, you already felt her through and through.

ellie, with her hips strapping you down in prolonged rams that cause a sharp sear on the hind of your thighs, with the downright sedative pleasure brought by the bumping base to her neglected clit, finds herself earnestly thinking about how a family would look on this farm. her baby, growing in you. her kids, skipping through these rustic halls. her wife, devout enough to nurture them through childhood. but on the perverted hand, her cock fucking a future generation into you, 'her' pussy gluttonous enough to consume it up to the hilt, her whore, eager enough to be the cumbucket to breed as she pleases.

she's gonna breed you like the horndog she is.

but you want to be full of her offspring.

"baby–" a stiff moan pours from her lips, and she glides her cock and digits out. snow white cream follows in strings, strung to her shaft and springs out like paint splatter on the ground as her strap bounces down to a flaccid level. wow. she moans again, this time, breathlessly, "baabby.. get'on th' counter.."

"hmmuh?" flubbed you, barely able to see the picket fence outside the kitchen window through your graying haze– shapes blurred and melted into each other.

"said," the lone grip on your hip is replaced with the clammy bend of her elbow, tucking under your womb and flipping you around, "on' the counter." and lugs you hurriedly onto the sudor–coated surface with her grasp under your knees. her hands flatten on either side of your shaky thighs– vividly like jello– as her torso huddles close in your space. now that she could see your face, it was sexually comical.

doe–eyed and glossed, lids puffy and red. patterns of your own saliva glissade down your chin and gleam in the soft light behind you. so hot.

her teeth bear in a parted smirk and she drunkenly stumbles her face down. then, she notices something. a pearly strand of sleek cum trickling over your perineum. like a melted popsicle, you drip everywhere, all over that counter space.

ellie's tongue ticks on the roof of her mouth, sighing, "mmh' fuck, pussy dripping everywhere– clean this counter afterwards, won't you?" spoken like a silken demand, index pointing at the mess.

you keenly nod, squinting with those weepy eyes as you try to discern the moving colors of your girlfriend right as she heaved her fat cock right back inside. stars. stars heat you skin and strike your vision. a night of black spots burn through your eyes and caper around– obscuring ellie's blissed out face. you were already fucked out from the last position, so fucked, you nearly came at the meaty expansion of your aching hole.

ellie could tell, and that was her cue. her goddess given cue to bottom out. the friction of her girth akin to a fist stuffing you up was pushing up on your g–spot, and that knocked a tear out. the ones lashing at your ducts to release, finally did.

you couldn't feel anything else– anything, but her cock.

moist sloshes cram up the space between you too, smacking and dragging as before. faster, harder, her hips never lapse and pick up the speed. tapping you out like a nozzle draining syrup from a tree, gushing and coating her cock beautifully. smack– smack– smack– goes her groin deluged in your sweet sex juices connecting like webs with each bash of your hips.

on comes a dirty row of her impudent and vile comments– barely stable voice from how fast she pumped, all tepidly whispered on your neck.

"knockin' that fhckin' pussy up– huh?"

you can feel the warmth radiating off her face a breath away, a cheek–length strand of hair now sticks to the sweat veiling her hairline. pores beading with glassy perspiration. just as red as you. huff, huff, gasp.

"that pretty pussys' mine– mhh, all mine."

ellie's palms leave two clammy prints on the marble slab when her fingers pop off and clasp your pelvis. with this grip on you, she pushes your hips hard on her relentless pounds. no wall of your vagina lacks a thrashed kiss from her dick, your hole was just too tight for any air pockets. that tight. just pure ush–gush.

"god' m'sucha dirty slut for ur' pussy, such a fucking whor– ughhn!– wantin' to make you–a mama." grizzled her in a lower voice, but still so rough, sweating and huffing like a dog in heat.

the cupboards creak and squeak, scarcely bearing the racket she induced with her fucking into you.

the intensity marches on.

"els– els, I'm gonna cum.."

it was nice to hear, but she was infinitely more focused on cumming herself. she was close. very close. eyes screwed tight in the straps kickback digging her clit with firm pressure, knuckles flushed white as they bent and tried to carve into your hips. ellie couldn't get enough of you.

"yeah– me too, nghh~"

her own slick begins to lather up her crotch, sticking up that auburn bush, dripping off the strapbase and staining the crinkled jean pile directly underneath her.

the kitchen reeked of cunt– yours and hers. delicious sex miasma. the scent of raw arousal coats your nasal cavity, lulling you both to climax– two hearts on the same beat.

but there was one thing. one thing you could give her, that'd change your lives from there on out.

"baabe–" a shallow utter gusts from her lips, shuddering, "can' i fuck you– god, fuck you like this? mate you– make babies with you, more often?" her voice warbles, fighting back the breath that wanted to give away.

the plunging and swelling of her dick parting your walls made it potently harder to answer– but, you creak, taking all the breath she would give you, mouth to mouth.

"yes, ellie– i want to have them."

her eyes squinted ever so slightly, sharpening, pupils blown. a wicked, scantily–contained smirk tugged at the corners of her lips, a glint in her eye revealing the excitement she felt by your words. in a heartbeat, her lips met with yours– wisping and wetting each other up.

but it was no feat to the sudden acceleration of her pistoning hips.

ellie's lips withdraw, moaning rigidly with buffering pants, "gon' make you a baby m–mama' now– ooh fuck!" feeling the same rise to orgasm tighten her stomach.

"yes– yes! unh‐ uh fuck, ughh!"

the clanging cupboards bang and thud as they do, but your moans eventually clamor up over them. her cock, sought the last final blows to your gummy ring inside, gathering up all that viscous serum in strings stuck to her bulbous head. this was it. she was finally getting her reward– viscously.

"love you–"

it tightens.

"s'much–"

it pulls.

"thank y– unngghh!"

she snaps.

your thighs convulse and lock around her hips as she buries her dick deep inside, plugging that bruised–to–hell mucousy cervix up. a high so heavenly it curls your body up to hers, cumming all over that filthy fucking cock in clear spurts, plashing all over the veiny shaft that had you weeping moans.

ellie had came too, matter of fact, all over the floor.

a dense and husky moan grates from the lowest region of her diaphragm, "hhhggn– uhhugh– fuck, baby."

her eyes grew taut and scrunched in ecstasy, jutting her hips and clenching her ass to ride out the orgasm. a spew of her release taints the straps footing and leaks down her thigh, saturating in her skin. veins popped in her gripe, incisors bit her lip nearly hard enough to break skin, and eyes twitched back tenfold, casted heavenward.

a sunset clasps the shingle roof from above, depicted so innocently behind the pane, unknowing to what has come of you two.

the moment softens.

and you're left with two fatigued bodies.

her arms loosen and flop on your sprawled lap, and her head finds a collapsed purchase on your shoulder. ellie's chest rose, fell, and rose again, swallowing up all the air her lungs lost in the heat.

"think I just died," she dramatically heaves from her chest, gulping up the pooled spit in the trenches of her gums. a giggle shakes her, "hehe~ did you die?" she jests, nudging her limp hand to your shank.

the words carrying to your ears mish–mashed into an agglomeration of sounds strewn from her actual sentence, "there's n'pie in the oven.." you slur breathlessly, tongue nearly lifeless in the pit of your mouth.

ellie tries her darndest to compress the laugh grizzling from her throat, still winded, "w-what babe?" her head tilts to gawk at you.

"god i'm so dizzy.."

she blows a raspberry from her lips and knits her brows– amused. of course she's a tad worried your energy had been worn from the fucking, but, that's the funny part. she actually did that. her buzzy voice coaxes you back to animation, "want some'in to eat?"

wait.

that's literally what you came in here for.

wait.

you peek at the green dome next to you, toppled over with dotted strawberry wedges scattered all over the stony tile– and your strawberry jam. really ellie? a pout cockles your lips into a plumper shape, notching your head on a slope, "did'ju knock over.. all of my strawberries?"

she swings her head 'round, feigning innocence, "umm– nope, wasn't me." puffing up her cheeks.

"ellie."

she blows tersely, "i didn't!" and throws her hands up defensively– in playful spirit.

"and you ruined my panties!" you scold lightheartedly and jab your heel in the back of her thigh– a little bit of punishment.

"ow!"

a reaction spurns from your lips, replaced by a jaded expression of hushed brows and trying lips that curl your face into one of, content. ellie forced a few puffs to spill from her open oval lips, hereafter curling into that same shit–eating grin that knows she's guilty– chuffed by herself.

then it wanes. wanes like the moon bearing its shrouded cycle. she softens up, softer than the bunny hopping across thick green grass in the season of beltane. this felt more fundamental to her than you might think, but, caring for you was her duty of worship. ever since that day she met you– the evening plait with a crimson ember engulfing air at the center of an autumntime bonfire in jackson. cold perspiration stuck to the glass held in your hands, talking the very ears off every owl present to listen. you had shared, sung, flirted, and saved the kiss for later. a later spent in her bed, all night– rising at dayspring, where she asked you to be her girlfriend at the foot of her door, just as you took your leave.

every wound you tended to, she tended to yours, and led you here. on this farm. in your own realm of heaven.

"but seriously– do you want something to eat?"

"yeah, i'll um.." you shoo her away from her parked poise between your legs, sliding your weight off the counter with a heft of your forearms pushing you off, "clean the counter." your toes ease onto the floor with a shaky wobble, unable to even straighten your legs out at first. damn, ellie, what have you done.

"yeah, nuh–uh," she briskly bends at the torso and bars her robust arms underneath your mid–back and in the fold of your knee, sweeping you off your heels.

"els, what the f–"

she tousles her woody auburn mullet in a wag of her head, crunching you up closer with her biceps, "you, babe– are going to rest. i'll clean the counter." her brows raise at the end of her emphasized sentence, a silent 'capeesh?'.

her amenability never ceases to blossom those heartstrings of yours.

"yeah, yeah.." your eyes toss around the rim of your brow bone, and land back on her in time to spot a chuckle churn her watermelon pink lips.

those lips then settle and purse into a pucker, idly sidiling her face plumb to your forehead and peppering a moist kiss, pulling back slowly with unhindered affection tugging the corner of her lips into a satisfied smile.

"see? m'taking care of you. just as if–"

"if i was pregnant?"

"mhm.."

"you want it that badly?"

".."

"well– maybe.. jackson has some adoptable kids?"

now you're just feeding that fantasy of hers.

taglist; @whore4abby , @picklesarenice69 (im too dumb to know who wants 2 be on my permanent taglist so pls tell me directly if u ever wanna be tagged in all of my fic posts)

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #farm!ellie #horndog!ellie #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie williams fic #lesbian #sapphic #ellie williams concept #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fanfiction #dom!ellie #breedingkink!ellie

4K notes · View notes

pullhisteeth · 5 months ago

Text

saturn return | eddie munson

hello! I'm back :) will leave a little author note at the end of the fic for u. but in the meantime: enjoy this medieval slow burn fluffy smutty monster of a fic (which has not been proofread because I am so tired) <3

in short: you're from royalty, and the illicit crush you're harbouring on your sworn protector is threatened when your father, the king, reaches the end of his tether and finally begins the search for your husband.

medieval/fastasy au with knight!Eddie and fem!princess!reader, smut (18+ only, minors dni!), implied virgin!reader, (one attempted) assault, general fluff and angst and fun fantasy frolicking, mention/threat of arranged marriage (brief), enemies to lovers if you squint but mostly a bodyguard au but he wears armour and you live in a castle.

14k words (!!!)

You had only seen your knight without his cuffs and cloak once before in your life.

When you were nineteen, you had a fling with one of the boys who tends the horses in the stables. It had been a wet summer and against your father’s wishes you’d spent many evenings returning to the castle sodden and smiling. Your afternoons were adventurous - too much so for your age, your mother would say over dinner - and your escapades to the woodland beside the keep resulted in muddy fingerprints up the curve of your thighs and difficult-to-hide bruises blooming below your collarbone.

You may have been reckless, but you knew better than to show up to court with purpling bite marks where the collars of your dresses did not reach.

On one of the rare sunny evenings, you had stolen away after supper to the balcony that extended across the western wing of the castle. It stretched from your quarters around the side of the building, ending at the room that had belonged to your sister before she had been married to a man who lived across the sea. The sun was low and the air was thick and so in your nightgown you prowled the terrace, fingers dancing along the worn stone and up the wilting vines. As you rounded the corner there he was - your sworn protector, a man who could be barely a year your senior, hunched in an old chair over his armour. You stopped behind the wall with enough haste that he didn’t spot you - or if he had, he never let on - and while he was engrossed in the work of polishing the silver, you watched.

He’d done away with his undershirt, most likely because of the stubborn, close heat, and though he was side-on to you, his chair facing out towards the mountains in the distance, he was hunched to his left, leaving you with a view you much preferred to the vast one beyond the wall.

The muscles across his back rippled as his arm moved back and forth over the metal. In the quiet of the evening you could hear small grunts and sighs, and as your eyes adjusted to the light you spotted silvery marks of healed flesh across his side. His back was speckled with freckles and as he moved, you took notice of his mop of hair.

Though your father’s knights were never required to wear their helmets in the castle, the hair that now flowed freely was usually tightly bound at the nape of your knight’s neck. You had never realised how long it truly was - nor how unruly. Brown curls stood in what seemed like every direction, swaying back and forth in tandem with his shoulder, glowing a slight auburn in the setting sun.

You had watched him for a while, listening to the sounds of his efforts and drinking in the way the light made his skin gleam golden. It wasn’t until the sun had set that you had made your escape, bare feet padding silently across cool stone.

Ser Munson - Edmund, or Eddie as he preferred - was assigned as protector of the King’s first daughter when she came of age, at sixteen. You had been a moody teenager, belligerent and stubborn, determined you did not need protecting, even if the protector in question was broodingly handsome and a challenge to crack.

Thus, you lingered around the castle while your sisters sought husbands and new lives. Your father, though a cunning ruler, was soft when it came to his girls, and so no man was worthy of a single one of them unless he made her happy.

And no man ever had made you happy. The ones who put themselves forward as candidates for your hand were, in most cases, perfectly nice men. Mostly wealthy, often handsome, but always boring.

It was always the same: they believed you to be the most beautiful princess in the history of the realm, and they would be honoured to wed you. But as your father’s eldest daughter you knew one thing to be true: every one of them wanted the throne, and would marry you to get there.

So you sought fun in lowly servant boys, stealing kisses from cupbearers and kitchen porters, running wild in the vast gardens of the castle, just out of grasp of your grumbling mother. One day, you’d tell her when she chastised you over monstrously glutinous dinners. One day a man will come here and sweep me off my feet. Until then, I am content with my lot.

After that evening when you were nineteen, you had not looked at Eddie the same way. His job was to follow you everywhere - well, mostly everywhere, unless you were behind a tree with the stableboy again - so it was difficult to not look at him. But those aimless adventures became tiresome, and your daydreams became occupied instead by the man who tailed your every move. Stableboys were getting married, all your sisters were getting married, every eligible nobleman for a hundred miles was getting married - but you remained, as did Eddie.

“So it doesn’t hurt?”

“No, your highness.”

Eddie stares straight ahead, off into the distance, answering your childish questions through gritted teeth. You grin at him, elbow on the arm of your chaise and chin cupped by your hand, enjoying this latest instalment of your petty little game: you ask him silly questions, Eddie’s cheeks go pink, and you get a good giggle and a kick out of teasing him. It began as something lighthearted, a test of the waters after that late night wander changed your perspective, but that was two years ago and understandably, Ser Munson is getting increasingly tired of your games.

“Your highness, can I suggest that you get dressed? You’ll be late for-”

“No,” you yelp as he stands to move, sword clanking. “I’m sorry, I’ll bite my tongue. Don’t go.”

“But Miss-”

“Okay, okay, I’ll dress, just wait outside the door, will you?”

“I always do, your highness,” he says. “It is my duty.” You cannot see the smirk he sports as he turns his back to you; it is one he reserves only for himself, lest your ego get too big.

You deflate into your chair as he leaves, the heavy door swinging open. Three young maids are by your side as it slams shut, lifting you from your doze and tying you into a corset and skirt. Today you’re offered a deep navy gown, the colour of your family’s flag and perhaps the colour you look second best in.

At least it matches Eddie’s cloak.

You knock softly twice on your bedroom door, your handmaids tugging at the final details, and the guards who stand watch pull it open for you. You breathe in quick and deep, hands smoothing the satin across the top of your skirt, and step forward into the hall.

Eddie stands to one side, awaiting your direction. You follow your usual morning route, down the wide corridor to the stairs, which roll out into an even wider hall like dropped silk. Eddie’s cloak slinks across the stone floor behind you, and you yearn to make a joke, prod at him, get under his skin but you cannot, for many eyes are upon you now.

The Great Hall sits at the opposite end of the atrium to the staircase. The walls between yourself and the huge, towering doors are decorated for the brief return of your youngest sister, the most recent to wed - she is pregnant, and so there must be celebrations.

Floral garlands follow you as you make your way across the room, where, at the far end, your father stands in the doorway, watching, your mother by his side.

Peering glances follow you until other guests arrive and attentions are diverted. So you slow your step just slightly, enough that Eddie does not notice immediately and falls in line with you. Before he can correct himself, you lean in.

“Ed- er, Ser Munson,” you say, tone playful but slightly sinister, an indicator that you are brewing one of your schemes.

“Yes, your highness?” he responds neutrally.

“Ser Munson, would you please do me a favour?”

Long ago, Eddie learned to never respond to this query the way he is supposed to as your protector: Anything, your highness.

Instead, he asks: “What can I do for you?”

“You know that sword?” You twist slightly, tapping the hilt of his blade where one of his fists seems to permanently rest. “You’ve killed people with it, right?”

“Only when I have to, your highness.”

“How many, would you say?”

You hear him take a sharp breath in. You smile softly.

“Eighteen.”

“Eighteen,” you repeat. “Care to make it nineteen? Do me a favour and slice through my guts so I don’t have to bear another one of these idiotic ceremonies?”

If you’d paid closer attention, rather than sharing your gaze between Eddie and your father, who was ever-nearing, you’d have seen that your dear knight almost broke. This would have been the closest you’ve come to getting a laugh out of him, your stoic, stone-faced hero.

“That’d be highly inappropriate, your grace,” he says, composed. “And I’d surely lose my head.”

“Oh, but that’s your job,” you whisper. “To die for me! And anyway, I can’t go to hell alone, you’ll need to keep me company. And protect me from the ghouls. So maybe make it twenty instead.”

This time, you do catch it. The corner of his mouth twitches and something in his eye, the way it dodges you, gives him away. In your peripheral vision you see him open his mouth - it’s close to your ear, you almost hear the beginning of a word - but you’ve reached the end of the hall, and your father awaits. Eddie falls back again, a step or two behind, as you drop your shoulders and brace yourself.

Being one of many sisters is a difficult life. Impossible to prevent yourself from comparing their hair to yours, their eyes, the slant of their shoulders, their waists, their hands, and worse is the bickering, the competition.

Being the only one of them not to be married is the worst.

Twenty minutes ago, you stole yourself away to a corner of the Hall with a too-full cup of wine and three slices of the best bread. Here you camp, munching on the final crust, eyeing up the table across the room. How do I get a refill without someone asking me to dance?

With your eyes squinted and shoulders hunched in, you scarcely notice your knight down the wall. He’s on guard, back straight with his hand on the hilt of his sword - watching, as he is supposed to. Only his attention is distracted, because in his peripheral vision is you, alone, as always.

It’s only when you hear the familiar clinking of sword sheath on armour that you turn to see that he’s beside you, and in a rare moment of peace, he’s leaning back, letting the wall take his weight.

“What’re you looking at?” You eye him suspiciously, swallowing the final sip of wine. “Come to ask for a dance for one of those snivelling Harrington boys?”

You hear him scoff, though he’s smiling just slightly. “No,” he says quietly. “Why, do you want to dance with Steven?”

You scoff. “Do I fuck.”

“Language, your highness.”

“Please stop calling me that when dad isn't around.”

He glances at you, smiling still, and rolls his eyes. “Why aren’t you with the other ladies?”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes. “The Buckleys aren’t here. It’s no fun without Robin.”

“And your sisters?”

“Oh yeah,” you drone. “I just love being reminded by all four of them how lucky a man would be to have me and how I must get married because, oh, weddings are so lovely!”

He turns to look at you properly, silver collar creaking, and reaches over to take your goblet. “How many of these have you had?”

You drop your hands behind your back, looking down at your slippers like a naughty child. “Three.”

To your surprise, you feel the damp rim of the cup meet your chin, pushing your face up. Eddie looks back at you and keeps the pressure under your head so you can’t divert your gaze. Your cheeks warm, heat blooming under his watch.

“Fine,” you sigh, eyes dropping closed in defeat. “Seven.”

You brace for a scolding, expecting a telling off from your faithful knight, but when you look at him in the silence, you find him grinning down at you.

“You’re going to feel awful in the morning,” he tells you.

You look back at him a little dumbfounded, because he’s very close to your face and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him in such detail before. There are creases by his eyes from smiling, and there’s an old, white scar across his nose, which is crooked, presumably from old punches.

“Will you take me to bed, then, please?” you ask softly, and he lowers the cup slowly, placing it on a nearby table without looking away from you. You look back at him, trying your hardest through the fog to give him your best pleading eyes, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. He’s close, still; time suspends as he nears even more and runs his thumb along the underside of your chin. It is the first time in your life that your knight has ever touched you.

You watch as he brings it to his mouth - it’s a deep, bruised pink, dyed by the wine from the rim of the cup where it had held your face up - and, taking his eyes off you, slides it between his lips.

It’s certainly not the first time you’ve been breathless around him, but it is the first time you’re face to face with him as the air leaves your lungs in a slow, desperate whine. It feels criminal, illicit, standing in the shadows at the back of the room, within reach of anyone who cares to look for you, watching Eddie lick wine off the pad of his thumb.

The festive music on the other side of the room ends and people around you cheer. Eddie’s smile drops and he straightens up as though kicked in the back, looking around like he just woke from a dream.

“Uh, yes- Your highness. I’ll escort you to your quarters.”

He steps back but holds his arm out for you to take. For a moment you just stare at him, incredulous, before wrapping your fingers around the cool leather covering his forearm and lifting yourself off the wall, your heart wilting as his guard rises again and your fun, playful protector is lost to duty once more.

The ceiling of your bed chamber hasn’t changed in fifteen years. You know because you’ve had many nights like this, staring at it forlornly, yearning for something you cannot and will not have.

When you were six, your father had the sleeping quarters across the whole castle redecorated, and you requested a fresco above your bed. Under the guise of education, telling your father that it would help you practise your knowledge of Arthurian legends, you asked for a depiction of the knights of the round table. Truthfully, you wanted to be able to look at Arthur every night before you slept.

Now, it makes you feel sick. It’s an ugly, truthless fairytale, spun to make little girls giggle and you despise every inch of it, regardless of how beautiful it may have appeared to you once.

In the dark, you can still make out Arthur’s faded features. He is plain, with cropped blonde hair and a silly chestplate, looking over the expanse of your ceiling to Guinevere, whose clasped hands by her cheek make the picture of a woman in love.

You turn over, frustrated, and cover your head with a spare cushion.

The stone of the balcony wall is cool beneath the palms of your clammy hands. In the courtyard, your sister’s carriage is leaving, followed by many horsemen from her husband’s house. They’ll return only when the baby is born, to christen him in the family chapel.

You sigh as she leaves the gates and lean your weight on your hands. It’s still hot out, too hot for so many layers under your dress and a corset so tight, and you’re too exhausted to carry the weight around. Your maids are nowhere to be seen because it’s the middle of the afternoon and you should be socialising, but you’re an adult. You can dress - and undress - yourself.

As you return indoors, you reach behind your back and tug at the knot at the base of your corset. After a couple of frustrated tries it finally gives, loosening so that you can hook your fingers under each stretch and pull it undone. You gasp for air, filling your lungs properly as your ribs expand, and use your shoulders to pull it loose enough for you to remove. You take care to place each layer gently over your chaise - corset, overdress, skirt. You’re left in your undergarments - a long, loose slip made of cotton - when you hear an unexpected knock and the door begins to open.

You jump, feeling suddenly exposed in so few layers. It’s unlike anyone to disturb you at this hour.

You tense even more when your knight, with his hair loose and his cheeks pink, pushes the doors wider. He stops in his tracks for a moment as he spots you across the room, flushed your own shade of mortified.

“Eddie,” you hiss. “Shut the fucking door.”

His eyes widen and he straightens up, knocked out of his daze. You expect him to retreat, but he moves inside and pushes the doors closed behind himself.

“I meant with you outside them, ideally,” you bite.

“I- Uh, sorry- My apologies, your highness, I-”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Sorry! Sorry, shit, I- It’s important, sorry.”

“So important that it requires you to see me indisposed?”

He looks at you blankly for a second. “I mean, technically I see you like this every morning when you interrogate m-”

“Oh, shut up,” you spit, eyes narrowing. Your arms are still crossed over your chest, even though you’re covered from neck to ankle. “You know that’s different. There’s no robe or slippers between us now, Ser Munson.”

His cheeks bloom at that, pink slipping into fiery red. He breathes impatiently through his nose, clearly irritated by your prodding, and steps closer.

“Your highness,” he says pointedly. You roll your eyes. “Your father- His Highness requests your presence. In the throne room.”

“I refuse.”

“Darling, I-”

“No!”

Your father stands at the other end of the table, his head hung and his hands on the wood in front of him. You are in the room in which he has his important meetings with his council. Over the years you’ve tried a hundred times to get in here during such meetings, to no avail, but now all you want is to get out.

“You are twenty-one,” he says after a breath. “I’ve given you time, five years of it. You can’t remain unmarried any longer.” This conversation has only been happening for maybe two and a half minutes, but it seems more like an age; you’re exhausted from yelling already, especially at him. But it feels like the walls are closing in, your entrapment in a loveless marriage with a stranger now a certainty rather than a possibility. It’s beyond your power to stop the tears falling.

“You can’t make me,” you say through the thickness of your throat. Your arms wrap around your waist, squeezing, breath hiccupping on its way out.

“I can,” he sighs. “But I really don’t want to. It doesn’t have to be horrible. Your sisters, they’re all happy, why-”

“I don’t care about them. I want to be-” You stop yourself, because this isn’t something to talk about here, with your father of all people; you’d barely even talk to your mother about this stuff. But he’s looking at you again over the expanse of mahogany and his eyes are sad, because he’s fighting with his first daughter, and you break. “I want to be in love, father. I don’t want to be sold off to the highest bidder because I’m the eldest. That can’t be my life.”

He sighs again. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It is. There are fifteen houses coming here tomorrow, each with an eligible son. I’m letting you choose; it’s the most I can do.”

Your nose burns with betrayal and terror. Your cheeks are wet, tears falling into soft, wet spots on the front of your dress. Your arms squeeze your middle one last time before you turn, pushing past the Kingsguard who stand at the door, past the cupbearers and the maids, and past Eddie, who has been waiting for you outside. For the first time ever you don’t hear the familiar sound of armour following you, and for a moment you almost stop to turn and look for him, but you’re still crying and although it’s the middle of the afternoon, all you want to do is hide.

“It’s true,” Robin sighs. “I’ve been looking in our library, and I’ve counted at least three instances.”

You roll onto your back. Robin sits beside you on the plush of your bed, which has been remade by your maids so that there are no remnants of your painful, sleepless night. She strokes your hairline softly, looking down at you with sorry eyes.

“The most recent was eighty-three years ago,” she continues. “Lady Flora. She ran off with her knight, to be fair… But still!”

“I’m the eldest, Robin,” you tell her, trying your hardest to stop your words coming out in a hiccup; you only stopped crying this morning, and you’re in no mood to begin again now. “There’s too much expected of me. I can’t run off. I have to pick the right person.”

She takes in a breath. “Who says he isn’t the right one? Or that you’d have to run off?”

“Centuries of historical precedent,” you tell her flatly. When you meet her eye, though, you watch as she tries and fails to hold in a laugh.

“Since when have you ever cared about historical precedent?”

“Never, but that’s the problem.” You sit up quickly, knocking her affectionate hand back into her lap. “I can’t… This isn’t right. None of it is, but especially… Him.”

“But in the centuries of historical precedent,” Robin says, a poor imitation of you, “There were people like you.”

“And what happened to them?” you ask with a huff, standing to pace beside your bed. “Exiled, abandoned, cut off, ridiculed… I can’t live like that, Robin. But- But I can’t exist here while he’s always around, right behind my back. He’s like my fucking shadow. I can’t-” You hiccup, a wet sound that heralds the return of tears. “I can’t move on.”

Robin watches you with eyes laced with a pity that makes you furious. You want her to fix this; it’s entirely irrational, but you’re lost, and surely someone somewhere has to take responsibility for this, fix it so you don’t have to feel anything anymore. Remove Eddie, replace him with someone lifeless and unfunny and ugly, hand you a beautiful, attentive husband on a platter and, most of all, take the pain away.

But it doesn’t work like that. You know it doesn’t.

“Your Highness,” Eddie says in a raised voice from beyond your door. “It’s time.”

You look at Robin, who looks back at you, her eyes wide.

“I’ll be a minute,” you shout back hesitantly as she rises and rushes over. You let her help you adjust your dress and she dips a cloth left behind by a maid into the basin of cool water by your bedside, wiping it gently over your cheeks in an attempt to reduce the blotches there.

Neither of you say another word. She takes your hand firmly and squeezes.

You hate this.

Although you’re desperate for anything but a pre-arranged marriage pact, part of you had quite genuinely hoped for some kind of miracle, that one of your suitors would be The Guy. In your restlessness the evening prior, you’d even let yourself fantasise that one of them, strikingly handsome in your daydreams, would appear at the foot of the throne and you’d feel it in that instant: love.

But in every version of this delusion, The Guy was faceless, nameless, a blur of a person until he wasn’t. Until he was Eddie.

In reality, your knight is out of sight for once, and you’re nearing hour three in the gardens, where the court musicians entertain the countless guests and wine is flowing freely for everyone except you. (With your father at your elbow all afternoon, it’s impossible to get a second cup. Your mouth is dry and your boredom inflating.)

You know better than to assume Eddie’s left the gardens completely, but there are too many people for you to see him.

Suddenly, you feel a sharp elbow nudge your rib.

You turn to your father and find him wide-eyed and pink in the nose - a tell-tale sign of frustration - nodding to the man standing opposite the two of you.

“Hm?” you hum, painfully aware of how obvious it is to the both of them that you weren’t paying a lick of attention.

“Lord Carver was telling us about his hunts,” your father says through gritted teeth.

“Oh,” you sigh, turning to the stranger. “How… Interesting. What do you hunt?”

“Deer, mostly,” he responds, puffing out his chest. His cheeks are blotched with pink and the caramel blonde of his hair is unpleasant. The pleasure of your attention is clearly feeding his ego. “Started on pheasants when I was ten. They’re far too easy now; I’m heading out tomorrow to try for a stag. Say, care to join me?”

“Oh, I’m flattered,” you say with a saccharine giggle and hand to your chest that your father can certainly see straight through. “But I don’t hunt. Thank you, though, Lord Carver.”

Lord Carver seems to take this somewhat personally, despite your almost sincere attempt at a polite curtsy. He comes over stoney, steel-eyed as though you’ve wounded him.

“No matter. Your highness,” he says flatly, bowing quickly to your father before turning on his heels and marching away.

You barely listen as you are accosted by the king for being so blatantly rude. Lord Carver is far from your mind because across the heaving mass of strange bodies, you can see your knight, looking straight back at you.

Your father hisses your name but you do not listen.

“I’m taking a walk,” you tell him. “Sorry, father, I just need a break. And… A glass of water.”

It must have rained this morning. The grass is damp beneath your feet, soaking slowly through the velvet of your lilac slippers as you push your way between bodies as politely as you can manage.

With your focus on the ground you do not see Eddie’s eyes following your figure through the crowd; you also do not see Lord Carver six steps behind.

The latter reaches you first, by quite a margin, a moment after you’ve broken free of curious strangers and can finally breathe again. Everything happens very quickly. In the shadow of a high wall, the man reaches for your arm like a viper. His fingers coil and the fresh garden air is replaced by his coddling breath on your cheek. He spun you so quickly you feel momentarily winded, enough to catch you off guard as your face scrapes the old brickwork. Spit hits your cheek and mixes with fresh blooms of blood as his pink face looms, dominating your field of vision - like a bear in a trap you feel helpless, his fingers around your wrist so tight you fear he may break your bones. In a moment you’re frozen stiff and he takes his chance, his lips pushing angrily into the stretch of bare skin above the collar of your dress.

“You’re a bitch,” he says, muffled by the skin under your jaw. You writhe and whimper but you cannot scream. “You humiliated me. See what happens to cunts like- Ungh-”

The force of your knee between his legs is enough force to knock him back. Stumbling, he lurches forward again, only to meet your elbow, sharp and swift at his throat. The pathetic choking sound he makes mixes with the familiar sound of heavy boots; you turn to find Eddie, pink in the face, fist on the handle of his sword.

“Christ,” he pants, “Are you okay?”

Lord Carver coughs as he struggles to regain his balance.

“You-” Cough. “You bitch,” he spits, hand at his collar.

“Watch yourself,” Eddie growls, towering over the spluttering lord, his sword pulled only a few inches from its sheath - a warning: I will not hesitate. “I suggest you take your family home, Sir.”

Lord Carver looks up at him, red eyes watering and breath still catching. For a moment he seems to contemplate fighting back, but even you almost find yourself laughing at the possibility, until you look to Eddie and find a version of the man you’ve never seen before.

Your life, which Eddie tails endlessly from a few paces behind, always, is quiet. Mundane, boring, unadventurous; you rarely leave the castle grounds and when you do, it’s inside a carriage. Your bravest adventure since you were sixteen was taken barefoot, that evening after dinner, up on the balcony where you’d stumbled across your knight, bare-chested and panting.

You’ve teased Eddie before about how the lack of danger in your life must mean his own is boring. Though he never once gave into you, deep down you worry that it’s true.

Now, though, your knight is coloured a shade unknown to you. He’s come over like a shadow, eyes hard and brow set, and there’s a vein visible above the collar of his cape. Lord Carver seems to halve in size beneath his frame, and though he has never shown himself like this in front of you before, you’re sure of one thing.

Your pleading cry is too late, too weak - before you can intervene, Eddie’s fist makes contact with Lord Carver’s cheekbone. There’s a crack that, to you, is as loud as thunder, though the skies are as blue as they’ve ever been. As his back hits the floor, Lord Carver yelps like a wounded dog, and Eddie moves in on him.

“Eddie,” you plead, voice weaker still, your hands grasping his arm, “Leave him alone, I’m okay, please.”

In the commotion, you’d failed to notice your growing audience. You’re sure that if you let him, Eddie would give another punch, and another, but the man on the floor is bleeding from his nose and from a wide gash under his eye and your slippers are drenched through and so is the collar of your dress where your tears, unbeknownst to you, have been soaking the cotton.

“Please,” you hiccup, your hands squeezing, pulling Eddie backwards with as much strength as you can manage.

“Asshole!” Carver spits, his voice broken. Two men who resemble him are helping him up off the ground, the small crowd murmuring between themselves as they watch him stumble away. “You’ll regret this!”

It’s an empty threat. You barely hear it, in fact, because Eddie is finally turning to you, his shoulders dropping. His face softens the moment he looks at you.

“Are you okay? Did he- Where did he hurt you?” He asks again. People are dispersing but you pay them no mind because Eddie’s hands hold your face and it stings when he runs his gloved thumb over the gash on your cheek. You wince and his grip on you tightens, as though you might slip away if he lets you.

As his arms wind around your shoulders, you push your face into the embroidered crest that sits by his heart.

“You’re okay,” he tells you firmly, sweet words murmured into your hair. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

Your father’s booming voice cuts through whispering strangers like a whip. Eddie moves away from you so quickly that you almost choke.

Tears mix with old blood and you want to scream. You want these strangers to leave your garden, you want Eddie to clean your wounds, you want to run away.

You cannot have what you want.

Two and a half weeks ago, your father replaced your knight via a letter.

Ser Munson has been reassigned.

After two nights of bed-rest in your chamber, wherein you were seen only by your mother and two alchemists, your new knight - an older man, as old as your father and then some - made himself known at your door. He informed you of his new appointment as your sworn protector. When you asked after Eddie, he closed the door.

Two lonely weeks entailed many downward spirals. One evening after countless days spent rotting, refusing the attendance of your mother or father, you find yourself staring blankly at your reflection in the glass beside the chest that houses your dresses. The girl looking back is gaunt and her eyes are bloodshot. There’s an old cut on her bottom lip, close to healing but you’re sure you’ll bite it open again soon enough, splitting the skin so that deep red plumes can burst through and begin the process again.

You think about Eddie. What would he say if he could see you now? Over the weeks you’ve spent more hours than you can count thinking about how he’d held you, the words spoken into your hair, low enough to avoid unwelcome ears. His hands had gripped you so firmly that you’d almost felt whole again after Lord Carver’s grubby paws had violated you so horribly. Now you’re hollow.

His reassignment was surely your punishment: how dare you let yourself be so distracted that you humiliate a noble Lord to the point of such anger? How dare you humiliate him such that he wants to hit you, bite you, kiss you, hurt you?

Meals delivered by your maids go uneaten. You do not speak to your new knight, only catching a glimpse when he opens the door for attendants.

At the dawn of a Thursday, your mother delivers the news that you are to stay behind while your parents visit your sister. You’re not sure which one of the four it is, but you do not care. With them gone, maybe you can go out; it’s early summer, after all, the weather is glorious, and you’re gasping for some sunlight and some respite from this stupidity.

When the sandbag splits, old hay spills onto the muddy ground.

Eddie’s sword is freshly sharpened and slices through the woven material like a hot knife through butter. He imagines Lord Carver’s face where the bag is tied together with string and watches it fall limply to the floor.

Outside in the courtyard, the sun is hot and shade is rare, and sweat beads on his forehead and drips to his chin. Other knights spar around Eddie, practising for nothing. His new position in the Kingsguard is, quite obviously, a downgrade, but only a few of his fellow knights have tried to get the why out of him: why have you stopped tailing the eldest daughter around? Why are you now forced to watch the southern walls in the dead of night? How did it happen? What did you do?

He chances a glance upwards, to the higher balcony along the wall, squinting under the sun. He doesn’t know if what he sees is you, standing in the shadow, or a trick of the light.

Your parents have been gone for two days, and the castle is like a ghost town. It’s never like this; even on late night escapades through the hallways, there are always maids at work, cleaning ladies and cupbearers. Guards on constant rotation, your father’s advisers wandering the halls having hushed conversations.

Tonight, though, there’s nothing. Your family’s absence is a moment of respite for the staff, who get a rare few evenings off to venture into town for some fun. You’re completely alone.

The long corridors look almost blue. The full moon is rising over the horizon and you’re enjoying an evening of freedom.

With most of the court staff out of the castle walls, you can’t be sure if you’ll find what you’re looking for tonight. He may have gone off with them, with his friends in the guard, down to a pub, getting drunk because he can, stumbling half-blind into a brothel like the rest of them do.

You shake the thought off because it turns your stomach, despite having no claim over the boy. It’s true that he may have gone but you’re searching anyway, because you’re driving yourself mad with guilt, and secretly you’ve missed him horribly.

You miss knowing he’s right outside your door, only ever a few paces away if you need him. You miss the blooming pink across his cheeks whenever you tease him, his stumbling answers and poor attempt at staying stony-faced and stoic. And you miss the smirk, though you’re sure he thinks he hides it well, that creeps across his face whenever you finish your teasing.

It’s your first time in this corner of the castle. Almost twenty-two years of living here, you’ve never had a reason to venture to where the knights stay. It’s a long way from your own wing - you’ve been walking for ten minutes and you’ve only just spotted a door. You’re treading softly in your favourite ruby slippers which, though you’d never admit it even to yourself, were surely chosen on purpose. You dressed yourself this evening, so there’s no use blaming your maids for the decision to drape you in scarlet.

As you come to a stop outside the room, you hold your breath and listen. You haven’t seen a single knight - not even your own new one - this whole time, but there’s somebody in there, and it sounds like they’re pacing.

Your hand reaches for the handle but just as you touch the iron, it twists on its own and the door flies open. You stumble forwards, losing your balance, but a familiar hand steadies you.

“Your highness?” He breathes, helping you back up. “What the- What are you doing here?”

You look at him. The man staring back at you is wide-eyed, those browns as pretty as ever but framed by new, dark circles. It’s difficult to see in the low light but he’s more tired than you’ve ever seen him. And though he seems sleepy, he’s dressed up in most of his on-duty getup, without the cape and sword.

“Eddie?”

“I thought the- Aren’t you supposed to be seeing your sister?”

“No, I… I stayed behind,” you tell him. A half-lie.

He looks back at you blankly. “Well,” he sighs. “We should… I should escort you back to your chamber.”

“No,” you say firmly. He does not invite you inside but you step over the threshold anyway, pushing past him into what you assume must be his bedroom.

It’s a plain room. The bed is low with old sheets, and there’s one candle burning on a table by the window. On the wall above his bed, he has hammered what looks like a letter into the plaster. And to the left of that-

“Is that mine?” You point plainly to the embroidery hoop. Even in the near-darkness you cannot miss the rosy flush you ignite across his face.

He scratches the back of his neck nervously. “Yes.”

It’s a small hoop, one you must have done years ago. A deep red rose, your favourite.

You look at it for a moment, and then to him. “Where have you been?”

He drops his hand. “I was reassigned,” he tells you.

“Why?”

“I don’t-”

“Why?” you press. He sighs and leans in the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest.

“After the… Incident with Lord Carver, your father thought it best that I be moved.”

“And now?”

“Now,” he sighs, “I’m on the nightwatch.”

“The nightwatch?!” you parrot. Even you, with only superficial understanding of the mechanics of your father’s guard, know that that’s one of the worst jobs. “But you… Why would he punish you?”

“Ask him,” he says bitterly, and so quickly that you know he regrets it instantly. “Sorry,” he corrects, “That was out of order.”

“Don’t apologise,” you say back, stepping past him into the wide hallway. It’s a brighter blueish-grey now, the moon nearing its highest spot in the night sky. You stop, turning to look at Eddie, and there’s a beat of silence.

He’s watching you quietly, and it takes him a moment to realise that you wish him to follow you. Under the moonlight you’re effervescent, your skin almost sparkling. The soft glow of the moon reflects a million times in your eyes like tiny diamonds. You’re so pretty it’s difficult to look away.

Eventually he closes the door behind him and falls into a familiar step, just behind your left foot. You walk and talk as you meander through random hallways, clearly unsure where you’re going but he says nothing, silently grateful to see you again and willing to walk every hall of the castle if it means stretching out the time before he has to leave you again.

“Why do you say that?” he asks. You turn your head to look at him, lost. “You told me not to apologise.”

You huff, striding forward. “You don’t have to respect my father around me, Eddie. It’s not like he respects me, or anything.”

“I don’t understand,” he says quietly. You bristle, frustrated that you’ve allowed the conversation to move to you. You’d intended to find out where he’d gone, not tell him about this.

“He can quite easily forget about me,” you tell him over your shoulder bitterly. “I’m happy to forget about him for a few days.”

“I… I don’t understand,” he repeats, and it irritates you double.

“For God’s sake,” you spit, stopping so abruptly that he almost crashes into your back. You spin and stare him down. “I’m a disappointment, okay? They left for their trip, and they left me behind. I’m useless. No man likes me, not enough to marry me, only stupid stableboys have ever come close to me. Something went wrong somewhere and now I’m here, heir to the throne and without a husband. And it’s. Your. Fault.” You jab your index finger to his chest for emphasis, but it’s meagre because you can feel the tears returning and you want nothing less than to be seen crying by Ser Munson.

You cross the remainder of the hallways alone, Eddie left behind. Whether by choice or because of shock you don’t know, and frankly you don’t care. When you finally return to familiar halls, you push your way into your chambers and slam the heavy door as hard as you can behind you.

After a few minutes of pacing, having make-believe arguments with yourself in hushed tones, there’s a soft knock. So soft you almost miss it, but the eerie quiet of the castle has you jumpier than usual.

“Sweetheart,” you hear through the thick wood. “Let me in? Please?”

Maybe it’s your fear in the silence, or maybe it’s the way the rare sweetheart makes your stomach drop; either way you cave, rushing over and heaving the door open.

On the other side of the threshold, Eddie stands, hair unruly like he’s run his hands through it a few times. The curls stick out at odd angles and stand out dark against his alabaster skin.

Something in his eyes makes you break. The tears come thick and fast and before you can hide or apologise or close the door, arms wrap you up and his hand is on your back, smoothing patiently up and down.

It’s not the most comfortable hug; his armour is mostly leather and cloth but the toughness of it all makes it difficult to completely lean into him. As though he senses that, he pulls back, though his hand lingers on your arm where he gives you a squeeze.

“I’m sorry,” you hiccup, palms smudging wet tears across your face in an attempt to dry your eyes. “That was so mean of me, I’m sorry.”

“I just want to know what you mean,” he says, his eyes sadder than you’ve ever seen them. You dreaded this inevitability the moment you let the blame fall from your lips, but you owe him that much.

You sigh, look down at your feet, and resign yourself to truth.

“Father… He loves me, but he loves the throne just as much. And I’m the eldest, and I’m almost twenty-two, so…”

In your peripheral vision you see him sag, his shoulder dropping in premature realisation.

“He brought all those men here, and not one of them was even slightly as interesting to me as you.”

Eddie looks at you, at the tears that periodically drop from your cheeks to the floor, listens to you sniff and hiccup, and wonders how on Earth you exist, let alone how you’ve landed here, with feelings so profound for him of all people.

“That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about me,” he tells you honestly. You look up at him and the sight winds him: you’re crying, and it’s sad and stressful and difficult but you’re so beautiful.

You giggle and to him, it’s the ringing of a thousand bells by a thousand angels. It’s golden and brilliant. “I’m surprised,” you say, your smile lingering. “You’re really very lovely.”

He steps forward and reaches up, taking your chin in his gloved hand. You look back at him and sigh without meaning to as he moves his hand to cup your cheek and wipes stray tears away with his thumb. It takes your mind back to loud music, seven goblets, and a wine-stained thumb between his teeth.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells you quietly. There’s no one around but this still feels painfully scandalous, like glass that could - and will - shatter at any moment. No sudden movements.

You smile into his palm. “Stop it.”

“It’s true,” he says as his thumb moves across your skin, over the remnants of the cut across your cheekbone, over expanse of skin to your lips.

You watch him as he takes a deep breath in.

“I wasn’t reassigned,” he admits to you. You match him, breathing deep through your nose, preparing for the truth. “Well, I asked to be reassigned. I had to plead, really, because your father… He’s a good man.”

You roll your eyes without thinking and feel your bottom lip quivering again, the tears reemerging.

“He told me I’d never be able to see you again,” you tell him in a whisper.

“That’s my fault.”

“What?” You lift your head upright and he drops his hand, bringing it to his hair instead to run it through the curls again.

“I asked that I be kept away from you.”

“Why?! Why on earth would you… What could possibly possess you?”

“I couldn’t go through that again,” he says. “I couldn’t be near you. It was too… Too painful, and I let it get the better of me when I punched Lord Carver.”

“You were protecting me,” you say flatly. “That’s- That was your job.”

The emphasis hurts. “I know,” he sighs, “But… I wanted to kill him.”

“I don’t understand,” you tell him. You despise the whimper your words come out with, the way your jaw clenches to hold back more tears. What you can see of his neck above the collar of his thick tunic and under the cover of ringlets of tired hair is blotchy, coming up rosy in uneven patches. Is he stressed? Nervous? Both?

Your vision blurs with tears and your nose burns. He looks back at you softly, just like always, his eyes dark and inviting. Your lip wobbles again and you hear his breath hitch in the quiet.

“Let me show you,” he offers as he holds your cheek again. You cannot help but lean in, head tipping to the left to feel the expanse of leather over your cheek, his thumb dancing softly across your skin.

“No, I- You have to explain yourself, I don’t-”

“Please?” He looks at you with those fucking eyes of his and you want to kick him and kiss him all at once. “Do you trust me?”

The urge to kick him persists but you nod anyway. Perhaps the kicking is not a frustration aimed at him but at yourself instead: why can you not tell him how you feel? Why does the possibility of what he’s about to do scare you so much?

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit to him in a whisper. You feel naked before him, though there’s layers of thick velvet and scuffed leather between the two of you, a hundred barriers of material, an aching yawn of distance that you find yourself disliking immensely.

Can Eddie read your mind? It feels that way right now - you only uttered six words but he seems to understand you entirely at this moment. He drops his hand from your face, takes a step back, and as you watch him wordlessly unbuckle his armour, your stomach contracts and your soul becomes hollow in anticipation. He removes the belt that the sword usually sits on, and then his leather gauntlets, pulling each finger from the gloves and placing them, too, on the table. As he peels off each piece of his uniform, creating a growing pile on the wood and on your floor, you see, for the first time since that night when you were nineteen, the bloom of his flesh under his billowing undershirt. He’s paler now than he was then, though the moonlight seeping in through the cracks between heavy curtains over your windows is no match for the golden wash of colour he had once basked in. If you had any sense you’d laugh at the display before you: endless metal defences and leather covers come away from his body and pile noisily beside him. But you’re transfixed, fingers fidgeting, bottom lip absentmindedly between your teeth.

You do not notice him glance at you every so often. Between removing each greave, he looks up at you again, and there’s nothing he can do to stop the flurry of blood to his cheeks. He’s baring himself, and you’re looking at him like he’s edible; perhaps, to you, he is.

After many minutes filled only by the sounds of deconstructed armour, metal and leather, he’s free of it, and he stands before you in a loose shirt and cotton slacks. His pale chest is visible behind the deep, un-tied collar and your fingers itch, fidgeting still, yearning to know what it feels like.

“Talk to me,” he whispers. “Don’t go quiet on me now.”

“I saw you like this, once,” you say quickly, voice so low it’s almost a whisper. You’re looking at everything - his arms, his legs, neck, chest, hands - except his eyes.

He’s taken aback. “What?”

“Years ago. I was nineteen. You were outside-” You turn to look through the open balcony door behind you, at the bright white gleaming down on the stone beyond. “-polishing. It was so beautiful out there, but I remember watching you for ages.”

You turn back, eyes on his finally. As ever, they’re wide and deep brown and beautiful. “Sorry. I know that’s strange. And forbidden, I guess.”

“No,” he breathes, taking a step towards you. “No, it’s fine- It’s okay.”

The air is thick and between that and your corset, you can barely breathe. He’s inching closer and it’s difficult to know where to look.

Nobody has ever been this close to you before. Not truly; you kiss your father and mother on the cheek before heading to bed each evening, you give your sisters fleeting embraces, you've fooled around with stableboys and, of course, you once loved to lean into his space whenever you teased Eddie, but this is different. Someone electing to be so near, choosing to breathe your air and not flinching or pulling back, instead lingering just to let his eyes dance over yours once more - it’s new, and it’s addictive.

He’s breathing your air but you’re also breathing his. The hills of his cheeks are mere whispers from your own, and his nose, crooked at the bridge where it once broke, nudges yours so lightly that you ought not feel it. It takes your breath away anyway.

At the sound of your gasp he smiles, only slightly, but you’re so close you see it in his eyes. Crows' feet emerge, wrinkling happiness beside his temples, and you can’t help but return it. As you fight the urge to close your eyes you watch him as he watches you, bated breaths and whimpers. All of a sudden he meets your gaze and you stumble where your foot had been resting on your other ankle. The heel of your slipper slides across bare skin and your balance goes, but before you can panic or cry out, you are pulled in breathless by his strong arm around your back. There may be layers upon layers of fabric but you feel it anyway, the electric jolts up your spine where his palm presses firm into your waist. Whether he means to or not is unclear, but you’re chest-to-chest with him now, the firm bones of your corset pushed against his shirt.

Your fingers spread across the fabric of his shirt. Without meaning to, you venture upwards, fingertips meeting the small smattering of coarse hair there, under the cotton. You watch your hands like they’re moving on their own, until his finger, hooked beneath your chin, tilts you up to meet his eye again.

It’s happening, you think to yourself. But then his arm, still around your middle, tightens briefly and he’s gone.

You watch him cross your room, the few steps he takes to your bed suddenly a criminal distance, too far, far too far. He sits upright on the edge of it, legs parted.

“Come here,” he says, his voice a melodic tug at your core. You move to him, sliding each of your slippers off on the way, and stand hesitantly between his knees, holding your breath without thinking to.

You can’t look at him. You caught a glimpse of his eyes and the way they’re looking up at you and you can’t. It’ll surely kill you.

He thinks you’re perfect, standing here, towering over him, relenting. His tough palms smooth over the layers of deep red velvet that lie over your hips, and for a moment he allows himself to relish in the small noises of shock you’re making before he urges you to turn around.

“You know,” he begins as his deft fingers untie and release the intricate ribbons at your back. “It wasn’t your fault.”

You turn your head towards him, as far round as you can. “What?”

“The… What happened, that afternoon. The way he spoke to you…” Eddie’s fingers still for a moment and you hear him take a deep breath. “The way he touched you. I don’t know what your father- what His Majesty said about it, but it wasn’t your fault.”

His left hand begins pulling at the ribbons again, but his right rests safely on your waist, as though he’s demonstrating something: how you should be touched, the way you deserve, soft and kind and gentle and wanted.

You hum in agreement.

“And I truly am sorry I punched him,” he says. “It- If I’d just told him to back away, it never would have become such… Such a thing, a big deal.”

“Eddie,” you breathe, grateful that you can get a lung-full again. You turn back to him in his grasp and take his face in both hands. Your palms are warm but they’re nothing compared to the flames of his cheeks, which almost burn under your touch. “I’m not mad that you punched him. I wish I’d done it, truly. But I’m never mad that you want to protect me.”

Your hands on his face startle him. You both sense it in the moment, how unlike you this is, to touch him so willingly and so carefully.

“I don’t think you needed me to protect you,” he says quietly, a smile emerging though he tries his best to hold it back. “Your elbow seemed to do a good enough job of that.”

Ah! The sound of your feather-light laugh fills a yawning gap in his chest that appeared two and a half weeks ago. It sounds even more beautiful than before, a twinkling spark of a sound, just for him.

“You’re funny,” you tell him. “I’ll always need you, Ser Munson. Don’t worry about that.”

He looks up at you from his seat on the edge of your bed with eyes that sparkle like the sky outside. Perhaps it’s the reflection of the faded stars painted onto your ceiling, or perhaps it’s just the sight of you.

Both of his hands are on your waist, now, as you stand between his legs. There’s a lot of material in your skirt, though, and it feels too distant still, so you reach behind your back to pull the remainder of the ribbons keeping your corset on, and pull it over your head. Eddie helps where he can from such a low vantage point, and as soon as it’s off and disregarded on the floor, his eager fingers are pulling the velvet dress down and away from your body.

“Fucking hell,” he heaves, “How many things do you have on right now?”

“You’re one to talk,” you giggle. “It took you five whole minutes just to free your arms.”

“Okay, but that’s important. I don’t want to lose my arms. This must weigh a tonne, and… For what?”

You hold his cheek in your left hand again while he unties various laces and undoes buttons. Your skirt has fallen away, as has the underskirt and the other, thicker layers. You’re left in your underdress, a simple white cotton embroidered at the collar. It’s nicer than the one he caught you in all those weeks ago, moments before your life seemed to tilt and slip away beneath you.

Under the fabric, your nipples harden in the cold, jutting out and catching Eddie’s eye.

“Is this okay?” He asks, pulling you in anyways, standing you safely between his knees, his wide hands tentative on your hips. “We don’t have to-”

“Yes,” you say firmly. “Please, yes.”

His hands slide over the hills of your behind to the backs of your thighs. He’s still looking up at you, eyes drooping when your fingers dance through his hair.

“I meant it, though,” you say. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“That’s okay,” he sighs, standing slowly. “I have all the time for you.”

The moonlight bleeds a sharp bluish hue but it doesn’t matter. Right now, as he says those lovely words, the boy is a golden ball of light, humming pinks and warm ochre. Your yearning arms wind over his shoulders as his breath mixes with yours once more, his nose nudges the swell of your cheek, his hands press firm into your waist. He’s slow with it, tantalising, keeping you whimpering and desperate, until he finally dips into you, lips on yours with a surprising urgency.

It’s magic, you are so sure of it. His mouth moves over yours with certainty: he wants to be here, he wants to kiss you. He’s wanted to kiss you.

All those fairytales that your wiry old school teacher told you were real, about spells and conjurings and spirits: it’s all real, surely, and it’s in this feeling. There’s no other way you can understand it, though in truth your brain isn’t entirely clear because his fingers are smoothing lower, bunching your dress in his fists to pull the fabric up over the stretch of your legs. All the while his kisses never cease; in fact, once you feel the cool air over the material of your underwear, you gasp and welcome his tongue with your own. Air is worthless to you now; all you want is Eddie.

Much to your dismay, he seems to disagree, pulling back from you to take a breath and lift your dress over your head. He whispers up and you raise your arms, letting him undress you quietly, and once he has, you daren’t open your eyes, instead winding your arms across your chest. You feel the nighttime breeze across the backs of your thighs and you tense knowing that you’re bare in front of him.

There’s a slow beat before you feel his hands again. You hear the dress discarded on the stone floor and then his rough fingers are gently, oh so gently, holding your waist. It’s like he thinks you could break.

“Can I touch you?” he whispers.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Of course you can.”

You expect more solid grabs of flesh, hands smoothing over the expanse of your stomach, maybe even venturing upwards, but you take in a surprised breath when you feel his mouth on your sternum.

His rough hands hold your lower back and he kisses, framing each of your breasts with rows of feather-light pecks, dancing blossoms of affection. You drop your hands to his hair as you let out a breath of satisfaction, tangling your fingers in the curls as his mouth rises.

The whine of your name that leaves your lips is met with his hands tightening, fingers almost curling into the flesh of your back. His kisses turn eager, frantic, crossing the mounds of each of your breasts. His hands leave you to pull his shirt over his head and it’s too much all at once: too much to see, feel, know. You can’t take it in before he’s kissing you again, less than kind as his arms pull your bare chests flush.

Your fingers explore new terrain, which is littered with freckles and white, years-old scars that stretch over his alabaster skin, each one a story that you hope he will tell you one day.

“Eddie,” you pant. He returns the sentiment, breathing your name over and over into your mouth as he sits back down and pulls you into his lap.

The rough of his slacks sends an unfamiliar jolt up your spine when your hips meet his. In the heat of the moment he’s pulling at you a little rough but your gasp draws him out.

“You good?”

“Just… Slow down,” you tell him, resting back on your heels with your hands on his broad, bare shoulders.

“Sorry,” he says. His face is flushed pink and his dark eyes are drooping. “Want to stop?”

“No,” you respond, too quickly to keep your cool. You shake your head. “No, I just- I’m scared I’ll go too fast. I like you too much.”

“I told you,” he says, moving in with his eyes on you. You nod, almost imperceptibly. He kisses your collarbone and then your shoulder. “I have all the time in the world for you.”

“What if someone catches us?”

He pulls back again and reaches up, moving hair from your face and putting it behind your ears. Tidying you up. Fussing over you. It’s nice.

“I promise that everybody who would even think to come anywhere near this room tonight is gone until at least tomorrow afternoon.” He kisses under your jaw, and it returns the shivers back down your spine. “They’re too busy getting drunk. Nobody’s thinking about us.”

“You promise?”

He kisses your chin. “I promise.”

A few years ago, your father entertained a visitor from one of the bigger cities. They had been on a ship for some years and they brought goods the likes of which you’d never seen before: round, vibrant, sharp fruits, powders that made food taste wildly different, and, your favourite, a small collection of fireworks.

In the light of a small bonfire, your father helped the visitor set the wooden tubes alight. They flew off into the air and sparkled, fizzed, popped. It was a display that you couldn’t help but gawk at, enjoying the sizzles and the colours in the deep January sky.

That’s what this feels like. His lips plotting a map across your bare neck, up over your jaw, until they reach your mouth, it feels like seeing fireworks. You keen into his mouth as he licks across your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth gently before letting go, meeting your tongue with his own. His hands at your back pull you in and that flush returns between your legs. He keeps you moving slowly, a lethargic push and pull across his crotch. The dips and folds of the tough fabric there, paired with the growing hardness beneath, give you a friction that you chase instinctively. It’s coupled with a litany of praises whispered into your skin between kisses, and the combination is clearing your head and sending you dizzy.

“That’s it, you’ve got it,” he coos, “Nice and slow for me, yeah? Just-”

Through drooping lids you watch him, his face scrunching in pleasure as you rock against him. It is not lost on you that this feels just as good for him, but you can tell he’s holding something back.

His face relaxes, and he meets your eye. “Hey.” He nudges your nose with his own and takes a deep breath. “You have to breathe, deep breaths. Doesn’t feel half as good if you stop breathing, promise.”

You let out a sigh and a twinkling giggle and he smiles, wide enough that you can see his dimples. He continues showering you with sweet praises, urging you towards oblivion. Look at you. I don’t even need to tell you what to do. You’re so beautiful.

“Fuck- My god.”

The pace quickens as you chase the abyss. His hands don’t move, keeping you anchored to him, moving you back and forth. It’s bliss like you’ve never felt; your own hand could never get you this far. The friction of his pants between your thighs is perfect and your need is ferocious as your stomach winds like a coil.

“C’mon,” he encourages, “You can do it. You’re doing such a good job, c’mon-”

You fall forwards and rest your forehead on his shoulder, whimpering something desperate into his neck as your stomach tenses and bends. Please, Eddie, please, please, please.

A white-hot light sears the darkness behind your eyelids as you come apart for him. He’s calling you all sorts of filthy things but you can barely hear him, brain too occupied by the burning in your belly and his hands, which are seemingly everywhere all at once.

“Good girl,” he whispers into your hairline. He scatters kisses there as you catch your breath.

“Thank you,” you sigh. “Thank you.”

He laughs and you feel it reverberate through his chest.

As you slouch into him, feeling returning to each limb, you feel a foreign yearning in your gut, a relentless feeling that prompts you to squirm. Wriggling, your restless hands paw at his arms and his back and they move lower, until you meet the waistband of his slacks.

You whine into his neck when he won’t move to accommodate your impatience. His hands lure you back from your resting place so he can look at you, with your kiss-swollen lips and happy eyes.

“I need to know that you want this,” he whispers. He rests your foreheads together, the tip of his nose nudging yours.

All you can do is whine. You’re too elated to care to form words, but Eddie’s not having it.

“I need to hear you say it,” he tells you sternly. His eyes do not betray him: they’re steely and suddenly darker than ever.

You dip your head to kiss his jaw, nosing at his cheek, lips and teeth dragging along his skin.

“I want you, Eddie,” you tell him. His fingers tighten at the nape of your neck and pull you back, gentle but firm, as he watches you speak through obsidian eyes. “Please.”

He says nothing as he gives you one more kiss, soft as anything to the pillows of your lips, before helping you off his lap and laying you between the pillows at the head of your bed. You curl up there, the breeze colder still against the wetness between your thighs, which you squeeze together as you watch him stand.

He’s all lean muscle and long limbs. You let yourself gawk for the first time since that night on the balcony; you usually have to ration your glances at him, and he’s always covered by so many layers, so you allow yourself this luxury.

He knows you’re watching, so he makes a little show of it, bending down to get rid of the slacks. Before he does, you notice that the brown has deepened around his crotch with the stains of your pleasure. Acknowledging this makes you shiver, and though you feel you should be disgusted, it’s oddly comforting instead.

When he looks over at you, finally bared and unflinching, he takes a moment to take you in.

You’re still glowing, perhaps more so than before. Some of your hair is stuck to your face, plastered there in the heat of your first orgasm, but the rest of it is laid out around your head like a halo. It’s unfair that you can be so casually magnificent. You’re also not looking at him - well, not meeting his eye, anyway. The tip of your index finger is between your teeth as you take in the sight before you, Eddie as hard as he’s ever been, just for you.

“You sure about this?” he asks.

You look up at his face and break out in a grin. “Absolutely.”

He’s slower than you want, leaning over you, his knees on the comforter beside you, mouth lazy as he gives you kisses. You take and take, happy under his touch.

His hands are everywhere again. Your skin is on fire, aflame from the praise and the affection and the attention. The sensation of being so close to another person while naked like this is achingly unfamiliar but learning it is nice, new, natural. Though it’s nothing like anything you’ve ever experienced before, you’re finding that you like it. You like smoothing your hands over his back, feeling the dips and peaks of his muscles there, or around to the slight pudge of his stomach, just above a thatch of hair similar to your own. You like the feeling of his palms on your shoulders, down your arms, across your waist. You like that when he kisses you, you feel the nudge of his nose beside yours. You like that he appears breathless to you, like your kisses are preferable to air, especially when he becomes restless and impatient.

Above you, his hand moves south, fingers burying their way between your legs. Without realising it, you’ve been squeezing them together, desperate for any relief you can find, but his fingers are certainly better. They push your knees apart so that he can climb into your space, his waist framed by your thighs, the weight of him crashing into you as he dips again to kiss you silly. You wind your arms around his neck and pull him in, enjoying the proximity rather than fleeing from it, and feeling desperate without shame.

One hand hooks under your thigh while the other plants firmly on the mattress beside your head.

“You ready?”

You nod. “Yes.”

“I’m going to go slow,” he tells you, his lips moving against yours lest he get too far away. “Just tell me if you want to stop, please?”

“Yes,” you pant, “Yes, of course, please-”

The hand beneath your thigh escapes and he holds himself as you wind your arms under his, around his chest, pulling him in tight.

It’s definitely slow. A slow, tantalising push between your thighs, filling that gaping yearning within your gut. He’s big, though it barely takes you by surprise because of course he is.

He’s panting, biting his lip above you. “Fuck-” he gasps, “Shit- You okay?”

You nod as fervently as you can because words are escaping you and all you can think about is him, hovering over you, pushing into you, breathing your air and nudging your cheek.

“You feel- You feel so good,” he breathes, pushing further. You nod in agreement and tug him closer still, until he’s in as far as he can go, filling you to the hilt.

The proximity dazzles you as you open your eyes and examine his face. The scrunch between his brows, the freckles across his crooked nose, his teeth biting firm into his lip. It feels only natural to lean up and plot a path of kisses across the hills of his face, bright, happy kisses that relax him until he can kiss you back. He lets the weight of his body fall into yours, keeping some pressure on his arm so as not to crush you entirely, but the feeling of closeness is too comfortable for him to forego.

He speaks into the flesh of your cheek when he says, “I’m going to start moving, okay?”

“Yes,” you pant, and he does, pulling slowly away before pushing back. The friction of the movement over your clit adds to the swelling feeling of fullness each time he returns to you, and the pleasure is almost overwhelming. You take heavy breaths until they become moans, matched by his own noises. Your head is empty and all you want to do is become him; being here, underneath him, is never quite enough. Instead you wish you could, in this moment, under the stars and the moon and wrapped in the night breeze, merge with your knight and stay here forever.

Your lazy daydreams are interrupted when he groans and mutters some kind of praise into your hairline: You’re doing so well. Fuck, so good. And then, to your surprise, you feel his free hand traverse the expanse of your body, between the two of you, over the hill of your stomach until the pads of his fingers find your clit.

Holy shit. Holy shit. Perhaps you haven’t melted together, but this somehow got even better. His cock moves just as quick as he draws lucid circles with his middle and ring fingers over you. He kindles the flame like an expert as his mouth drops kisses messily across your own lips. That’s it: everything is messy, lazy, desperate. He moves and kisses and whispers please, come on, come for me, are you okay? I know you can do it, you feel so good, you’re beautiful.

The hot wire returns. It burns as it coils, tighter and tighter around an abyss in your gut, tugging on each limb like you might implode and become a black hole right here in your bed.

“Eddie, oh my god-”

“Come on.”

“Unngh- It feels s- So good-”

“Come on, sweetheart.”

His movements never relent as you come, the wire burning out in a white-hot bang. You yelp, moaning his name, and he keeps going through it all, kissing you silly all over your face. It’s only when you start to squirm that he slows, brings his busy hand out from between the two of you and smiles. He allows himself a moment to watch you, face lax and mouth agape, sweaty brow and hair a mess, before he taps your hollow cheek with his knuckles.

You open heavy eyes to look back at him and watch as he smirks down at you and brings two messy fingers to his mouth. He’s still inside you and he feels it, the way you squeeze him just slightly as he tastes you on his tongue, making a little show of it for you. He hears you gasp, panting like a dog, and even the moan that leaves you when he pulls his fingers free and they glisten in the low light. “Holy shit,” you breathe, and he breaks out in a grin before he can stop himself. “Holy shit, Eddie.”

“Happy?” he asks.

“Happy? Fuck yeah, I’m happy.”

His laughter is deep and loud, a rumble from his chest that makes you grin back at him.

“What about you?” you ask, eyes drooping again, bringing the back of your hand to your forehead. It burns there, like you have a fever. You must look a state.

“I’m more than happy,” he says, smiling. “You up for a little more?

You look at him. “Hm?”

“I, uh… I’m hard as a fuckin’ rock,” he admits, flushing, “And you… You feel so good, and I’d like to… Y’know.��

He feels bad for a second when your eyes widen and you look down quickly. “Oh, Eddie, shit, did you not- Oh my god, I’m so selfish, are you okay?”

Your hands are everywhere all of a sudden, pawing at his arms and his chest, your fawning interrupted by another bellowing laugh. When you giggle back, he winces, feeling it in the way your body pulls him tighter.

“I’m fine,” he assures you, “But I want to try something.”

“Of course,” you say.

“You sure you’re okay to keep going?”

“Yes,” you sigh, “I want to help you, I want you to feel good too.”

“Hold on, then,” he says, threading an arm between your back and the sweat-damp mattress. You wind your arms back around his neck and yelp when he swings you around, all the while keeping his cock firmly inside your walls.

“Fuck,” you splutter, planting your hands either side of his head.

He likes this view. Your face hovering over his, your knees either side of his waist. He holds you by the hips, feeling the curves and dips, pushing impatient fingers into the flesh at the base of your back.

“God, you are gorgeous,” he says. He likes this view, too, watching you flush and bat your eyelashes, made nervous under his gaze and by his lovely, genuine words.

“Not too bad yourself,” you respond, smiling, lifting one hand to push curls from his warm face.

This feeling is new but it’s lovely. Gravity pulls you onto him and it feels as though he’s somehow even deeper than before. His hands at your ass fist at the flesh there and he tells you he’s going to help you, that you may be worn out and that’s okay, and as he helps you lift yourself upwards, you get the hang of it.

You plant your hands firmly on the expanse of his chest and drop yourself down before pushing yourself back up again. It helps to sit upright so you do, letting him hold you and watch you and god, his face is a picture.

He’s scrunching his nose again, eyes tight as he huffs each time you drop onto him. He’s droopy and blissful as you move up and down, circling your hips just a bit, letting him guide you. It burns after so long but it’s nothing compared to the warmth in your chest watching him near the edge. His stomach tenses, the muscles flexing between your thighs, as his breathing becomes more ragged. And suddenly his arms come up your back and pull you down flush and inside your walls, his cock sits as far in as he can push it. You feel him stiffen and shudder and the warmth as he comes inside, hugging you close, his forehead on your shoulder.

He warns you as he pulls out, and then you lie still, spent, limbs going soft together. The sky is a pale blue-green now, the sun soon to cross the horizon. You can hear birds, and the soft morning light coats your skin in a kind of effervescent glow.

Eddie’s breathing lulls you into a doze, but after a short while he stirs. The space between your core and his is sticky and damp and it’s uncomfortable for a short moment, until he tells you quietly that he’s going to get up and get a rag. He moves you softly onto your back and you sigh, a happy, contented sound, watching him move around your space so comfortably.

He returns from the water basin with a damp cloth, cleaning the remnants of your night from between your legs. You wince when he does, only because you’re tired and sore and the cloth is cold, but he apologises and kisses the inside of your knee.

“Eddie?”

He’s at the basin again, rinsing the rag. “Mhm?”

“Do you really think everyone will be gone until the afternoon?”

You catch him smiling at your question, like he knows what’s coming.

“If you want to play it safe, lets say noon.”

“And what time is it now?”

He looks over to the clock, which sits above your mantlepiece, ticking softly.

“Early,” is all he says. “Early enough.”

“Stay with me?”

He drops the rag over the side of the basin and pads over to you. The mattress dips as he rejoins you, this time lifting your sheets to bury the two of you beneath them.

“I told you,” he says quietly, kissing the peak of your shoulder and pulling you in, his arm around your waist, “I have all the time in the world for you.”

The castle is bustling. People rush here and there, carrying armfuls of floral arrangements, buckets of wine, heaving plates of food. Your home is lively and noisy and your mother is pacing, directing the placement of each bouquet and chair.

In your chamber, the noise seems far away. Your maids finish tying your corset and your shoe ribbons before filtering off to complete other tasks. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror above your fireplace. Red really is your colour.

There’s a resolute knock at your door. The maids stand to attention and move out of your way as your knight pushes the doors open and you step through to the hall.

“Thank you, Dustin,” you say to him.

Your new knight, a replacement both for Eddie and for the man who took his place all those months ago, bows kindly at your regards. He’s young, younger than yourself and Eddie, but keen and worthy and you’re more than happy.

And then he appears, your beacon, a gorgeous vision of handsome beauty.

Eddie, Ser Munson, your knight. Or, rather, your former knight. He’s been promoted to fiancé.

He stands at the top of the stairs, looking back at you like you hung the stars. To him, you may as well have. You are all he has eyes for now, especially now, after giving up his duties and telling your father: Your daughter is my true and only duty.

“My god,” he breathes. You step over to him, too giddy to maintain any air of grace or class. Your step is more like skipping, your love for him giving you far too much energy to merely walk to him.

He holds his arm for you and you take it, leaning up on tip-toes to give him a chaste kiss to the cheek.

“How do you do it?” he says in a low voice, dipping his head so you can hear him as the two of you descend the stairs, Dustin in step behind you.

You’re smiling while you cling to his arm. “Hm?”

“How do you keep getting more beautiful?”

“Just think, Munson,” you say in a whisper, “By the time we’re one hundred, think of how beautiful I’ll be by then.”

“I dread to think,” he says sarcastically, squeezing your arm with his. You look up at him and the noise and fervour of the castle falls away. He looks back down at you and smiles, and it’s truly the only thing that matters.

The engagement party, your sisters, your parents, your birthright - what is any of it for, what does any of it mean, when you have the one thing you ever wanted?

author’s note Hey! Thanks for reading (or scrolling all this way). It's been so long since I uploaded my last fic and I’ve been lurking ever since - I miss u all but there isn’t really any room in my life for writing anymore. I have loved doing this and thank you all so so much for reading everything! I’ll be about, so the blog will stay and you can read whatever you want whenever you want. I love ya, I’ll miss ya, see ya l8r!

619 notes · View notes

searchingforserendipity25 · 1 year ago

Text

There are some things Davenport knows.

He counts them sometimes, the things he knows.

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

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

How to tell when someone is afraid

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

How to bandage up to twenty different kinds of injuries

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

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

How to organise reports with proper colour-coding techniques

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

How to laugh, and how to cry

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

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

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

Most days, anyway

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

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

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

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

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

He knows he likes these things.

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

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

And then he forgets about it.

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

#davenport #lucretia #taz #taz balance #fic #my fics #taz fics #taz balance fic

784 notes · View notes

zorosdimples · 1 year ago

Text

mdni. cw: imagined dubcon if you squint. implied size difference. sweet yuuji has nasty thoughts, sometimes…

yuuji is a great boyfriend.

his sunny disposition shines brighter—grows infinitely more radiant—when you flash him even the smallest of smiles. he lives to see you happy, to witness your spirit light and unburdened; he can’t think of anything he wouldn’t do for you.

but even the best boyfriend is far from perfect.

he does well masking it. but yuuji finds his mind drifting at times, swirling dark as the moonlit sea. and when it crosses his mind, he’s drowning in the tide, prisoner to the salty waves. he’s unusually strong, and he uses his physical prowess for good; his creed is to help others. but sometimes, he can only think of how weak you are by comparison.

you can hold you own—he made sure of that when he taught you self-defense. despite any physical limitations you may have, you make up for it with your determination, the hard set of your jaw and the focus with which you retaliate and disarm. but yuuji almost always lets your win your play fights (the feral glint in your eye and the gleaming cut of your smile make him stir).

what also makes him stir, however, is the thought of overpowering you and pinning you down: your wrists grasped in one scarred palm, a strong thigh tucked firmly between your legs, a musculed arm wrapped around your soft waist—forcing you to arch up into him and yield.

guilt nips at his ears and twists his gut when he daydreams about taking advantage of you. but it also makes him twitch longingly, has him biting back rumbling grunts and breathy moans as he violently thrusts into his own grip, the crest of pleasure just as intense as the shameful drop afterward.

yuuji thinks he can fight these fantasies and defeat them like he does with curses. but over time, he learns that it’s a losing battle. the only option is to talk to you—to confess his sins and beg for forgiveness. he desperately hopes that you’ll find it in your heart to stay with him. so when you eventually tell your boyfriend that you’re eager to make his wet dreams a reality?

don’t expect him to hold back.

#this is kinda cheesy and bad but idk i love him. my lunch break ramblings i hope you enjoy!#yuuji x reader #yuuji <3

398 notes · View notes

maucira · 1 month ago

Text

a sailor's fantasy

sailor! finn x mermaid! f! reader

non-con, descaling, rough sex, light sadism, stabbing, LOTS of fish puns, loss of virginity

read at your own risk

You had learnt from a very young age how to get an estimate of the time by looking at the moon. Unlike humans, you didn't need to use ticking objects to tell you what it was. You could confidently say it was somewhere around 22:00. You sat upon a rock, its jagged form cradling you with its hard surface. Your sleek tail shone under the gleaming moonlight, the pale rays creating a soft iridescence across the scales. It moved with ease, carelessly giving small flicks from beside you, dipping into the water that lapped calmly at the base of the rock.

Droplets of water fell from your body, sliding down your figure. The remainder of where you had previously been, the sea, slid off of your cheeks and ran down your soft skin that resembled that of a human. The rhythm of the quiet sea created a serene background noise as you stared lovingly at the moon that controlled the tides. You were lucky to be one of the many merpeople that ruled the ocean. It was wonderful having the only priority in your life be yourself. Two large seashells covered your chest, pearls strung along a fisherman's net that held it together. Small attachments of empty shells were attached to hooks, all forming together a beautiful top.

You solemnly looked down at the dead fish that lay still in your webbed hands. Its eyes which were once goggly and shiny, were now an unblinking frost-covered shell of what it once was. The fogginess nearly made you tear up, a creature once full of beauty now having its life taken away. It was the way of life, you knew that but it still was a heartbreaking sight to see such innocent creatures perish at the hands of those despicable humans.

You raised the fish to eye level, staring at it with a sorrowful look. Its scales shined under the moonlight, just like yours. You were both creatures of the sea, yet only one of you could experience it again. You let out a whispy sigh and lowered your hands down so they just skimmed across the water's surface, before dipping them under so the water encapsulated the fish's body and began to flow out into the ocean. You watched observantly, seeing it float into the dark waters. You shook your head in disapproval of its ending, putting your arms behind you to support your frame as you leaned your head down to watch your tail.

You flicked the scaly limb with an empty feeling in your chest. The humans were more frequently coming to this beach; it was becoming worrying. You hated fishermen, watching them hook your fellow sea creatures and flay them all whilst drinking a beer and cheering at the animal's death. What if you hunted humans for fun? You could but you were far too benevolent for that. Perhaps if you had the guts, you would. From what you had gathered from your endless nights of observation, they were cruel and merciless beings who strove to rid of anything they didn't deem necessary.

You frowned at the thought of those wretched people. If only evolution decided to have mercy on every other (both living and now extinct) animal and forced humans to be smooth-brained apes, your life wouldn't be so difficult. You huffed in annoyance as you took one last glance at the dead fish that had kept buoyant on its out-to-sea before preparing to dive into the water.

You shifted in a way that made your body slide off the rocks, submerging your tail into the ominous depths you had gotten used to. Just as you were about to dip your upper torso in, you heard the sound of a large boat drifting towards the area you were seated at. You gasped in absolute horror before plunging into the water as fast as you could, propelling yourself forward with your splashing tail. You swam to the dock, almost racing the ship as you slid underneath it and hid under the wooden beams. Your tail flicked intently as you focused your reflective eyes on the approaching boat.

You were glad it was night, able to hide and blend in with the seaweed that tickled your body. The rhythmic waves slapped against the nearing vessel as an anchor was hauled, burying itself to where it was thrown. Ropes were thrown to secure the massive ship and a plank slid down to make easy passage on and off the ship. You stared with wide eyes as everything was still, only quiet shuffling was heard before the loud cheering of humans resounded. Their footsteps cascaded down the plank and onto the dock, the particularly heavier seamen's thuds making you scurry further into the seaweed bed.

You peeked through the wooden boards as sailors of all sorts made their way off of the boat. Despite your hatred for those monsters, you were quite curious about them. You eyed the black boots they all wore, thumping onto the structure that separated you. The group of sailors hurrying off began to mellow down as only a few of the crew remained, making sure the ship was secure.

Throughout the walking and other activities that were happening on the dock, you heard a conversation spark up. While there already was conversation, this one in particular caught your interest and you didn't know why. "Hey, Captain. We heard there's a tavern somewhere in this place, we're going to have a few drinks before our next trip. You coming?" A voice rang out. Through your peeking, you could make out the voice belonged to a red-skinned lady, wearing clothes that seemed oversized and worn for her stature. She held out her hands in front of her, almost like she was trying to imitate a dinosaur.

"I'll sit this one out, Gigi." Another one said. You tilted your head to get a better look at the man that responded. His head was that of a fish bowl, a little purple... was that a toy fish? You wondered as you stared at him. You shook your head in dismissal as you continued to observe him. He had a missing tooth, yet it didn't render his cheerful smile down one bit. He looked quite a lot younger than the usual captains you'd see after eavesdropping. His big eyes were devoid of any colour, glancing around the area before he shoved his hands in his pocket.

The lady who you had now gotten the name of, Gigi, huffed and rolled her eyes. "I'll make sure to snatch a drink for ya then. See you." She giggled at her implication of stealing, giving a lazy wave before trotting off to join the others who were already beginning to walk the streets to find the tavern. The Captain sighed, brushing off his uniquely orange outfit, before sitting on the edge of the dock. His black boots skimmed the surface of the dark waters, a soft ripple echoing through the water before stilling once more.

You drifted forward slightly, turning your body to watch him from the side. You studied him through the cracks, eyeing his glass body that you could tell by the small cracks, wasn't fragile. Your tail swished under the water, making a small disturbance in the water. You glanced down and quickly lurched forward to still your tail, only creating more movements. You cursed yourself in your head, a frown forming at your stupidity.

"Huh?" Was all you heard before the groaning of the wooden boards started up. You stared at the spot where his boots once were, panic rising in you. You felt like you were going to throw up out of the sheer shock you were going through. You quietly panted as you shakily reached behind you, your webbed hand landing on a rock that you gripped tightly. Everything was silent for a moment, the only noise being the gentle crash of the waves in the distance. That moment was snapped as you ducked just in time as a harpoon came whirling towards you. You looked back in horror at the weapon that was skewering the rocks where your head just was.

You whipped your head back around, tensing as the first thing you saw was the same captain, his head upside down as he peered at you from over the dock. He laughed at your terror with the most toothy smile he could muster, despite lacking his front tooth. "Well, if it isn't a mermaid! If I had known all of them were peeping toms, I would've caught one of you way earlier! Holy carp..." He exclaimed, giddy at his discovery. You saw movement above you, setting alarm bells in your head.

You glared at him, before turning around as quickly as you could and propelled yourself forward with your tail. Your heart hammered in your chest, thumping hard. Your attempt at escape proved futile as a sharp pain made you screech out in agony. Pain coursed throughout your tail, making it convulse violently in an effort to rid the foreign object that had pierced through it.

As you shakily turned your head back, your pupils turned to slits at the sight of your tail. One of the captain's harpoons was now pierced through the once beautiful tail. Blood dribbled out of the stab wound, a mortified gasp escaping you. Your scales were now turning a deep red, coating the original iridescent colour. The captain on the other hand was completely unbothered, the smile he wore growing wider as he shook his head. "Incredible little thing, aren't you?" He whispered, "You're by far my favourite fish I've caught."

You didn't listen to him, grasping your head with your hands as you cried in pain. The feeling of a thin net dropping on you made your translucent eyes go wide. You shrieked as you felt the net ensnare you each time you moved. You thrashed about as wildly as you could despite your injury, trying to rip a hole in the intricate fibre with your nails. The rough texture of the rope rubbed against your skin harshly, a burning sensation forming.

You felt the entangling ropes wrap around you tighter. Your arms flailed helplessly around as you refused to allow yourself to become a sailor's trophy. You grit your pointed teeth as the throbbing pain grew more intense as you were stowed backwards. "Shh! Quiet down now, I can't promise that if someone saw you, they'd be more gentle than I will." He said, his eyes squinting nervously as he looked behind him for a moment.

"Let go of me!" You yelled, lurching forward to bite near the area his hand was as a warning. He frowned in disapproval at your uncooperative attitude. "Hey, none of that clown-fish-ing around. You're making this harder than it has to be!" He said, scowling slightly. He tugged you forward, making you yelp as you gaped in speechless pain.

It was hurting more and more, your body stilling as a paralysing agony shot through you. He had snuck one hand down to your tail and began to dig the harpoon deeper, acting as if he was finding grip before ripping out of your tail slowly. You cried out, tears unrecognisable as they blended in with the water that endlessly dripped down your face. His cold, smooth hand hesitantly reached forward as he pet your head. "Easy now..." He murmured, a guilty expression pulling his features before he sighed. He didn't say anything else as he stepped forward and caged your lower half between his feet. He bent down and began to shuffle his arms around your waist, hoisting you up and pulling you over his shoulder.

With a twitching tail, blood seeped down onto his outfit as it bleached its orange colour red. You panted as you scraped your claws up his back in a slow manner. You dug them as deep as you could into his clothing, yet they barely made a dent in his glass. You frowned as you bashed your fist against his body, weakness from the stab wound overtaking you. You couldn't see it, but he was beginning to get irritated. He used one hand to hold you securely as the other deliberately slid down your tail. You uncomfortably shivered at it, squealing in horror as you felt the tip of his finger dip into your stab wound.

You wailed in pain as your body instinctively curled as best as it could into a fetal position, jerking away from his hand. "Krill out then." He huffed. Finn had always thought a mermaid would be the 'gill' of his dreams, but you were being quite an annoyance. He wouldn't hurt you any more than necessary, that is unless you decided to act out. He treated all unique sea creatures with care, but you were a legend. Something so rare barely any sailors came across, and he wouldn't let his chance go to waste because of his kindness.

He cautiously looked around, trying to watch out for any peering eyes that may have been in the shadows before quickening his steps as he speedily walked past the shore and around near the cave pools. The small pools were surrounded by rock, a sneaky entrance that Finn knew by the back of his hand. He had known this area for quite a while and with always needing to be careful about his surroundings, he made sure to locate any suspicious hiding spots just in case. He adjusted his slipping arm around you to hold you tighter, carefully stepping by each rock to avoid slipping. Even if he did slip, you wouldn't get far in an entangled net and an injured tail. He knew that.

His black boots were securely planted against the rocks as he passed by, confidently stepping around it. There was a slimmer of hope in you that the more careful he had to be with his feet, the higher the chance a passage of escape would be. You tried to subtly squirm in his arms but with every small movement, the tighter his grip on you became. You heard many things in that moment, only one being comforting to you. The distant sound of people laughing, the steady breathing of the captain, the harsh wind that you rarely felt being underwater the majority of the time, and the lovely sound of the crashing waves. It seemed even the ocean was upset one of its creatures had been taken by the hands of a greedy sailor. Its once calm exterior now a raging sea.

The hope that had sparked up in you died down immediately as you were thrown against the rock floor, its spiky edges digging into your rubbery skin as you yelped out. You could barely move your limbs yet you still tried to shimmy towards the ocean. You almost resembled a pathetic maggot with the way you tried to flee with immovable limbs. Finn snickered at the sight of you, shaking his head before walking back over to you. "No, no... over here now." He mumbled, grabbing you by the fluke from your tail and pulling you backwards. You screeched in pain as you desperately clawed at the rocks to prevent being pulled further into the cave-like pool. Your strength was not enough to fight off this man.

He gave you one final tug before flipping you over on your back and straddling you. "Please let go of me." You whispered. "Don't hurt me." Finn sighed, beginning to adjust the net tighter on you so it restrained you. "It won't hurt for long, so just stay still and be good." With those words said, your body began to quiver in fear. This was the first proper interaction with a human you had ever had, and you had a feeling that you'd never go near one again after this. Finn observed you, admiring the body that was underneath him. The top half of your body was equivalent to that of a human, except the usual soft skin was more rubbery than a person's. His hand glided over your trapped arms, feeling the unusual muscles and bones. His hands reached up to your face, turning it to each side to study the fin-like ears.

"I heard mermaids were beautiful, but wow. You're a stunner." He murmured, holding your hand with one hand and using the other to crack open your mouth. You hissed at him, snapping your jaw as he flinched his hand away. "Hey- hey! I'm just seeing what your teeth are like." He grumbled, frowning a little. You bared your teeth at him as a warning, but it sufficed Finn's curiosity. "Woah..." He peeled his eyes off of your teeth and travelled lower to your chest, gluing onto the pretty seashells that covered you.

He looked up at your face for a moment, your expression full of unmasked irritation before looking back down again. He reached forward and grazed the surface of the shells. He observed your reaction with a cheeky grin, the corners of his lips sharply curling upward. You scowled at him as if he was the most disgusting thing on earth, a wretched beast who thought he had control over you. "You pull anything funny and I'll crack your glass open until everything pours out." You snapped, scowling at him. You couldn't move your hands much with the restraint of the ropes, but you clenched your fists tight.

He giggled at your threat, removing his hands from your chest area. "Alright, alright. I already have a pretty good idea of what's under there." He said, his hands resting on your waist. He slowly moved his fingers across the sides of your skin, small scales merging into flesh. He almost seemed at ease, touching the hard scales and eyeing the way your body stilled at his gentleness. You cautiously stared at him, an unsettling feeling sinking deep in your stomach as he paused his ministrations. His hands moved lower, a purposeful and slow travel as his hands were now on his hips. "But, I'd like to know more about something else." He muttered darkly. Those innocent-looking eyes were the most deceiving things you've ever encountered, the big voids of black looking harmless despite the fact they were looking straight at the small slit that was centred in the middle of your tail.

The horrifying realisation set it, your mind fogging in a panic. You knew that rape was a thing, it wasn't uncommon in the wild. You had interrupted the nature of animals by occasionally jumping in to save female dolphins from being raped by the male ones. It was common in life, and some life was unable to produce without it. Except that reasoning only applied to animals, animals did not have the same morality as humans or mermaids. They did things based on their instincts, they did not process the wrongness of things in their brain, only focusing on survival. It was heavily frowned upon for a mermaid to rape, the assailant shunned from the community or even (in some cases) fed to hungry sea life. It was quite unlikely too, as merfolk have sex purely for the act of producing with their mate, your people did not do it for pleasure.

You knew humans were heavy on justice, as they so claimed. They had rules set in place to prevent the harm of other humans. Humans had sex for fun or to create life, an intimate gesture that was usually performed by their romantic interests. You had known this, you knew how humans were, so that's why you just couldn't grasp why this sailor would do such a thing to you. For someone who travelled the sea, the waters of the ocean being a heavy part of his life, you couldn't understand why he would hurt something that was a part of the sea.

Your eyes glossed over, your shoulders shaking uncontrollably as you were stunned. You couldn't

move, the feeling of despair gripping onto you like a vice and paralysed your movements in pure shock. The pain that was in your tail seemed to have vanished as you could only focus on the fear that held you. Finn noticed your silence, the horror, all of it. Seeing as you weren't trying to attack him or escape, he smiled slyly. He held you firmly by the sides of your tail, reaching his thumbs to spread the scaly slit open, looking at the pink inside. Mermaid anatomy was interesting to him, he wouldn't have been surprised to see a weird blue vagina thing, but the familiar pink pleased him.

"Don't!" You yelped out, breaking out of your fearful trance. You began to move, but he was quick to hold you down and cease the attempt. Despite his lean figure, Finn contained a lot of strength in his muscles. He had been sailing since he was a child, hauling heavy cargo and controlling ships, it was no surprise he carried himself strongly. He brought a hand to your throat, holding it gently. He didn't squeeze nor grip tight enough for you to feel immense pressure, it was a light touch with a deep meaning. You had no control over this situation, you were injured and bound underneath him. He knew that and would take it to his advantage. "Just let me do this and I'll go easy on you, alright?"

"No..." You murmured, tears cascading down your cheeks. The droplets were visible now, the salty remnants of the sea that dripped down your skin were now dried up from the cool wind. Your strength seemed to have vanished, any trace of adrenaline leaving you as the splitting pain from your tail now came back, accompanying the terror. Finn sighed, his thumb tracing the edges of the scaly slit. "Finn. Call me Finn, I'd like to hear you say it when I do this." He looked at the tears that fell down your cheeks, almost tempted to indulge himself by licking them up, but he didn't. You were a beautiful sight, he preferred to see you weep than for you to bare your teeth, it was unbefitting for a creature such as yourself.

Finn looked back down, removing his hand from your throat before loosening his belt. He didn't have time for foreplay, his absence from his crew for so long would surely raise brows. If he had done this to anyone else, he would've felt bad, but for you, he didn't. You were a prize, a token to flaunt. He didn't know any other sailor that could say they fucked a mermaid, he could almost hear the proud laughs of the other men calling him a lucky bastard. Of course, that was not the only reason he was doing this. He did it because he wanted to. He was doing it because he can. You were just another fish in the sea, a pretty thing like yourself was bound to have an encounter like this, so let him be your first.

He hurriedly pulled his dick out, not bothering to fully remove his pants. He spat on his hand as lubrication before pumping the hardening shaft until it was stiff. The mortifying realisation dawned on you, and you began to thrash about. Scared pants escaped you as you gasped in sickening horror. "Please, please don't do this." You said with a trembling voice, shaky sobs coming out with it. Finn's expression grew grim, any sort of emotion leaving him as he stared down at the terrified mermaid. He knew it was wrong, yet he didn't feel the slightest bit of guilt. He wanted to make you hurt, he wanted to see you cry because of him. This feeling was unnatural for the sailor, he had never wanted to deliberately hurt another. He loved it.

Finn didn't respond, instead choosing to nudge the head of his cock at the slit. He used his fingers to pry it wide, beginning to sink his dick into you. You choked at the slow intrusion, gasping in pain as you clawed at the ground before you. You couldn't breathe for a moment, the sensation overwhelming you. A feeling you had never felt before, it hurt. It hurt so bad. Finn groaned as he sunk deeper into you, pushing in until the halt. Blood leaked from the invasion, dripping out of your hole. He sighed in contentment at the pleasure. You couldn't stop crying, all you could feel was the throbbing pain from your cunt that travelled throughout you. A small smile appeared on Finn's face, barely noticeable as he relished in your misery. "Cod you please calm down? You're being a pain in the bass." He said, giggling at his puns.

You didn't respond, nor did you process anything he had said, only pained squeaks released from you. Finn began to pull out of you, before slamming himself back in. You bucked your hips unwillingly as you wailed in protest. It wasn't natural the way your pussy clamped on his dick, you weren't made to have interspecies sex. It was a painful experience for you, the way the head of his cock dragged against the gummy walls. Finn on the other hand, was in what he described to be heaven. Never in his life has he ever fucked something so unusually tight and wet, the strange walls seemed to suck him in further, begging for pleasure.

He had one hand grasping your hip while the other rested beside your head. He needed stabilisation while he furiously bucked into you, fearing he would topple right on you from disregard, only focusing on his satisfaction. He groaned next to your unique ear, and you could feel his hot pants warming your skin. You couldn't help but let out small moans yourself. You hated every part of this, you really did, yet you couldn't stop the tiny sounds of pleasure escaping you. As much as it hurt, a strange feeling began to bloom in you, one you hadn't experienced before. No matter how much you despised this, you couldn't deny the wonderful feeling that blossomed rapidly.

You clenched your teeth as you could feel arousal forming in you. Finn's pace became more swift, sliding out of you at a pace you weren't able to keep up with. Your hips twitched as they subconsciously raised your lower half to meet Finn's own, grinding against each other in a chase for release. "Finn..! Enough." You whispered, the words breaking apart, broken words being torn apart by the exhaustion you felt. Though the pain still clawed at you, pleasure began to override it. The captain let out an unabashed moan, enjoying the way his name glided off of your tongue. "That's it... good fishie." He quietly spoke, feeling if he spoke any louder he was sure the whole town would be able to hear his moans.

You cringed at his nickname for you, if he was going to call you something while raping you, you'd rather it not be 'good fishie'. If you weren't too busy focusing on the sensation of his cock sliding against your gummy walls, you would've laughed at the absurdity. Suddenly, a coil built up in you. You weren't stupid, you knew you were going to orgasm, but the feeling was so new to you that you were stunned by it. Finn's hips began to stutter, the movements becoming sloppier with each thrust. You could hear him mutter under his breath, panting like a dog, "Oh cod, oh cod, oh cod..." still insisting on the fish puns.

He removed his hand from your hip, clasping your jaw tightly and smashing his lips down on yours, slipping his tongue into your open mouth. It was this that broke the dam, squealing as you came on his cock. Your tail quivered, shaking at the intensity of your orgasm. Finn groaned into your mouth at the feeling of the slickness coating his length. He gave a few more sharp movements before burying himself inside you, biting your bottom lip as he came inside of you. You gasped at the fullness you felt, stuffed to the brim as his dick swelled. He snapped his hips forward just a few more times, chasing his orgasm before pulling out of you.

White liquid seeped from the slit, dribbling down your tail and onto the rock beneath you. Finn chuckled in disbelief for a moment, before turning it into full-blown laughter. He giggled madly as he stared down at the mess that dripped out of you. "I can't believe it! I just fucked a mermaid." He said, clapping a couple of times in approval. "Well, I'm sure gonna have a story to tell!" He exclaimed excitedly, sighing as he looked down at you. You were panting, gasping for proper airflow as your head felt like it was spinning. You couldn't sweat, you never had to as the water would keep you cool. Your body temperature was high, your face reddening as you panted.

Finn smiled at your dishevelled state, proud of the disarray he caused. He used his hand to wipe off the excess secretions, wiping it onto the rock before shoving his dick back into his pants securely. He frowned, thinking hard about the tale he would tell. His story sounded fake, a captain capturing and having sex with a mermaid. It was unbelievable! He eyed your red face, looking at your hands that twitched, trying to move towards the sea to cool off. He didn't want to have to kill such a beautiful creature just for the sake of showing off, he wasn't like that. He glanced down towards your tail, shining in the pale moonlight that illuminated each individual scale. Perfect.

Finn hastily patted down his pockets, he kept his tools in there, after all, he never knew what he would catch. He felt a long rectangular object, tracing the item observantly before dropping his hand into his pocket and pulling it out, grasping onto something. You looked at him in a daze, eyes fluttering as you squinted, trying to see what he was holding. A pocket knife. Your eyes opened as wide as they could in horror, fearing the worst as you tried to make your shaky arms push you back, the restraints preventing you from escaping.

"W-Wait! Finn! Finn, right? Come on, you- you got what you wanted. Please don't kill me." You pleaded, your body trembling the more you stared at the dangerous tool. Finn's mouth sharply curved as he tilted his head. "I'm not going to kill you, silly. Just gonna give myself a prize for my efforts." He said, grabbing you by your tail and flipping you over. You shut your eyes tightly as you felt the blade graze your tail. 'Is he going to cut my tail off?' You thought to yourself, quivering like a leaf in the wind. You choked as you felt the knife dig under your scales, before gliding up roughly. Just as you screeched, he clasped a hand over your mouth as he began to tear the scales from your skin, leaving bare skin.

The knife plucked the scales roughly, a splitting pain from where they once were. You wailed into his hand as the sharp tool dug underneath each scale and removed them. He moved the knife back and forth, making sure to remove a decent amount as they fell onto the rocks. The shiny scales that were once on you were now littered across the jagged floor. You sobbed, your tail in too much pain to move any more. It had been stabbed, defiled, and now plucked. There wasn't any blood that came from the descaled area, but you wished there was, perhaps then the warm liquid would've soothed the irritated skin.

You gasped, a fish out of water is what you were right now. A large patch of skin was left, tiny cuts across the visible skin. He leaned down to whisper in your ear. "Don't scream." Finn hesitantly removed his glass hand from your mouth, watching your actions closely before brushing the parted scales off of your tail. He looked at the amount he had collected, sufficed with what he gathered. He moved his eyes back to you, crying quietly and heaving as you were now desperate for water, hoping it would soothe your wounds and cool you down.

What a catch you were, he was almost sad this moment had to end so soon. Though he knew if you were out of water any longer, you were bound to either die of blood loss or overheating. He stood up, those black eyes staring at you in a strange manner. He walked for, caging you by placing his feet on either side of you. He brought his knife down, grazing your back before he swiped it up and began slicing the net off of you. He cut through the rope, ungracefully sliding it off of you. You were free from the restraints, leaving red marks on your skin from where you were bound.

He slid his knife back into his pocket, careful to not harm you any further before slipping his arms under you. You were raised high, he turned you around so you were cradled in his arms. He stared down at the weeping you, highlighted by the light of the moon. Covered in tears, blood and semen, you were a gorgeous sight. He was lucky to be the only person to see this. You flinched as he leaned his head down, tilting your face away in fear. He paused for a moment, before placing a gentle kiss on the top of your head. "Good gill, hehe." He said, replacing the 'girl' with 'gill', of course he did. He turned around, stepping down into the water, the dark sea warping around his boots.

He stepped in further and further, just until his knees breached the surface of the water. He didn't once stop staring at your scared face, watching you closely. He lowered his arms down, putting you further down until your lower half was underwater. He wasn't holding you anymore, just hovering beneath you. He waited until you realised what he was doing, he was releasing you. You stayed still for a minute, basking in the icy waters with relief. Your tail twitched, hesitantly beginning to move slowly. You took one glance at Finn, looking at him intently. He nodded, and that's all you needed to see before you swam off. He could barely see the red trail of blood in the dark waters, unable to see you anymore.

He watched as the waters seemed to finally calm, stilling as if it was no longer angered. He looked down at his reflection in the water, his small plastic fish, Barnaby swimming around in his glass bowl. He was horrible for his actions, he was aware. He knew this was out of character for him, he was sure even Gigi wouldn't believe he did such a thing. Finn let out a deep breath, before turning back and wading through the waters back up to the rock you just were. He leaned down and began to pick up each scale, unaware of the head that peeked up through the water, watching her attacker pick up the remnants of her beauty. His fingers brushed each iridescent piece as your dark eyes glared at him, simmering with rage.

#dandys world #dandys world smut #finn dandys world #dandys world x reader smut #fanfic #cross posted on ao3 #cw: noncon

56 notes · View notes

just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 9 months ago

Note

A & 🕶️, the rest is up to you! <3 (@a-little-unsteddie)

Thanks for the prompt. I'm having way too much fun with this mafia AU! 🤣😎

@a-little-unsteddie

Forbidden flowers

Words: 971

Rated: M

Tags: Mafia AU; mob boss Dick Harrington; mobster Eddie Munson; obsessive behavior; stalking; lust at first sight; sexual fantasies; violent imagery

Notes: Part 1

Richard Harrington’s house is a fucking palace.

The fact shouldn't be as surprising, maybe. It pays well, being the boss of the city's criminal underbelly, even Eddie knows that. Not like he's planning on staying one of Harrington's lowly little hitmen forever. Don't get him wrong, he's good at what he does, but that doesn’t mean he wants to go on doing it forever, bloodying his hands fighting the boss's fights. He wants his own share of the money, the power, the splendor of it all. A guy can dream, can't he?

Speaking of dreams, even his wildest ones seem pale and bland, now that he's seen the house from the inside. Leaving the higher-ups to talk business in Harrington's office, he has strayed through light-flooded halls decked in expensive art and sculptures, footsteps echoing on marbled floors, until he finally found a pair of glass doors leading outside.

The patio opens into a lush garden. It looks like something from an Italian postcard - dominated by gleaming marble and lean pillars, overgrown with a sea of white and purple hydrangea bushes. Their fragrance hangs in the hot summer air, thick and sweet and almost cloying. Sparkling behind the blossoms is a huge, lavish pool.

In the water is a fucking nymph.

Eddie pauses, unlit cigarette halfway to his mouth, ducking between the flower bushes to hover closer. The boy in the pool doesn't notice him, too focused on doing his laps. Eddie watches his lean muscles flex as he glides through the water, watches how sun-bronzed skin glistens in the sun, and feels something curdle in his gut.

Want.

White-hot and all-consuming, more overwhelming and intense than anything he's ever felt in his life.

He doesn't know how long he stays hidden between the flowers and stares. At some point, the boy swims over to the far end and hoists himself out of the pool - one long, graceful ripple of those muscled arms and shoulders. He shakes the water from his thick, chestnut hair before padding over to the deck chairs standing a small way off, still blissfully unaware of Eddie’s eyes following his every move. A small water bottle is standing at the ready on a side table, droplets of condensed liquid glistening on the glass. The boy takes it, tips back his head and empties it with a few deep, greedy gulps. His throat - long, and graceful and dotted in moles - bops with it. Then, not bothering with the towel hanging over the backrest, he flops down on one of the chairs, sopping wet and half naked, stretching out in the sunlight like a content cat.

Eddie decides one thing, then and there.

Fuck the money. Fuck the splendor and the power and the glory, fuck all of it. Let him just have that boy.

Let him feel that body writhe under his. Let him tangle his fingers into that glorious swoop of hair and tilt back that head, let him sink his teeth into the soft, golden skin of that neck. Let him hear his own name, near unrecognizable with despair and pleasure, fall from those pink lips. Let him have all of this, and he'll die a happy man.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Eddie lets out a startled noise he'll absolutely deny making later and whips around. Gareth is leaning in the open patio door, regarding him with crossed arms and a furious expression.

“H-how long have you been standing there?” Eddie croaks.

Gareth shakes his head at him.

“Long enough to see you slink around in the bushes, staring at the boss's son like a total creep,” he hisses. “C'mon, let's go. Harrington will take out your eyes with a rusty screwdriver if he catches- are you listening to me?”

“No,” Eddie says absentmindedly, already pushing apart the branches again. Lilac petals rain down onto his boots. “That's Harrington's son? Didn't even know he had one.”

“No, that's his gardener,” Gareth scoffs behind him, but still goes on to answer Eddie’s unspoken question. “Rumor has it daddy and him don't … get along that well. Harrington wants him to take over the firm but Junior isn't exactly interested. Likes the money and the lifestyle, obviously, but not so much the violence and bloodshed that comes with it.”

Eddie thinks he'd drench the entire world in blood for one taste of those lips.

Gareth tugs on his arm.

“C'mon,” he says again. “Before anyone sees us. I'd like to keep my eyes, I'm sorta attached to them.”

Eddie sighs in defeat, casting one long, reluctant glance through the leaves and petals. Then, following a sudden impulse, he reaches out and snaps off a branch with a thick, vibrant cluster of violet blossoms on the end.

Gareth gawks at him.

“Are you insane? You can't just pluck flowers from the boss's garden!”

Eddie shrugs lazily, bringing the blossoms up to his nose. Their scent is sweet and enticing and full of forbidden possibilities.

“Don’t see him around, do you?”

Gareth groans and turns to go. “I dunno why I put up with you.”

Eddie smiles, slowly following after his retreating back. At the threshold, he pauses and turns one last time. The boy is dozing in the sun, eyes closed, droplets of water glistening on his body like so many tiny diamonds. Eddie raises the branch in his hand - a secret parting salute.

“See you soon, little nymph,” he mutters.

He strides towards the front door with a new spring in his step. Because he knows exactly what it is he wants now, and he knows that he will not stop before he has it.

And if that means wrestling Richard Harrington’s crown from his cold, dead hands, and setting his empire aflame, and painting the ashes red? That is something he will gladly do.

Steve, meanwhile: Huh, wonder who that loser lurking in the flowers was. What a weirdo. Kinda cute, though ...

Part 3

More celebration ficlets

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie brainrot #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #hype's 1k follower ficlets #kiss that ring #mafia AU

172 notes · View notes

ladythornofrivia · 10 months ago

Text

Lady with Teal Eyes || Aemond x Aunt!Hightower Reader (Part Three)

word count:

author’s note: I’m writing the last chapter! Woo!

warnings: incest, cockwarming, teasing, sucking, p in v, rough play, flirting, wholesome moment, jealous aemond, possessive, roughness, mild manhandling, mild degradation, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex, second hand embarrassment, dark content, mentions of su*cide, Aemond being too touchy with his aunt, degradation, humiliation.

summary: Aemond meets his aunt for the first time, and there’s more than meets the eye. (there will be three parts…jk…I’m going to add two more chapters)

Three weeks has passed since you have kept yourself and your affairs in secrecy in the Red Keep. Needless to say, it was evident that you have found peace within yourself. Or rather with the one-eyed prince, who would not stop touching you in all places of your body.

His secret—his own holy sept—spilling each other’s fantasies and interests alike. From night until dawn, everything was accorded.

Each time you spent hours with Alicent and her other Green children in a summer daylight, you felt like a cumbersome and sinister virgin committed a crime to your precious sex. Thankfully Gwayne and Criston or the Cargyll twin, even Harold weren’t there to witness the guilt and arousal you’re trying to hide from a tempted imagination.

In the midst of vipers and ambitious alike, you found solace of writing the accounts on your diary. Entries on the pages filled with thoughts—daily and private—one which you know more than anyone else.

The prayers of the Faith of the Seven has been all but a fever dream. What was the religion’s purpose other than a guidance to those who are lost? You were lost once, but no doubt that your prayers were ever answered. You prayed to the Gods that you wanted to know your origins, of how you came to be as the lady with teal eyes, a daughter of Otto Hightower, but the Gods never gave, so you surrendered your faith at the age of seven, but masking it, pretending to be faithful in order to persuade your father and the Hightowers to achieve their good side was nothing more than an act.

And useless, more like.

An illness poisoned in your old wounds again. What does guidance do other than supplanted the seed of greed, selfishness and lies and pettiness to save themselves from others while the innocence tainted like a wounded womb?

Otto was nothing more than a heartless man served to the likes of his greed for the Iron Throne, the Red Keep, and above all, to Alicent.

Has he accepted you like he does to Alicent, there would be no consequences of silent hostility between two factions and conflict within.

Souls like them are already tainted.

But in a way, you’re glad; being in the same room as Otto would be as consequentially stupid as an untrained eye.

In the latest days in King’s Landing, your adoration for the city has grown less, but the sea and the gardens are the only things that could make you relish the taste of small life.

Aemond had taken you to the gardens, of course, and there you raced with pearly silks of ruffled gown and pearls adorned the neckline, hair fumbled in the wind as you looked back at the one-eyed prince with a gleaming smile.

Thin rays of light cascaded down on your winsome manes and the sparkles of your pearl gown.

On the midst of your white-pearl, there’s a necklace, adorned in large white pearls and a sapphire on the center. Aemond gave you a gift before the day of your nameday.

You were not a type of noble who celebrates nameday, especially if you consider yourself to be in a lower rank in comparison to Queen Alicent or the Targaryens.

Oddly, it has been tranquil since the day you arrived King’s Landing, but the days where you spent your days in your room, the gardens and library, as if nothing special occurred. That is until Aemond caught a certain subjects that caught your eye.

But Aemond is more fascinated with your enamored beauty gleaming like a flower blossoming into the sun and wind.

His hands never stopped roaming to your body.

“We’re in the gardens, my prince,” you reminded, giggling.

Aemond hummed as he plunged a kiss and undo his breeches, but before he does, an attendant arrived and announced that Alicent wanted a discussion with Aemond. With loving eye, Aemond bid his goodbyes and left, and within each breath you drew, it leaves you wanting more.

Each day, you and Aemond spent days into each other’s company, but it wasn’t enough. There are times at night is where the thrill accelerated. Nights dawned with passion and blood engulfed with desire.

Aemond thought of no consequences as he pounded his long cock into you—bed creaking as the skin slapped with his.

“My sweet, my love, my muse,” he said, rasping, his head threw back, drawing a feral growl, hips throbbed and rushed. His mind reeled to a thought of you, healthy and glowing with a rounded belly. He wanted to touch you, but in a public, Aemond would be in jeopardy, but since he’s the second son of the ill king, Aemond laid his hand on your thigh, brushing his whole palm, rising and falling motion, no care for consequences.

He could heard your breath hitched, but kept your composure—entertained your guests and family members. Surely it appears friendly and cordial on the outside, but underneath the table was nothing more than a filthy naughtiness arising from the stroke of his hand. His young and rugged, cold hands. You loved his cold hands. He recalled of your face flushed and in heat. Although he preferred heat, the dragon prince reconsidered it on making his hands cold, to pinch and flick your clit and pushing his lithe fingers in your warmth sounds as tempting and pinched the your taut nipples.

The curtains on your four-post bed swayed, and you found yourself moaning aloud, but his hand covered your mouth. His body pressed against yours and his mouth leaned onto your ear.

“You’re taking my large cock so well, my sweet princess,” he told you. “But you must be quiet for me. Can you do that?”

You nodded.

And his thrusts were twice as powerful, until he spilled every last drop of his semen into your soaked walls, and sweat on your flesh cooled from a plundering breeze.

“My good princess.”

Gevie, he thought, as he watched your sleeping body, your tangled locks, and your face leaning on his neckline for warmth, arms enveloping around his lean frame.

~~~

There are nights where you cannot sleep well. Nights about your dreams terrorizing you. The screams of a woman, calling out to you. Then you saw Alicent. Then your father; Otto screamed at you; His eyes were glowing in the dark, telling you how much of a disappointment you are and how everything wrong in his life, the burdens fell onto your shoulders.

Rumors of you, a mythical creature hissed in the dark. Until you found yourself on a high tower, falling, drowning, then nothing…

You woke up crying, and not long, Aemond awoke with concern, and held you in his arms, whispering sweet words into your ears, High Valyrian, telling you that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

You have never heard of High Valyrian before. His voice is music to her ears, and found her gaze locked to his as you both initiated a long feverish kiss. It was the first time that you felt at peace, where you didn’t need to cry on your pillow.

“I love you,” you told him.

“I love you more, my sweet.” He kissed atop of your head.

Dreams have subsided but it didn’t mean it went away completely. Something was calling out to you. The one-eyed prince remedied with his presence.

And for that, you weren’t in fear of the dreams, of the dark.

As of late, the shared passion between you and Aemond has come to a stop. You awaited him in nightly hours and yet the cold air swept in for an one-eyed prince to come and rescue you.

But he never did.

Could something happen to him? You wondered what was the cause. And you hadn’t known, that is until Aemond stormed into your royal apartments, fuming of the announcement of your betrothal to the Martell.

“I command you not to go,” he forewarned.

Confused, you said, “What are you talking about?”

Aemond prowled, fists clenching, his brows furrowed. “You’re marrying a Martell. You’ll be sent away to Dorne, without ever so telling me. What causes you to drive yourself further from my sight, my love?”

You gulped. “No one ever informed me of the marriage!”

His one eye beamed with glare. “I overheard that you’ll be wedded off soon.”

“I didn’t know of this. I didn’t know any of this!” you protested. “I have never done any errors, Aemond. I will never give you any reason to hurt you.”

Aemond’s hands clutched your arms, near to your shoulders. His knees bent and dropped down, and his head bowed and fell down onto your lap. “So…no one told you?” he said, his voice muffled.

“No one told me,” you said gently. “I’ve been in my apartment to repair the new dress you gifted me.”

“Grandsire told me so.”

You heart stopped.

“He agreed to the terms to Dorne, to win their favor.”

You felt numb at the moment.

“My father,” he bitterly said, “wanted alliance with Dorne for some time, but due to his illness, he was powerless. His mind already rotten, as you saw him before.”

“I have.”

“Why in the Seven Hells my grandsire do such a thing?”

“And you thought I was betraying you? You think I would go behind your back and agree to the terms that no one informed me of? I spent my days on my duties, waiting for you to come back. I tried to find you everywhere in the Red Keep, and nothing, you were nowhere to found. What am I wasting my time for, then?”

Aemond looked up with his good eye gleaming. “I apologize, my lady. You’re the woman I want.”

Your eyes glazed in hot tears; his hands brushed the sides of your waist, his forehead leaned against your stomach.

“I must speak to Alicent of this matter.” Then you got up and left.

But, instead of seeing Alicent, Otto was present before your eyes at Alicent’s apartments. Your chest tightened at the sound of his voice.

The Lord Hand awaited.

You took a step forward.

“Father,” you began, wondering if he’s willing to change his way.

You guessed it wrong.

“I never thought I took you for a fool,” he began. “Coupling with a one-eyed prince for whatever how long, and you decided to act immoral ways against the Faith of the Seven. You are a disgrace to House Hightower. Harlot as your mother ever was. What will Alicent ever think of you, my sweet child?”

But you heard the story wrong; there are rumors years back that your father, the Lord Hand, had an affair with a woman after Alicent’s mother has passed—when Alicent was just an toddler. As much as he grieves for his late wife, he needed someone to warm his heart, but the result began clear when it’s only temporary. And you don’t recall whether Otto treated you fairly.

“Alicent may not know this, but I do know. These walls have eyes, my dear girl. And if you ever lay a hand on any other members of the court, you’ll be sentenced mercifully to death.”

His soft tone never caused a shiver down your spine.

“You’re nothing but an enigma to my existence. You have soiled yourself, soiled my name,” he continued. “You must pray for forgiveness, and your desirable sins will be set free.”

“Where’s my mother?” is all you said.

Otto silenced.

“Where is she?”

Then a small smile crept upward on his lip. “You’ll never meet her. Perhaps you will, if you rid of yourself, I care not. We Hightowers thrive and survive, and you will not; you will rot to despair.”

Alicent’s children will reign Seven Kingdoms, and you will not.

For all these years, you have yearned affection and acceptance was nothing more than a pathetic attempt to injure your pride.

This was all you needed to hear from Otto—the ugly truth.

The comforting lie is just as ugly, like a gown wore on a rotten corpse.

“The Martells will attend here at the Red Keep. Best sure to be on your good behavior. Or you will pay the price by the repent for your existence.”

Maybe the comfort offering from the dead and living can be as painful.

~~~

At dinner, with the Martells involved, you shot a benign smile at the prince, but Aemond is saddened by the outcome. But in the midst of a chatter, you chose to stay silent and play an act of a nice lady. Smiling and nodding is all you could do. But on the inside, you want to thrash everything and burn the lives of those who wrong you.

But you’re only a lady, not Visenya Targaryen.

The Martell prince has been extended his kindness to you, but, afar, unbeknownst to you, Aemond paid attention to you. The glistened of your eyes—your teal eyes—dwindled and empty. And your smile is just as coiled and unnaturally unnerving. While you’re unseen to everybody else, only Aemond’s eye to you are well-known and heard.

No matter how much you tried to look up and glance another’s person eyes, the soul of your happiness is nowhere to be seen.

He has never seen you like this, aside from the tears and pain you have shared. Knowing why, Otto had the upper hand. A child-like state you shared with Aemond has stiffened to adulthood.

It was him, and Aemond knows it so. Otto was just as calculatingly obvious. Aemond urged to take you away and fled to the Free Cities, but his duty, he cannot afford to make a ruckus mistake like last time. Not that he’s ashamed of jabbing his grandsire at supper duration of Viserys’s nameday—he felt proud, but to his own end, his own calculation should’ve been more precise and less obvious.

The Martell prince offered you to take his hand for a night stroll, but you lead yourself back to your room, by excusing yourself.

Not long after, while the guests and his family are occupied by the Martells, Aemond slipped past them and met you back in your room, tackling you with a kiss and an embrace, leaving no breath in your chest.

Within your kiss, you cried, but Aemond had other plans on taking you back, to remedy his careless encounter he had with you this morning.

He took and soiled you again on your pristine bed.

“My father will have me killed if we keep doing this,” you warned him, stroking his glossy hair.

“I shall feed them to my dragon—of those who wronged us, if it comes to that. I care not of my grandsire,” he replied. “He’s as stupid as a boar.”

“What shall I do?”

“Let us make our vows to the Godswood,” he suggested, rather bluntly and more urgent; urgent because his anger was rising against of his grandsire.

“He knows about us, my dear nephew,” you said, tears trickled.

His thumb swiped your tear aside.

“We’ll find a way.” Aemond kissed your head, then onto your lips, after a prolonged of a ragged breath settled down from a torrid consummation, thinking about how he should’ve eaten you at the feast, your legs open and spread across the table, but he shall do that the next time someone tries to outsmart him, even if it’s a family member.

And there, you shared intimacy with a prince once more.

For now, assurance is all you needed.

~~~

In the midst of foggy, cold evening, with you asleep, Aemond managed to find the Martell prince and slaughtered him, tossed him at the highest tower of Red Keep.

The people in King’s Landing will take the Martell’s death as a suicide, but within the eyes of the Gods of Old and New, they knew that the one-eyed prince ended the Dornish prince.

~~~

The next day, the bond between you and Aemond mended and resumed, never minding of the misunderstanding, in your ivory gown with embroidered white roses and teal and green jewels sleeved your shoulders as Aemond in his violet and gold attire. You and Aemond are happy; sent to each other’s arms and the kiss became ardent. The love in between the curtained trees and shadows and thin ray of lights. You felt lighter, and so does he. But the struggles between politics and greedy desires from the people won’t end. But the one-eyed prince beg to differ.

To be continued…

Taglist: @toodlesxcuddles @kittendoll05 @omgsuperstarg @xcharlottemikaelsonx @paninisstuff @danika1994 @angeljcca @marvelescvpe @kukulyarva @namelesslosers @heavenly1927 @snh96 @fandom-maniac-anime @httpsmenace @velunis @syraxnyra @domithebomi @moonseye @faesspace @rxixo31 @tm-starr @xinthia19 @lothiriel9 @halsteadstyles @lothiriel9 @liannafae @ammo23 @blackswxnn @buccini555 @watercolorskyy @taangie @qardasngan @justyelena @jolixtreesunn @runekisses @thought--bubble @parttimegay @evergreen9083 @foggypeacestarlight @dixie-elocin @galactict3a @momowhoo @saturnssrings @dani5216 @kimsubin05 @blackgaladriel @valeskafics @theboleyngirlx @elaratyrell @mylosz0

334 notes · View notes

shiningdesignersreflections · 6 months ago

Text

Nikki: Go Go Duck

Designer's Reflection: Go Go Duck

Obtained: Sea of Fantasy Gleam

Rarity: SSR

Attribute: Blue/Cool

Awakened Suit: Energy Duck

Story - transcripts from Designer's Reflection

Chapter 1 - Going Countryside

Chapter 2 - Ducky Loves You

Chapter 3 - Rapeseed Field

Chapter 4 - Twinkling Stars

Story - summarized

Nikki wakes up on the train. She and Momo are going to a countryside village to visit Grandma. But she doesn't want to upset her grandma with talk of how stressful school has been lately, so Nikki puts on a brave face when she steps off the rain and finds Grandma.

At the house, Nikki helps Grandma collect ingredients for dinner, like turnips and eggs. When she goes to gather the eggs, she meets a fluffy duck who instantly becomes friends with her. It follows Nikki everywhere, much to Momo's chagrin.

The duck doesn't like Momo either, as it chases him through the rapeseed field. It thinks Momo wants to steal its food. But the two of them tire of fighting and fall asleep together.

The sun sets by the time Nikki returns with the ingredients. It's time for dinner, and all the food smells so good! She can't eat it all, but that doesn't stop Grandma from filling her bowl to the brim.

Grandma then says she's happy Nikki feels better. It turns out that Grandma knew Nikki was anxious and struggling the whole time, but she gave her granddaughter space to recover. She tells Nikki that any time Nikki is stressed or scared or just needs a break, she will always be welcome at Grandma's house.

Connections

-Momo got jealous when Nikki visits a cat café in Wish Guardian. She had just gotten him as a pet, and he thought that by going to a cat café, she was choosing other cats over him.

-They might not have been rice dumplings, but Nikki and Momo stuff themselves with dumplings from the stand in Vol. 1, Ch 4. When the last round of dumplings is served, they share them with Yexiao.

Fun Facts

-Despite the name, rapeseed flowers are good for the land and even for your health. The seeds produce canola oil.

-No matter which country or dimension you're from, grandmas will always make sure you stuff your belly with food.

-I'm not sure which Mandarin nursery rhyme Nikki sings. But it seems like this is a popular one about ducks when I looked up children's songs about ducks.

7 notes · View notes

meownotgood · 5 months ago

Text

let us live, if we must die. / chapter four: scarlet wings

You are a witch, and since the purging of all magic, you've been forced to live a life of solitude and secrecy. Your destiny was always beyond your control — until, by a pure twist of fate, you unknowingly fell for the kingdom's only prince.

════════════════════

pairing: prince!aki x witch!reader

word count: 14.6k

tags: fantasy au, royalty au, reader is fem, some very small mentions of violence, aki is getting better at flirting, way too many metaphors, two idiots who don't realize they're obvious being totally obvious

notes: this chapter is my favorite so far... I hope you'll enjoy it... thank you for your kindness and your patience as always! the next chapter may take a bit because I have some other writing plans for october, but I promise to return again soon :)

masterlist read on ao3 join the taglist here!

════════════════════

soft sky, bleeding sun

I'll cradle your fear until

the clouds make it theirs

—

Growing up in the kingdom taught you to fear the color red.

Red was a staple of the seals worn by the knights and soldiers — the men you needed to be wary of, in order to survive. It symbolizes power, fear, violence. Red served as a reminder of the empire's scarlet, mage-seeking birds, of the crimson blood that would spill after every war, each brutal execution.

The same sort of bird rests in your palms now.

Kneeling, you sit in the center of a clearing, damp dirt and blades of grass tickling your bare knees, the forest's trees whispering in the faint, post-storm breeze. The air is cool and humid; it tickles the back of your neck, making the hair on your arms stand on end. The sky is obscured by a canopy of trees, and by knots of thick, dark clouds. Rain will fall again soon, most likely. You should head home. Yet, you can't seem to move. Your gaze won't tear itself away from the small, red-feathered bird you have held in both your palms.

A scarlet songbird. They're harmless, although quite rare to find in this area. Your books have told you they used to be much more prevalent, native to almost every area with the right weather conditions. Since the kingdom tamed them, they've mostly been captured — sometimes hunted. It's unlikely to find them in a place like this, departed from captivity. To the kingdom, the songbird's affinity for seeking out magical traces is too valuable to let roam free.

A particular book you read on local wildlife noted how the birds like to nab magical items to decorate their nests. They were trained to spot mages for the kingdom's benefit, to follow the traces left by spells and trail them to their source. Normally, they are timid, and try to avoid predators whenever possible. The kingdom turned them into hunters themselves.

Though, in this forest, they are finally free. From danger and captivity, from the kingdom's everlasting grasp. And so are you.

This one has seen better days. The bird's tiny body barely dwarfs one of your palms: a juvenile, most likely. It can't be more than a few months old. Most of its right wing appears to be damaged, with clusters of feathers missing, exposing a deep, fresh injury. Its breathing quickens, causing its body to shake. You brush your thumb over the bird's head, and it coos quietly in response, nuzzling further into your hand.

"What's up? Why are we stopping?"

Aki's voice rouses you from your thoughts, and you glance up to see him curiously peering over your shoulder, leaning down, his hands on his knees.

Aki reminds you of the color blue. Like the sparkle of royal sapphires, with the same sort of gleam reflected in his eyes. Like the colored sketches of the sea you've memorized from your books, and longed to one day see for yourself.

A handful of days ago, he brought you a bundle of bright blue peonies, which he found near the edge of the clearing surrounding your cottage. You placed some into a vase on the dining room table, and took the rest with you to have in your bedroom. Your eyes caught on their vibrant petals each and every time you entered. Since you first met and came to know Aki, you've never noticed so much blue. The blue of the sky, the blue of the river, the blue of butterfly wings and puffy flowers and shimmering stars.

Aki is blue; he's become synonymous with the word. With the blue of veins, instead of the ache that comes with flashes of bright, red blood.

You sigh slightly, glancing away from him, and back to the bird.

"Her wing is busted," You explain simply, clear frustration present in your voice, in the way your brows slightly pinch. "I doubt she'll be able to fly again."

Aki's eyes narrow. "A magehunter bird," He muses, "I didn't know you could find them this far out."

"There's plenty in the forest, they just like to keep themselves hidden," You reply with a shrug, your voice remaining soft and low, to avoid startling the small songbird. "I think they avoid the cottage, mostly. They don't like people."

Your words are a half-truth; before Aki, you'd often spot the birds gathering close to your home. Perching in the trees and sometimes on the roof, singing their little pleasant songs, or pecking at the mushrooms that encircle the clearing, just to flutter away when you got too close. With the addition of your new guest, and with the lack of spells you've been casting lately, they've been reluctant to continue hanging around.

The bird in your palms, however, is completely pliant. She doesn't even attempt to peck at your fingers or flap her injured wing. Her sharp breathing would lead you to believe she's still fearful, but she lacks the energy to fight or run, to do anything but timidly watch you, and hope you aren't a threat to a creature who is already dying.

It makes your heart ache, truly.

Aki examines the sudden strain in your expression. He hums in thought, and he kneels down to sit by your side; the bird shudders, drawing its wings close to its body. Almost as if it's trying to shrink away.

"You're fond of birds, aren't you?" Aki says calmly.

You huff a playful breath, and reply with a lilt of intrigued half-sarcasm, "How could you tell?"

"I kind of guessed, with all those wood sculptures," He answers, taking the question completely seriously. You think back to your living room, to the shelf of wooden birds you've hand-made, and although you're already pre-planning your rebuttal — it was just to pass the time, that's all — Aki seems to see right through you.

"I figured you liked animals, but birds were probably your favorite." He brushes a palm over the back of his neck awkwardly. His hair is up and out of his face, but his bangs still fall in front of his eyes as he tilts his head. "When I saw all those little sculptures, I thought it was… I don't know. Sort of cute."

His compliment makes you freeze up slightly, your face burning with warmth. You should be used to this, considering how open Aki has swiftly become, especially in the past few days. Still, as though it's simply effortless, he always manages to make you feel flustered.

A thin droplet of rain plops onto your arm. You shiver. The air carries the scent of a coming storm; it has your heart feeling heavy, reminding you of the day you first met him. It hasn't stormed like this since then. This time though, you won't have to return to your cottage alone.

Aki glances at you, then to the bird in your palms. "Should we take her with us?"

You know it's unlikely for the bird to survive, even if you brought it home and attempted to nurse it back to health. If it cannot fly, if it can't regain strength and let its wing heal, it'll be doomed.

And what about you? Unless the birds are trained to sniff out mages, they aren't typically a threat, but it could be drawn to the magical items you have hidden in your cabin. Aki must know their purpose better than anyone — he's from the kingdom, after all. It could give you away, if you aren't careful. The logical side of you says you should leave the bird behind, regardless of what your heart might believe.

But since you met Aki, when have you ever done what you should do?

Rising to your feet, you cup one palm over the other to shield the bird from the falling raindrops. Aki follows, standing back up in turn. Your cottage won't take long to return to. The bird's wound will need to be tended to immediately, before you start preparing dinner. It'll be thirsty and hungry. You're sure you can root around and find something to feed it.

It's settled, then.

You're smiling on the way back home, and when Aki asks you why, you tell him it's nothing, instead of admitting the truth — that you find it amusing, to have already picked up another poor thing to nurse back to health. Another him. You can't catch a break, can you?

—

With each passing, precious day, trying not to become too friendly with your new cabin-mate has been steadily becoming more and more difficult. Impossible, even. Honestly, perhaps that plan was always doomed to fail.

Aki is easy to talk to, and conversations between you flow like a river's calm stream — despite your inexperience when it comes to such discussions. Part of you worried things might become awkward after the night he comforted you, but surprisingly, nothing seems to change. Aki doesn't bring it up, nor does he act any differently. It's as though you've been friends for years, not weeks. It's nice, actually.

Your days are spent gathering ingredients and herbs from the forest, leaving early in the morning to avoid crossing paths with any devils. While your nights are spent relaxing, talking, and eating together. He's learned to make plenty of meals with your assistance. Aki swears he'll remember how to prepare them for his next adventures, should he find himself in a forest like this one.

Your greatest hurdle, at first, was getting used to his presence within the magic circle; a constant source of energy, wavering between the sensitive threads of the spell you've learned to constantly maintain.

It felt — he felt — like a persistent coolness on your skin, a knot within you that couldn't be untangled. A rift in your heart, and in your mind. Now, the ripples surging through your spell hardly bother you. They're comforting, even. Aki's presence, formed by the inner shape of his soul's mana, is calm. Deep like the ocean, frozen over like ice.

Aki is tidy, but his corner of the living room quickly begins to flourish with his belongings. His cot is always made neatly, the pillows straightened.

Books are stacked up beside the cot: various stories he's borrowed from your collection, based on your recommendations. His notebook and the jar of ink you prepared for him are set precariously on top of the stack, a bookmark poking out from the pages. Crafted from a thin strip of wood and one of the songbird's stray crimson feathers, you made the bookmark and gifted it to him.

After Aki's wound stopped bothering him — for the most part — he suddenly forgot all of your previous instructions to rest.

He does relax somewhat, when it's at your request. As his health improves, so does his level of energy. He usually stays up reading when he can't sleep — which is often, you've noticed. And as you've come to learn, Aki is a fountain of energy, and he can hardly stand to be cooped up for long.

You blamed it on the elf in him, initially. The points in his ears don't lie.

Truthfully, you haven't interacted with many elves. They were quite a rare sight in the kingdom. They're known to be on the curious side, requiring little amounts of sleep. Either way, they tend to prefer spending as much of their time as they can on their own pursuits. Novels usually paint elves as cold and stern, often taking up leadership positions because of their intelligence and status, but Aki differs from most of those stereotypes. He isn't cold towards you, anyways.

He reminds you more of a playful side, like the nature-loving elves in adventure stories. The sort of person who gets themselves into all sorts of trouble with their unbound knack for adventure.

Recently, Aki has been promising he'll stay still for a while and lie down, but once you return to the cottage, supplies in hand, he's nowhere to be found.

The first time it happened, you panicked. You felt even more anxious when you couldn't find him outside. The darker parts of your mind decided to spin some story where Aki returns with knights to apprehend you, and an army to face you.

Yet each and every time, he'd return alone.

Sometimes covered in dirt, apologizing for his absence as he interrupts your dinner preparations, dropping a palm-full of the songbird's favorite berries on the counter. We were running out, he explains guiltily, glancing away at the sight of your pout. He's already expecting you to scold him. For acting recklessly, for possibly putting himself in danger. It took me a bit to find them. Sorry if I worried you. I won't get lost next time.

In other cases, he'd return much sooner. He's a sweaty mess as he swings open the front door, slightly out of breath. He runs a hand through his hair to push it back. I was exploring, lost track of time, he says, through ragged gasps. I ran home when I realized how late it was. Got some exercise, at least.

You believe him, because why wouldn't you? Aki is kind and polite, perhaps too much so. He has always been honest. About most things, at least. He's charming, in a way. Though, you'd never admit those things to his face. You have a hard enough time admitting them to yourself.

Aki radiates this strong, fiery sense of warmth that perfectly contrasts the sensation of his aura: cool, deep, and still. A glittering sun on the surface, and a somber moon within. It's incredibly, addictively intriguing.

At this point, you've known him longer than anyone, besides your own family. His presence in your cottage has begun to feel natural. And yet, you feel as though you haven't even scratched his surface.

Nevertheless, the days continue to pass — although they definitely feel faster than normal. Your time with your elven, secretly royal guest slips by effortlessly. Most of Aki's depth continues to remain hidden, but your talks together become longer, your moments shared are always treasured.

And between the gaps in your usual routine, you continue caring for the poor scarlet bird.

Turns out, Aki might be more fond of the little thing than you are. It's endearing, to see him frequently check up on her. He helps you out with her care whenever he can.

The two of you prepared a small area for the bird together, creating a makeshift nest near the fireplace with moss, leaves, and the leather scrap that remained of Aki's old bag. You gathered some seeds and berries, and you placed them close, along with a shallow bowl of water. She was lethargic at first, but thankfully, once the sun rose, the bird began to move and eat. Since then, she's been recovering gradually. You've woken up earlier than usual a few times already, roused by the sound of her pleasant chirping.

That's a good sign, at least. Even if she can't fly yet.

Today, you and Aki rarely separated. You spent most of the morning away from the cottage, and most of the afternoon outside, on the outskirts of the clearing. You've been attempting to grow a garden there, and it needs to be tended to. Hopefully, you'll have your own berry bushes once they're in season next year. It'll make gathering them for dishes much simpler. Aki learns the process quickly, and he has no problem helping you pull weeds and treat the soil.

Once the sun finally began to lower, the trees obscuring its fading glow, the sky hued in bright shades of orange, you both headed back inside, and followed the same routine you've built up over the past few days.

You sit near the fireplace, Aki close beside you. The both of you enjoy the fire's steady, flickering warmth. Today was hot, but the night has grown cold. Dinner was simple to prepare, as was the process of cleaning up, especially with Aki's help. You watch the bird take careful breaths as it draws its wings close, settles into its nest, and closes its eyes.

Cross-legged, you rest your elbows on your knees, and your chin in your hands. Aki leans back, getting comfortable; he glances between you and the fire, the same way he does when he obviously has something to say. Firelight frames his face warmly, his handsome features lit in bright hues, his long, dark hair gently brushing his shoulders.

You'll speak first, if he won't.

"How are you liking the book I lent you?" You're inquiring, your head tilting slightly with your question.

Aki raises a brow. He brings his glass to his lips, and takes a sip of the cherry-red homemade wine. It's more like juice, really. The combination of berries make it sweet and refreshing. Considering the limited resources you have in the forest, it's one of your most impressive recipes.

He sets his glass back down on the floor when he's finished, right next to yours.

"It's good," Aki replies simply, his tone completely earnest. "I'm about halfway through."

Recently, he's been reading one of the many books you recommended to him, usually making progress after you've gone to bed, when he can't sleep. You specifically chose something you thought he would like: an adventure book, about a traveler following his father's old treasure map. The story is carefree and whimsical. You'd hoped Aki might sleep if he read a book before bed, but when he gets terribly engrossed, it just seems to keep him up for even longer.

He reminds you of yourself.

"Are you at the part where he gets to the waterfall?" You ask, recalling the last time you read that particular novel. You've read everything in your collection hundreds of times, but it's been a few months.

"With the sirens?" Aki answers, placing his hands in his lap.

"Yeah," You hum, a stupid grin tugging at your cheeks. Your gaze sparkles, and you hardly attempt to keep it at bay. "With the sirens."

You aren't sure what makes you happier. The fact that Aki is genuinely reading and enjoying the book you chose, knowing he's currently reaching one of your favorite parts in the story, or the pleasant spark you get in your chest when you imagine talking about it with him once he's finished, finally being able to share something you love.

All of those feelings are lovely enough to keep, but nothing compares to the warmth you're drowned in as Aki flashes you a quick, gentle smile.

"You better not spoil what happens," He murmurs through a small laugh, "You've gotten me invested."

"I would never, I promise." You raise your hands in the air innocently. Dammit, his smile is so contagious. "We probably shouldn't talk about it until you're done, just in case. You've gotta finish all of it. The ending is the best part, for sure."

"What about your book?" Aki asks; his gaze stays on you, as he watches you take a quick sip of your wine. "Have you finished it yet?"

You swirl the contents of your glass. "The Holy Knight? Yeah, I finished it yesterday."

"Did you like it? Or, I suppose you said you've already read it, right?" Aki corrects. "How does it compare to the last time you read it?"

Thinking to yourself, you breathe a soft hmm, and tap your index finger idly against your cheek.

"It was good. I mean, I enjoy the whole story no matter how many times I've read it. The ending always makes me tear up."

You recall the final chapter, the book's somber ending. At the very end, the knight saves the land, and as the curse is lifted, flowers and trees finally begin to grow. He inherits the kingdom, he is surrounded by wealth and beauty. But even after becoming king and marrying his love, he isn't satisfied with his accomplishments. In one final battle, the knight sacrifices himself to save the princess. He departs from her with an embrace, and then kisses her hand, her cheek, and finally…

Aki's smooth voice breaks you out of your haze. "My brother owned that one. I've read parts of it to him before, countless times. Though I can't remember if we ever wound up finishing it."

"Maybe that's for the best. It's kind of a sad ending."

You shrug, your gaze drifting away from him, and back towards the fireplace, flames flickering and wavering. The small scarlet bird rests in her nest. She appears to be sleeping, her eyes closed and her head tucked close to her patchy wing. You adjust your position, sitting with your knees drawn up, your arms around them. The living room smells like the fireplace's crisp ashes, mixed with the lingering sweet scent of crushed berries and juice.

For some odd reason — or perhaps there isn't one — you change the subject to abruptly state, "The knight in that story. He reminds me of you."

Aki's eyes grow slightly wider. Then, he lets go of an amused huff, he points to himself with his thumb; "Me? Honestly, I haven't read that story in a long time. I think you'll have to explain."

He's glancing at you now, back straightened, pointed ears slightly perked up.

"Uhm, it's like-" You shake your head, trying not to stutter. "It's just with how he is around the princess, you know? You remember the scene where Vincent meets Edith, right? Before she gets captured?"

Aki's brows furrow, as though he's trying to remember. "Vaguely."

"Where Edith says she hates him, and swears they'll never marry, even if the entire kingdom was at stake. But Vincent vows he'll win her heart?"

"Ah. Well-" Reaching for his drink, Aki tilts his head back to take a good long sip. His warm, confident gaze meets yours. "I don't think I've won anything yet."

When you promptly elbow him, he offers you a slight, almost nervous grin. Thankfully, he gives your heart a bit of reprieve, glancing away to carefully set his drink back down.

"Not like that," You're scoffing, shuffling with embarrassment. You drop your knees to place your hands in your lap and fiddle with your thumbs. "It was just… with how he's so nice to her, and then their dialogue changes so much as they grow closer-" You shake your head. "Ugh. Nevermind."

"No, no. I'm listening." Aki peers at you, apologetic. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't tease you. I understand what you mean. We are similar."

Too similar. You're starting to wish you hadn't spoken, or even made the connection, because you can no longer stop yourself from picturing the novel's scenes with you in place of the princess — and of course, with Aki in place of the knight.

You imagine Aki hugging you close, his strong, safe arms around you, before he pulls back to kiss your hand, soft lips delicately brushing your knuckles. You think of Aki sweeping you into his arms to carry you away from danger. Aki reassuring you on late nights spent in one another's bed chambers that he wouldn't leave you, not even if the world deemed it so. Aki offering you his sword, so you can tap it to his shoulder as he says his vows, those pretty blue eyes on yours, his smooth voice echoing through your dizzy thoughts.

Miss Edith, I do swear for as long as I draw breath to never allow my fealty to waver. I do swear to offer my life for yours, and my heart for you to bear. If I am to fall, you will be my final thought, as you are my first and last dream before sleep, my love.

You've memorized so many lines from that damn book, and paired with how vividly you can picture Aki's voice, your mind is practically whirling.

You shake your head firmly, and give your flushed cheeks a couple light slaps. Aki cocks a brow, and casually leans closer as he glances at you, hoping to catch your eyes once more.

"Are you alright?" He murmurs, his soft tone not-so different from the one you were imagining, "Don't force yourself to stay awake if you're getting tired."

"Oh," You blink, and try your best to meet his gaze without looking away. Without picturing one of your favorite scenes from the book, a moment not too different from this one. The knight and the princess are in her quarters, sipping wine from fancy goblets. Suddenly, the princess suggests she's been hiding her true feelings all along, she believes she's fallen for him, and then —

"Yeah, I'm a bit tired," You mutter, clearing your throat. The fireplace is suddenly interesting enough to catch your eyes and keep them there.

Aki waits a moment, before he gathers both of your nearly-empty glasses, and reaches forward to set them on the edge of the fireplace, placing them out of the way.

All of those moments, those scenes, those dreams, often felt as though they'd be impossible. They are just fiction. Books to get drawn into, to take you somewhere far away from here, and nothing more. Because in your heart, you know those stories were never written with you in mind. Magic and mages would often be portrayed as what people thought of them — as the evil force the heroes needed to combat, as the villians that were meant to be vanquished. You accepted them for what they were, and accepted your loneliness. You had no other choice.

Perhaps you should start dreaming again. Perhaps this new dream, the one Aki has begun to lead you into, will pave a path to a warm, blossoming future. As long as you are willing to finally let yourself trust.

"You should get some rest," Aki encourages, his tone kept low. He gestures to the bird with a flicker of his gaze and a tilt of his head. "I'll keep an eye on her."

As if led by his instruction, you promptly stretch your arms up, and struggle to form an answer through a long yawn. "Alright."

Aki awkwardly rolls his shoulders back. He gnaws on his bottom lip, and avoids meeting your eyes as he rubs the tension from his own hands, squeezing his palms, flexing his fingers.

"There was… something I wanted to do," He begins, "But I wasn't sure if I should propose it."

"Huh?" You question, "Why?"

"I thought it might upset you."

Knowing Aki, it surely wouldn't. You don't hesitate, and barely fault your budding curiosity.

"Show me. And if I don't like it, I'll tell you." Your gaze on his is sure, unwavering. You reflect sparks of fierce firelight. "I'm okay with giving anything a chance, as long as it's with you."

Aki looks away, swallowing. He seems nervous, in a certain endearing way, in a way you're sure you haven't seen from him yet; he shifts uncomfortably, his palms already sweaty. Finally, he sighs, and forces himself to not only meet your eyes, but to get the words out.

"Do you remember this one scene from the middle of The Holy Knight? When they're-" He cringes, his teeth gritting. "Riding in the back of a carriage?"

Vincent and Edith had just finished tending to affairs at a fancy dinner party. The chapter leaves out most of the details, but describes them as they traveled back to the castle. They sat together in a fancy horse-drawn carriage, and as Edith's weary eyes began to droop, Vincent guided her to rest against his shoulder.

Oh. You don't answer, but you're sure you've made your realization obvious by the look on your face.

You watch him curiously as Aki takes a deep, motivating breath. He doesn't meet your eyes, but he does begin to shift a bit closer. He ever-so slowly and ever-so tentatively places his arm around you, barely touching. You follow the rest of the way, as he guides you to carefully lean your head against his shoulder.

It's stiff, a bit cumbersome. Your cheek doesn't quite rest perfectly on the bony, hard edge of his shoulder. You have to lean over a bit too much for this to be truly comfortable, and Aki is surely sitting way too straight, clearly still awkward.

But honestly, it's perfect. It's authentic, it's warm — and when you steal a glance up at him, his pretty expression makes it all worth it. Aki is smiling. He's flustered, perhaps more than you. You doubt the light from the fireplace is all that's flushing his skin in shades of red and pink.

You smirk, and nuzzle further into his shoulder, finally closing your eyes.

"Awfully bold of you," You're murmuring in a tired tone, trying your best to mimic the fancy cadence of the princess' line from the novel.

Aki shrugs. "It's probably the wine."

It isn't, it's fruit juice you've been calling wine, but your fuzzy thoughts begin to fade away as the fire warms you, and as Aki's faint touch comforts you — his arm around you, his palm brushing from your shoulder to your back — guiding your mind to drift off into a quiet, gentle slumber.

—

When the night sky meets the trees, the moon illuminating the clearing's whispering blades of grass, and the stars shimmering with their own faint promises, you find your favorite space to be alone.

It's been a few weeks since Aki first began staying with you, and a few days since you first took the bird in. Tonight, the foggy air that settles on your skin is cool and crisp. The forest is calm and quiet, save for the sounds of rustling trees and cooing cicadas. You sit in the clearing just in front of your cottage, cross-legged, gazing up at the brilliant canopy illuminating the surrounding darkness.

This was your usual routine, before Aki. You would spend each night looking up at the stars, when it was far too late for anything to disturb you. The night often gave you peace. It allowed you to think. When it was just you and the crickets and the wind, and the smell of the dirt and the trees, you felt as though you could finally breathe.

Inhaling slowly, and then exhaling carefully, you let the night's cool air fill your lungs. Wind brushes across you ever-so faintly. At first, while Aki was resting, you took every opportunity, slipping away to enjoy this whenever you could. When your mind was racing and you just couldn't sleep, the lonesome silence helped to calm your worries. This time, it isn't helping much.

Your mind has been a mess all day today, and the day before that. Perhaps it has never truly untangled. All the usual worries you've had about Aki and the kingdom and the future have been piling up, filling your head with no way to discard them. Quietness helps you think, but you don't want to think; you've been lost in your thoughts for way too long.

Nothing works. It's a lost cause, clearly. You sigh to yourself.

The best you can do is try to relax out here for a while, underneath the pale moon, and hope your mind eventually tires itself out enough to let you sleep.

Though, the night has other plans for you.

The cottage door opens from behind you with a wooden creak, and you swiftly turn around. Aki carefully closes the door behind him. He gives you a soft, acknowledging smile when your eyes meet, before he walks down the stairs of the front porch, and comes to sit beside you. He matches you, crossing his legs; faint breaths of wind rustle his crisp white tunic and flutter through the long, dark strands of his hair.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?" Aki asks smoothly, and you quickly shake your head.

"No, no. It's fine. You can stay." Your gaze travels back to the glittering stars, as they watch over the both of you with distant admiration. "I'd like it if you stayed, actually."

So, Aki does.

He folds his hands in his lap, and falls into silence alongside you. Once again, you are no longer alone. He stays while you stare absently at the moon and the sky, continuing to think to yourself. He stays when the night seems to grow colder, the breeze nipping at your arms and the back of your neck, your eyes heavy, while your heart keeps thudding in your chest.

Finally, you let go of a small sigh in frustration. It doesn't go unnoticed; Aki's gaze flickers back to you. In the corner of your vision, you can see him eyeing you up and down, carefully considering, calmly examining.

"Are you alright?" He asks, far too gently. "It's pretty late for you to still be awake."

You shake your head. You glance down, focused on your hands and the shadowy blades of grass tickling your knees. "I can't sleep."

"Why's that? Are you cold?" Aki's brow raises as he notes your small shivers. "I can move, if you want to be by the fireplace. I'll sleep on the floor or something."

"I'm not that cold." You rub your goosebump-filled arms with your palms, somewhat contradicting your words. "I've just been thinking. Thinking too much, probably. That's all."

Aki quiets. He runs a hand through his hair to push it from his face, he idly taps his finger against his knee.

Suddenly, thinking becomes so much more difficult. It always is, whenever he's around. Yet, this is a welcome change. The night feels warmer with him near. His presence alone helps your mind find its footing. You can breathe, but you didn't need the night to teach you — you just needed him.

Foolish, isn't it?

A few moments tick by. Your thoughts drift to lighter subjects. Dreams and soft hopes. He waits for you to speak, never pressing, never pulling. And so, you do.

"I've always liked how bright the stars are out here," You murmur, almost talking to yourself, with your gaze still caught on the sparkling array in the sky. "They shine brighter where the forest is darkest. Almost like they know there's someone out there who might need them to light their way home."

On your first night alone, when you escaped from the kingdom, when you ran as deep into the forest as your tired legs could take you, with only some books in your pack and a demon-warding amulet around your neck, the stars were there. They lit your path through the trees and into the clearing. Hundreds upon thousands of steady glowing lights watched over you when you collapsed, and they made sure to look after your rest until morning.

Aki listens intently. He looks only at you. When you're content like this, staring at the sky, your pretty gaze seems to sparkle, too.

"They're gorgeous. It gets harder to see them the closer you get to the city," He says. "In the kingdom, we have this phrase about stars. It's quite famous. I'm pretty sure some poet came up with it a thousand odd years ago, and now people use it in stories and plays and such."

You turn towards him. "And that phrase is?"

"Per aspera ad astra." Aki pronounces each syllable perfectly and purposely, with a certain sense of wonder. "It means, 'through thorns, look to the stars.' But phrases in old tongue can honestly be interpreted in a thousand different ways."

"The stars will never stop watching over us, even through hardships." You give your own interpretation, while admiring those very same stars. "What a beautiful phrase."

He smiles. "Yeah. I thought you would like it."

Those stars and this moon watched over your family ages ago. They foresaw the very first mages, they looked upon their devastating downfall. No matter what future they might hold for you, their presence above your head will never change, they'll never waver.

They've been watching Aki, too. When you were younger, young enough to gaze up at the sky and dream of a brighter future, where was he? Learning to fight the devils you'd soon have to run from, pacing the halls of the castle you dreamt of visiting?

You take another deep, grounding breath, taking in the crisp night air, and you draw your knees up, getting more comfortable. Glancing at Aki, you see him intently looking at the sky, this time. For once, he isn't staring at you.

"Could you tell me another?"

Aki glances towards you with a hint of surprise. "Another phrase?"

You nod. "I didn't know the kingdom still spoke in old tongue. It's interesting."

Aki hums, considering. He holds his chin, his brows pinching as he thinks. Eventually, he continues, allowing you to hear his smooth voice once more — just as you wanted.

"Okay… let's see. Fortis fortuna adiuvat. 'Fortune favors the bold.' All the knights in training have to learn that one." He smirks, his eyes rolling slightly. The kingdom's chivalry must fail to impress him. "Devil hunters prefer morior invictus. Death over defeat."

"I think I've heard the first one." You pause to dwell on his words, before you turn back to him, eagerly questioning, "And what about the kingdom? Could you tell me more about it?"

Aki pauses. He breathes a small laugh. "I'm… not sure what you mean. What did you want to know? Just…" He shrugs. "Anything?"

"Yeah. Can you tell me what it's like?"

For a moment, he hesitates. He takes a deep, thoughtful breath. A soft, clearly excited smile forms on his features. He gazes at you like you're sparkling more than the sky.

"Well, I- I thought you might like the kingdom's gardens," He explains, a bit awkward and stuttery at first. "The castle's garden, especially. The front entrance is surrounded by huge weeping willow trees. Each path is decorated with every bright color of flower you can imagine. They flourish in the spring, and in autumn, the trees turn the richest gold hue. There's rose bushes, daffodils, tulips, orchids. Orchids are your favorite, aren't they?"

When you brought home a bundle of orchids, he watched as you carefully trimmed their stems to place them in a vase on the dining room table, and he listened as you explained how you've always found them beautiful. They're a symbol of elegance and grace, a common motif in your favorite poetry books. You've always admired them. Aki promised he'd remember.

You nod shyly. "That's right."

Aki smiles. He places his hands in his lap, slightly fiddling with his thumbs. The moon and stars form a bright halo above him, glittering down onto both of you. "I'm sure you'd find orchids in every shade. Or if you wanted some for yourself, I could buy them for you. Ah, you'd like walking through the town square, too. There's lots of flower vendors."

"Flower vendors?" You're scoffing, donning a grin of disbelief, "People are spending gold on flowers when there's thousands they could pick without emptying their pockets?"

"Well, they're usually selling flowers you can only get in certain regions. They grow them themselves," Aki explains matter-of-factly. "Besides, it's tradition. You're supposed to buy flowers as gifts. For your loved ones or your family or your partner. Something like that."

You try to ponder the implications, your mind and your heart stuck on his specific choice of words; your partner. Does Aki have a spouse? Perhaps there's someone he's already interested in. He's royalty, surely he has admirers. Or maybe, just maybe, offering to buy flowers for you meant something more — but Aki stands, pushing himself up and rising to his feet, instantly halting your surging train of thought.

"Wait-" You glance up at him swiftly. "You're leaving?"

"Only for a moment," He answers. Your expression softens. The rush of relief that fills you must be palpable.

Aki gestures towards the cottage. "I was going to get a blanket for us. Unless you'd prefer to go back inside?"

"Oh. No," You murmur in response, shaking your head. "No, it's fine."

He isn't gone for long. Aki brings one of the blankets he was using for his makeshift bed: a large, handmade quilt, messily sewn from different patches of fabric. Delightful warmth fills your body as he drapes the blanket around you, but for good measure, he shifts closer. Close enough to let the both of you share the blanket, close enough to have your legs brush and your shoulder press to his.

And as the night stretches on, Aki tells you about the kingdom. He details everything you would want to know, he provides illustrations for all of the fantasies you have wondered and dreamt about — the luxuries you wished you could afford. He makes all of them seem real.

It's late. You need to sleep, you know you'll be exhausted by the time tomorrow comes, and you're sure he knows this too. But you stay as you are. You don't want this moment to end.

For as long as the night allows, you live through what he shares with you, as though this life were different, and you were much more fortunate. Honestly, you are more fortunate than you've ever been to have this, to have him.

Aki describes the kingdom's beauty to you. Cobblestone pathways, ornate churches, bridges that overlook the entire city. The castle is placed upon a hill; you can spot its grandeur from miles away. A river runs through the city, providing canoes you can take, pooling into a beautiful sea with an abundance of fish to catch. The streets are always busy. There's merchants and performers, vendors and dancers. Nightly parties and fancy outings, and a life you could only ever dream of.

If Aki offered to take you, to show you, to give you such a life, you can't quite decide how you'd answer.

At some point, the descriptions he's painting for you blend together. The bustling depictions of the ferry port jumble with his explanation of the town's most famous grand library. Your head slips to his shoulder, and you're fading away. You can't remember the last thing you heard before you fell asleep.

Briefly, you wake up while Aki is carrying you inside, but you drift off once again the moment he places you into your bed, drawing the warm, comfy covers over you, and quietly closing your bedroom door behind him.

—

Days pass. Nights spent looking upon the stars together become more frequent.

After a while in your care, the injured scarlet songbird begins to show some positive signs. She's been leaving her bed on her own to hop around the living room, or to perch on the end of Aki's cot. Although her wing still seems weak, she's been trying to flap it, stretching and waving both wings in the air at every opportunity.

An excited Aki drags you into the cottage a few days later. You were in the clearing, tending to the garden, but you follow along when he begins tugging you by your arm.

The songbird flutters around the room, floating freely from the edge of the fireplace, to the kitchen counter, to the top of a sculpture-filled bookshelf.

Look, Aki says, exuberant. She's flying.

—

The flickering fire in front of you radiates steady, calming warmth. As you carefully tilt the small chunk of wood in your hands, your sleeves rolled up, a blanket in your lap to catch all the shavings, you can no longer feel the chill of the night.

An almost-full moon watches over your technique. Your eyes narrow in focus. Your thumb presses to the blunt side of your blade.

You've been working on this sculpture for a few days now; you have to be careful, you wouldn't want to make a mistake when you're so close to adding the finishing touches. This sculpture has to be perfect. After all, getting the chance to study a scarlet songbird up close is hardly an everyday occurrence.

Slowly and meticulously, you refine the head of the sculpture, smoothing out the bumps in the circular shape. The end of the head is spiked slightly, to form the shape of thin feathers. You've recently learned from your hours of study that songbirds have large, thick beaks, perfect for cracking open the shells of seeds. You curve your knife, and refine the simple shape of the beak into a dull, triangular point.

Aki sits across from you, one leg crossed over the other. The both of you have already finished dinner, and you now rest in the middle of the clearing, in front of the fire, sitting on some large fallen logs you dragged in from the forest. His hair remains the way it was this morning: tied back to keep stray strands out of his face. He leans backward, head tilted up as he gazes silently at the glittering sea of stars.

Normally, you would join him. You'd set your sculpture down to complete later, and you'd come to sit beside him, so the two of you could count the constellations together. But tonight, your mind is elsewhere. You're focused on the pounding of your heart and the movement of your hands, because tonight, Aki finally won.

There's a game the two of you have been playing, ever since the nights have begun to grow warmer.

To your surprise, when you brought up the idea, you learned Aki has never caught fireflies before. He's hardly ever seen them, he explains, outside of a handful of times when he was a kid.

They're useful to light up the kitchen, so you can clean up after taking your time at dinner. Most of the time though, you'll catch them in your palms, you'll place them into jars and admire the performance of their synchronized glow, just to watch them all fill the sky once you set them free. You showed Aki how he could catch them, his own hands mimicking the cupped shape of yours. And now, each night, you've been playfully competing to see who can catch more.

At first, it was to decide who would wash the plates and pans. When a few days went by with no success, Aki decided to raise the stakes. If he wins, he gets to ask you three questions, and you have to promise to answer.

You were confused. Perhaps even the slightest bit shocked. You silently mulled over his proposal as the two of you washed dishes together, a jar filled with ten busy fireflies on your side, and a jar holding just two of them on his side — both fireflies conversing, gently flickering their bulbs.

I won't ask anything too personal, I promise. And if I ever did, you wouldn't have to answer, Aki explained. His expression was soft and reassuring as he glanced up at you, while scrubbing some silverware with a worn-down rag. I feel I don't know much about you, is all. And I'd like to.

You aren't used to someone wanting to learn more about you, nor would you know precisely what you should tell them. What if you wind up saying too much? Or perhaps, you would only be able to tell him far too little?

No matter how foolish, some part of you believes it wants to tell him.

In all honesty, you weren't expecting much to come out of the deal you just agreed to. You believe him; Aki wouldn't ask anything out of the ordinary, he wouldn't press you, or put you in a situation you can't get out of. He also happens to be particularly awful at catching fireflies. He's never caught more than you, and with his lack of experience, you wouldn't expect him to — until tonight, of course.

Once you lit the firewood and a fire began to spark, you both sat down to compare how many you collected. You counted, and as the fireflies fluttered around, you recounted. Aki counted them as well before you set them free, just in case you were mistaken. He met your gaze with a sure, satisfied smile.

He caught one more than you.

Now, here you are. You wouldn't call this feeling worry. As you sit by the fire, busying yourself with your diligent work on your wood carving, your heart comes alive — with warmth that burns the chassis of your chest from the inside. You swear your fear has been swallowed by the flames, because this feeling is more like excitement, unwavering and true.

You have never revealed what lies beneath your surface, not ever before. Not to anyone but the starlight.

Gods, how you have waited for this.

"So," You begin, breaking the silence first. You drag your attention away from your wood carving, glancing up at Aki with an eyebrow raised, "What would you like to know?"

Aki finally looks away from the sky, and you try not to falter when his deep gaze meets yours. He flashes you a small smile. Then, he breathes a soft, obvious hmm, as if he's pretending you'd caught him off guard.

"Your name would be a good place to start."

Ah. After all this time, you still haven't told him. You consider the possibilities, nervously running your thumb over the grooved shape of the sculpture's unfinished wing. Your family name would be dangerous for him to know, of course. In any other circumstance, you'd consider giving him something fake, or possibly your middle name, since it'd be more difficult to trace. But this time, your first name is fine. If it's Aki who knows it, you have nothing to fear.

So, you answer. Aki grins, lacing his delicate, scarred hands together, and resting his elbows on his knees.

One question down, two more to go.

"A very pretty name. It suits you," He muses, in a tone smooth enough to make you shudder. His words feel like thick liquid gold, tingling in your veins and dripping down your back. "You already know mine. But perhaps there's something else you'd like to know about me?"

"I- I mean, maybe," You reply, trying and failing not to stutter. There's plenty of things you've been wanting to know, but nearly all of them you couldn't just say. You can't suddenly blurt out, Are you really royalty? as casually as he just asked for your name. "But I thought you were the one asking the questions. Not me."

"It'd be fair to let you ask some too. Right?"

Your fingers drum idly against the hilt of your knife.

"Okay, uhm…" You glance him up and down, trying to come up with something. Your gaze catches on the pointed ears sticking out from his hair; "You're an elf, aren't you? Is your family from the kingdom? I heard there weren't many elves there."

That was two questions in one, but Aki doesn't seem to mind.

"Half-elf," He corrects. The firelight dances in his eyes, forming fuzzy warmth in the edges of your vision. "My mother was an elf, and my father was human. My brother and I were both born and raised in the kingdom, as was my father. But my mother was considered an outsider. She left her village when she was twenty."

Was. Your eyes widen. Although you already had your hints and suspicions, you can't help but note his specific choice of words. Still, your gaze drifts back down to your sculpture. You glide your knife forwards to thin out the delicate shape of the long tail feathers, and you move along without mentioning it.

"Ah," You reply, nodding, "Sorry. You're a half-elf."

Aki cocks a brow. "You seem surprised."

Half-elves aren't exactly common, considering the tension that can still linger between both parties. Elves have always been known for discovering magic; their magic lineage leads some to distrust them. They're often blamed for past troubles. Humans are the ones revered for stopping them. A half-elf would surely face judgment from both sides.

You know what that feeling is like. Has Aki also felt like an outcast, did part of him gnaw from within, promising he would never find somewhere he truly belonged?

"I thought half-elves were a rarity," You reply quietly, "But I don't know, maybe I'm wrong." You give a heavy shrug of your shoulders. "It's been a while since I left the cottage."

If only he knew.

"That's alright," Aki answers calmly, folding his hands and placing them in his lap. "Half-elves are uncommon, but in recent times, not so much. The, uh," He clears his throat rather abruptly. "The old king and queen set a new precedent, I suppose."

You squint as his gaze meets yours, matching his coyness with curiosity and confusion.

The old king and queen. An elf and a human ruling together was unheard of, at the time.

Unfortunately, your memories of the kingdom are vague. When you were much, much younger, you heard many stories about the famous king and queen, your mother's embellished retellings filling your mind each night before bed. A few weeks before you fled the kingdom, you learned of their passing. The details weren't revealed to the public, you'd imagine. You suppose you were too young to know what was true and what was just a tale.

Before you can ask anything else, Aki is continuing, as he nervously drums a hand against his knee.

"A lot has changed in such a short time. Elves have always been welcome in the kingdom, but it's rare for people to judge them these days. The king and queen were very well remembered."

Then, he breathes a short laugh. He points to his ears, his star-shaped earrings sparkling when they catch the flames of the fire. "In some other places though, these ears have gotten me into an awful lot of trouble."

This, in fact, does not surprise you.

Your eyes roll playfully. Setting down your sculpture and your knife in favor of resting your chin in your hand, you shoot Aki a teasing glance. "Really? What kind of trouble?"

"Mmm, you know. The typical sentiments. Lots and lots of dirty looks. Whispers about magic and mages and the like. Most half-elves have smaller ears, but you can't exactly hide these." Aki taps his pointed ear, making his earring rustle. "I owe you many things- my life, for one. But I'm grateful you've never judged me, even when you saw what I was."

You shake your head and scoff, your jaw tightening, "Come on, you don't owe me anything. You needed help, that's all. So I provided."

You've told those words to yourself at least a thousand times. Oh, but it's so much more than that now, isn't it?

Aki sighs. "Gods, you're sweet, you know that?" He smiles, his gaze sparkling with saccharine sweetness. "You could have turned me away, you could have easily kept me at arm's length. But when I'm with you, I never feel anything less than welcomed."

Your heart stirs, thudding within your chest like a performer's drum, fluttering like the flap of a bird's wings, and warming your face until it feels hotter than the flames of the fire.

"Stop, you're just…" You rub your arm shyly while you glance down at your boots. "You're only saying that."

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it," Aki answers softly. "There's good in you, more than most I've met these days."

Good? When was the last time anyone thought of you as good? Mages have never been regarded with anything but contempt, and you have embodied that fact for so, so long. It's become who you are. You have defined yourself as a witch, you've embodied the terrible things you've heard people say and do. You aren't allowed to be anything more than that. Your life isn't worth anything more.

Aki makes you think differently. He's reminded you of what you thought you couldn't have, he's made you think that you can be you — clipped wings soft, and outstretched.

You glance down once more at the sculpture. You hold it in your palms, and run your thumb over the details: the pointed beak, the smooth body, the small feet. Carefully, you take hold of your knife. Your eyes narrow as you guide the blade, adding faint notches to the bird's thin talons.

You sigh to yourself, your brows knotted in focus. "I'm sure not everyone you've met is terrible."

"You'd be surprised. A lot of towns are still pretty intolerant towards elves. Towards mages, in specific. Even if I explained I was there to help them, to fight devils for them, sometimes they'd simply refuse to listen." Aki huffs in frustration, leaning forwards, rubbing the tension from the joints in his fingers. "I felt lucky whenever they denied me entry. At least then, I wouldn't have to deal with them."

You can definitely sympathize. Quietly, you reply, "That sounds… unfair."

"It was. My mother often tried to rationalize it. 'Those people are afraid, Aki. They don't want to be hurt again.'"

His shoulders slump when he lets go of a weighty, built-up breath. His gaze has found itself drifting, first focused on the fire, and now stuck on his hands. "I understood that. I've known since I was young. It's just… you know." A choked bite finds its way into his tone. "Frustrating."

Frustrating is a light way to put it. You certainly, undoubtedly know. Aki doesn't realize how acquainted you are with that very same feeling of hopelessness.

He pauses, brows furrowed as he thinks, and you set your knife aside. Your fingers return to trace the curves of the nearly-complete sculpture.

When Aki speaks next, he's glancing back up at you. "Could I ask about your family? Or… is that…"

He trails off, but you know precisely where he's headed. It isn't too much, not if he's the one listening. You shake your head, glancing between him and your hands.

"No, it's alright," You reply, your voice weaker than intended. "There just isn't much to say. They've both been gone for… Gods, ages now. I wasn't as close with my father, but my mother was very important to me. Losing her was difficult."

Sadness lingers in your tone, along with something anxious, something uncertain. Aki watches your hands, fiddling uneasily with the small wood carving.

Like a quiet eclipse, there's meaning behind your words, a gentleness you prosper when you give Aki a knowing, pained glance. You know the pain he's felt. You've shared it once, perhaps without realizing.

When he speaks, his voice helps to ground you.

"I'm sorry. I understand. My mother and father are gone. I lost my younger brother with them. It's a terrible feeling."

You breathe deeply, steadying yourself.

No one knows about your family. You rarely even think about what happened, you prefer to move on rather than dig up old wounds; it's what you needed to do to survive. And yet, in the face of Aki's soft expression, his calm gaze meeting yours, the words seem to spill out before you can stop them — your breath catching, your hands clenching the sculpture tight.

"I lost them. And when I did, I… I lost everything," You're murmuring, your shoulders tense as you try not to shrink in on yourself. "I was alone for the longest time. I felt… afraid."

Aki's leg bounces. For a moment, as you glance up at him quickly, before avoiding his eyes to look down again, you think he might stand up. You wouldn't mind if he came to sit next to you. Against your better judgment, you might find yourself pulling him closer, latching onto his arm or dragging him into an embrace just to savor the way your heart would skip. Instead, he forces himself to still, his hands folded and his knuckles locked.

You sigh, and continue before he has a chance to speak. "Sorry. It's difficult to… to put everything into words. I'm not used to this. I haven't really… talked about it before. Not until now."

Aki glances you up and down, noting the discomfort in your posture. He swallows, and he leans back.

"Don't apologize," He says, his tone soft. "You're doing just fine. You don't have to speak if you don't want to."

As your reassured gaze catches on his own, he brushes a palm over the back of his neck, and hurries to fill the air with something other than the crackle of the fire and the chirp of crickets.

"My dad and I- my mother always said we were the same," He begins. The fire's flames wash over his face in faint orange hues. "Stubborn. Fearless. He was an adventurer when he was my age. The kind of man that never wanted to be stuck in one place. But when he married, he finally settled down. He was… a well-respected man. Many people disapproved of him marrying an elf."

You stay frozen in place, your eyes softening at the sound of his voice. He takes a deep breath, laughing a bit.

"You know, when I was young, I was one of those kids that never stopped to think before they spoke. Ardentis is what my mother used to say. It means… filled with fire. Impulsive. When I was ten, I asked my father why he would ever marry my mother, if it made things so difficult. Thank the Gods I said it when we were out on our own, visiting another province. I can't imagine how they would've scolded me if I said it in public."

Filled with fire. Aki always burns bright, but the outline of his soul — floating and flickering within your magic — feels cold, in comparison. Like pressing your palm to the smooth surface of a frozen lake. Like falling through to drown in deep, cool waters.

Aki can't look at you. "My father answered, when you love someone, you'll find a way to bend the world to fit their shape." He pauses. He clears his throat, his shoulders slack; he glances up at you, finally. "It was one of the last things I remember him telling me, so I guess it always stuck."

You listen in silence. Everything converges and stops, your entire world pinpointed on this singular moment. The songbird sculpture rests in your hands, your grip tightening, although your gaze is unable to tear away from his. The fire crackles gently, the wind brushes your skin like a kiss.

Leaning back, Aki crosses one leg over the other. "I'm onto my third question now. Right?"

"Yeah. Right."

And what of the shape of your own soul? Would his fit with yours? Would they press together like the softness of hands interlocked, or like the sting of a knife to your throat?

Aki flashes you a warm smile. "Which do you prefer? Sunrise, or sunset?"

—

Sunset was your answer.

You adore the beautiful hues the sun paints across the sky, dying light shining through the trees in desperate rays, only for everything to fade into the alluring darkness of the night. Sunsets mark new beginnings, before the sunrise returns to embrace them. Both are beautiful — and to be honest, you weren't sure which you preferred.

When Aki asked you that night, you put little thought into your answer. You've always had an appreciation for both, but you've never thought of picking a favorite. You pondered it for a moment, before simply choosing one, like flipping a coin, like relying on a hunch. Sunsets are your favorite.

The night was stretching on for a bit too long, and since the two of you still needed to get some sleep, you left it at that. Aki thanked you. He gave you a simple, you'll see, when you questioned where he might be going with this. You yawned, watching the fire flicker weakly, and decided it'd be best to call the night there.

You slept peacefully and dreamlessly. Busy with the chores of the coming day, you nearly forgot about the conversation and the night you shared — until Aki returned to surprise you.

He'd been out for a while. You had some cleaning to do around the cottage that day, and so he promised to tend to the garden while you finished everything you needed to. You cleaned your bedroom and the living room. You washed all of the blankets and linens, hanging them up on the line out front. When you glanced towards the garden, the sun high in the sky and a crisp breeze at your back, Aki was nowhere to be found.

At last, just before sundown, he returned — along with the scarlet songbird in tow. You set down the dish you were washing as he tossed open the door to greet you in the kitchen.

In just one day, the bird has made immense progress. She's been following me all day, Aki explained earlier this afternoon. The bird flew out of the cottage when he left, and proceeded to follow Aki into the garden, perching on his shoulder whenever she needed to rest.

The bird flutters back inside, settling in her makeshift nest, and Aki holds the front door open, gesturing for you to follow.

A faint pout forms on your lips, your brow raising, arms crossing. "You're letting all the warm air out."

Aki lets go of a half-laugh, half-sigh. His hair is tied up, his sleeves are rolled slightly, but his tunic is otherwise neat. If he'd been working out in the garden, usually he'd return with his shirt and his palms covered in dirt; he's cleaned himself up already, it seems.

"There's something I want to show you," Aki says simply, "It's a surprise."

You shift from foot to foot. "What about dinner?"

"I'll help you make something afterwards. It won't take long, I promise."

You give yourself only a moment more to consider.

Following close behind, you allow Aki to lead you behind the cottage, through the clearing, and into the edges of the forest. With the end of the day fast approaching, the air is cooling down; it nips at your arms and your neck with gentle, icy teeth. Your boots crunch on leaves and fallen branches. Shadows envelop the forest floor, the thick canopy above watching over you. A large hill rests just behind your cottage, and you spot it as the whispering trees start to thin.

"Aki," You murmur, staring at his back, your chilly hands shoved in your pockets. The hill is clearly where he's leading you to, but why? "How far is whatever you wanted to show me?"

"Not far. It's right here," He replies, turning around to face you, offering you a reassuring glance. "We're just heading up this hill. I scouted the area already, pretty sure the devils have no idea this spot exists. We'll be able to run back home if anything happens, okay?"

You come to a stop at the foot of the hill, and you glance down. You watch, as you delicately step over the line that forms your magic mushroom circle. The spell splinters, losing its shape, leaving your veins in a rush. Aki is already halfway up the hill, and you hurry close behind him, following him to the top — where the sky finally comes into full view.

The sight you're met with is brilliant.

From the very top of the hill, you can see the clearing and your cottage. You can feel the breeze rustling your clothing and floating through your hair, almost as if you could fly, if you had wings. You're surrounded by hues of bright orange and pink that color every inch of the sky, vivid shades pooling around the edges of the clouds. If you squint, you can just barely glance at the line where the sun meets the horizon, glowing brightly as it begins to dip into the endless line of trees. A fierce dot of radiant yellow, alighting everything it touches in the very same hue.

The wind tugs at your clothes. You place a palm on your forehead, shielding your eyes to look at the sky clearer. You remember climbing this hill when you first made your cottage, but Gods, you've never seen anything like this.

Aki walks further, guiding you to the furthest edge of the hill — and that's when you spot it. A large log placed for the both of you to sit on, with a few blankets draped across it, and a delicately-picked bundle of flowers placed on top.

"Oh- you-" You're talking without thinking, your breath caught in your throat, your eyes wide as you glance between him and the arrangement. Aki is smiling stupidly. He looks at you and then towards the horizon, as though he's still waiting for you to follow.

"You did all of this?" You sigh. "Aki, you didn't have to-"

"I know," Aki interrupts, soft and assured, far too tender. Of course he didn't have to, but this is what he wanted.

"Come here," He says, gesturing once more for you to follow. Your hands clutch the front of your shirt absently, but you trail close behind with unsteady steps. "Make yourself comfortable. Would you like a blanket?"

"I'm okay," You answer. You sit down on the log, awkwardly resting your hands in your lap. Aki swiftly sits down next to you, a foot or so of distance still kept in between.

You shake your head. "I'm not that cold."

"Alright. If you'd like one, just say the word."

Your heart pounds in your ears to a fervent melody. As you fiddle with your hands, you barely notice Aki reaching for the flowers that were resting on the other side of your homemade seat.

They're bundled delicately, stems secured by a thin piece of twine, tied into a messy attempt at a bow. Orchids. Exquisite white blooms, with petals splattered in shades of purple and pink. Your gaze catches on his, something unreadable but surely shy flashing in his expression. The sun's low light makes him look so warm. Aki's grip tightens on the stems, and he clears his throat quietly.

"I've wanted to show you this for far too long, now. And after you mentioned it yesterday, I thought this would be a good place to watch the sunset," He explains, his tone kept smooth, despite the unsureness to his movements as he sets the flowers in his lap. "Hold on-"

Aki chooses one of the smaller orchids. He pulls at the middle of the stem, breaking it off from the rest. Your gaze follows him, as he shifts closer, closing a few threads of distance between you. He reaches forwards, then up, tucking the flower behind your ear, his fingers brushing your jaw as he does so.

He smiles — a terribly soft, utterly lovesick smile. His fingertips linger on the side of your face for longer than they have to. He admires you, the wind pulling faintly at your hair, the flower's colorful bloom practically glowing in the vibrant light of the fading sun. You feel warm, down to your veins; you can hardly think, can't hear anything besides the pound of your own heart. Aki pulls away, his gaze still caught on you, and you find yourself missing the brush of his touch.

"You're so pretty." Aki breathes a low, calm breath. "Prettier than the sun."

Oh. In your vision, Aki seems to glow brightly, outlined by the blues and pinks of the sky. His unkempt bangs brush his eyes, his earrings twirling in the gentle wind. Your hands shake slightly when you take the bundle of flowers from him, your face feels warm — and he swears, more than the flowers, you seem to blossom. A smile crosses your features, fading into the faintest, most perfect laugh.

"You're ridiculous," You chide playfully, shaking your head. Holding the orchids in your lap, you brush your thumb over the soft petals of one of the blooms. You can feel the flower that rests behind your ear, tickling your face when the wind makes it rustle. "I can't believe you did all of this."

Aki hums, "It's nice though, isn't it? You can see the sky so clearly from here."

He's right. The moon is already visible — a thin crescent that plans to usher in the night to come. Crisp cool air fills your lungs with each breath, and as the sun dips lower, the horizon shimmers in fading shades of red. It's lovely on its own, but knowing Aki thought of you, planned this for you, has your mind in such a mess, you can hardly focus on the view.

Aki is no better. He rests his chin in his hand, his gaze on yours, his smile clumsy and endearing. The fading sun and the trees and the sky could never be as captivating as you.

You steal the smallest glance towards him, and when you see him still staring, your shoulders go slack with your light laughter. "You're not even watching…"

"Oh," Aki turns away, trying his hardest — and utterly failing — to hide his smile. "Yeah. I wasn't."

The sun blends into the distant sea of trees like butter melting on a skillet, and although he promised the opposite, Aki finds himself glancing at the sparkle in your gaze once more.

He rolls his shoulders backward. His voice sounds unsure when he speaks.

"I know this isn't much. But I hoped I could do something nice for you, to… I don't know." Aki sighs, struggling to put his words into place. "To thank you, for all the kindness you've shown me."

You glance towards him again, almost forming a rebuttal, but he promptly interrupts.

"And I know I didn't have to. None of this was necessary, I didn't have to do any of the things I've done. But you-" His hands are tense, and he squeezes his own fingers, trying to alleviate his growing tension. He seems so earnest, like his words are more than words, but shimmering stars simply begging to fall — "You deserve more than words could say. You're important. I thought this might be… something you'd find important, too."

Aki stalls, brushing his thumb over his own knuckles. You want to say so much, even though you're sure you shouldn't. Aki, it's lovely, this is beautiful. And this is so, so perfect. I can't remember the last time I felt so happy, if there was any time at all. But words come as stuck constellations whenever Aki has you like this; your heart skips, and you couldn't possibly pick out everything, you can only manage to utter some of them.

Your breathing wavers. "I'm important to you?"

Aki sighs, his gaze meeting yours. "You are everything to me."

Your heart thrums in your chest, iridescent in your throat, drumming firm against your ribs. You're speechless, for more than a few moments. The rest of the world — the shaking trees, the smoke billowing from your distant cottage, the dying sun — pleasantly fades away. Aki weakens, his expression soft and his voice gentle.

"And it's- it isn't just because you saved my life," He explains, "You are kind and thoughtful, and so, so special. There is so much I could tell you. Gods, every time I talk to you, the words- everything flows effortlessly. I've never felt that before. Not once."

Not once. Not with anyone. You shift, trying to catch your breath — trying not to let those words consume you.

Aki's hand rests at his side, mere inches away. His fingers nervously drum the rough wood.

"It's been a pleasure to share these days with you. To learn more about you, to talk and to just- to just be." He goes quiet, before he laughs, his gaze now focused on the distant view. You swear the lightest trace of pink dusts his face, his pointed ears. "You remember that word I taught you yesterday?"

You nod shallowly. "Ardentis." Your head tilts as you try to catch his wandering gaze again. "You aren't talking too much, though."

"Really?" Aki breathes a soft hum, almost in disbelief. "You did say you enjoyed the sound of my voice, once."

Once, and each time after. Your reply comes in the form of a slow, uneven breath, along with the subtle movement of your hand; until your pinky finger is able to brush his just slightly. Barely tender, nothing more than a faint touch, a silent promise. Still, you steady, savoring the feeling of him close to you, and melting in the heat of the thick, molten warmth inside your chest.

Glancing down, unable to face you, Aki hesitates for a fair stretch of time. You're barely able to catch the conflicted look on his features before he moves his hand away, like it'd been burned. His jaw clenches. Your hand craves more of his touch in his absence.

"That- that was too much, wasn't it?" His brows pinch, he almost sounds pained. "Maybe I should-"

He starts to stand, but you stop him halfway. You grab his hand and squeeze it tight — like the action is natural, like it isn't the first time you've tried this. His skin is soft, his palm is rough, his knuckles are ragged with crosshatches of scars. You refuse to let go, even as Aki follows your gaze, slowly sitting back down beside you.

"Don't go," You murmur simply. "Please."

Aki's expression goes terribly, dangerously soft. If you had planned to let go of him, if you hoped that your judgment could guide you and in the interest of caution, you would keep some distance — all of those ideas are rendered useless when he squeezes your hand back. Gentle yet firm, tight enough to make you think he never truly wanted to leave in the first place.

"Aki… I-" Oh, it's so much harder to talk when he's inches away, and when the only thing your mind and pounding heart can focus on is his hand in yours. His hand. You never want to let go. "There's so much I want to tell you, I just- I can't. I don't know if I ever can."

"You don't have to," Aki returns when you falter. "It's alright."

"I know, but I want to. I guess- I would miss you, if you left. So terribly. And-" You stop, sighing. Your bottom lip quivers, everything failing, converging, all of the feelings you shouldn't hold onto and the lies you've told; "I'm sorry."

Aki shakes his head, and softly coos, "You have nothing to apologize for."

You look away, glancing towards his hand in yours. Each inhale and exhale comes quick and sharp. The wind brushes the back of your neck, complimenting the heat that runs through your veins. Aki shifts. His hand is soft and warm, his palm is large, but his fingers are deft and delicate. When they lace with yours, fingers fitting perfectly between the gaps of your own, hands intertwining together, you can't help but wish they would forge. Like a stone statue. To always stay just like this.

"I would miss you more than you know," Aki admits, offering your hand a gentle squeeze. "The days have gone by so fast. It feels like I've hardly had a chance to savor them."

You nod. "I remember when we met. Like it was yesterday."

"Do you?" He smiles, exhaling with an ever-so slight laugh. It wasn't exactly the best introduction. "I was supposed to return to the kingdom that very same night. Ages ago, I should've been back. At every turn, I would tell myself… just a few more moments with you, and then I would leave. Just one more day. And now look at us."

"Oh," You glance back up at him. "Am I keeping you?"

"Of course not." Aki reaches up, and he doesn't hesitate to brush his free palm over your cheek, cupping it gently; the orchid's white petals tickle his fingertips. It takes everything within you not to lean into him. "It was my choice. Besides, I'm not going anywhere. Not without you."

The silence that begins to stretch between you is long and thick. Glowing in hues of orange through the darkening sky, you're illuminated by the almost-set sun. Aki's thumb caresses your cheek, and you give in; leaning close, you sigh, you press your hand over his to keep it there.

"If we went to the kingdom," You start; your gaze flickers up to meet his, your words trying not to tremor. "What would we do?"

Aki answers, his tone low, "Whatever you want to do."

"I'd like to visit the sea. And the town square. And the grand library."

"Then let me take you there." Aki's voice is full of conviction, laced with an intensity that strongly shudders through you, "I can show you everything you want to see. I won't leave your side, if that's what you want. We'll make things work- I'll do whatever it takes. I promise."

The impossible odds you've let define you seem meaningless when you let your gaze flicker across him, trying to put the pieces he's given you into place. Instead of the orange in the sky, the green in the trees, the red on the horizon and the red that has painted the back of your vision since you learned how to speak, you see in shades of blue. You dream of the ocean — white waves and rocky seas underneath your fingertips, as you lose yourself in the blue of his gaze.

In every romance book you've ever read, the novels you busied yourself with when you summoned them instead of something factual — sometimes on accident, but then, on purpose — this is when the two main leads would tilt closer. This is when the knight would caress the princess' cheek, whispering how fortunate he is to be together once more. His eyes would flutter shut before they kissed, lips desperately crashing together like sinking ships. Like this is the last time they ever would.

You almost grow lost in those daydreams. Almost. Almost is far too risky of a word, when it is the only thing that separates you from dragging Aki close, running your fingertips along his jaw, and forgetting all reason to press your lips to his.

Thankfully, Aki slowly pulls away. He brushes your cheek one last time, before he shifts back, letting go of your hand. Recognizing the both of you might've grown carried away, you don't attempt to reach out again. You place your hands in your lap, and look elsewhere to catch the final glimpses of the sun's vibrant edge.

You feel cold now. It'd be wise to return home soon, before the forest gets too dark to navigate. Aki seems to have the same idea. Yet, even as you glance back to him to watch him stand, you can't seem to convince your own legs to move.

"Come on," He gathers the blankets he'd brought and keeps them under his arm, before he reaches to you, offering you his hand once more. "We should head back."

Like a book snapping closed, fluttery pages pressed back together, the moment lingers, but fades. You take his outstretched hand, and allow him to guide you to your feet. You grab the bundle of orchids, holding them in front of you, staring down at the dainty, delicate petals.

"But-" You look up. "What about…?"

Aki continues once you trail off. "Don't answer. Just think about it, okay?" He drapes one of the blankets over your shoulders, carefully wrapping it around you. His gaze focuses on his hands as he ties the ends together to keep it in place. "About your choice, or about where you'd like to go first. Whichever comes easiest to you."

For now, you can ponder neither of those. When you head down the hill together, leaving the sky behind, all you can think of is how you were definitely, most certainly wrong.

Sunsets must be your favorite.

—

The scarlet songbird takes her leave a few days later.

Her wing has healed, and she's grown strong enough to fly wherever she pleases. After eating her fill of seeds and enjoying the warmth of the fireplace one last time, she patiently waited until morning, before she drifted out the front door and into the forest, her red wings disappearing amongst the trees. She didn't return, even once nightfall came. You're thankful. Her life will continue, as it was always meant to.

Tonight, Aki had promised to collect firewood and start the fire outside, so it'd be ready by the time you were finished with dinner. The cottage is quiet with the absence of his voice and the bird's chirping. The orchids he'd given you rest in a vase on the dining room table. You take your ladle, and continue to stir the warm, nearly complete pot of stew. Then, you reach up and into the cupboard, searching for the seasoning.

You ran out with the last meal you prepared, but you always keep some extra in the very back. Standing on your tiptoes, you fumble blindly, making the various jars clink together as you try to find what you're looking for.

You grab one, unsure if it's the jar you're after. When you set it on the counter, you unfortunately realize it isn't. This was where you were storing your last few shavings of white hazel.

The thin, white leaves have begun to crumble due to age. They're much less potent like this. They should be safer to handle, but a dosage of this size would be much less effective.

Gently, you pop the lid on the jar. A soft, thick scent wafts from the contents, before disappearing almost immediately. The leaves would need to be ingested to serve their purpose. And it would take all of them, most likely. You'd only have one chance.

If you touched them, infusing them with your magic, you could make their effects much stronger. All you would need to do then is dish out the bowls — one for him, and one for you — before dropping all of them into his dish, stirring for a moment until they dissolve. White hazel is tasteless. Besides, Aki never wastes your cooking.

You could make Aki forget all about you. About everything you've told him, and everything that's happened here. He'd forget your cottage, and each moment you shared; they'd all be lost on him. Meeting you, your gentle touches as you brought him back to life. Your late night talks, your days spent growing closer. Everything would be gone, even up to the bird, and that fateful, sunlit, all-too tender evening.

You sigh.

Grabbing the jar, you stroll over to the fireplace. You kneel down to dump all of the leaves into the flames. They crisp up in mere seconds, before they fade away into nothing but dust and ash.

The sea would be nice to visit first. It's the one thing you've always wanted to explore, more than anything else. The sea, and the castle. Briefly, you wonder if visiting the royal castle would actually be a genuine possibility. With the benefit of his royal status, Aki might be able to get you in — perhaps in a few months to a year, depending on when he can get the both of you a party reservation. Oh, but for a royal party, you'd have nothing to wear. Would the shops in town sell dresses?

Maybe you should save your first visit to the sea for a more special occasion. You wouldn't want to go without Aki. Would the harbor look more beautiful at night, with the lighthouses and boats casting glittering lights that rival the stars, or in the morning, when everyone is yet to wake, allowing you to hear nothing but the calm lull of the waves?

Or perhaps, you should see it at sunset.

#aki hayakawa x reader #aki x reader #chainsaw man x reader #aki hayakawa x you #aki x you

103 notes · View notes

strawberryya · 1 year ago

Text

The art of seduction - part one

pairing: jeong yunho x reader

synopsis: Since she left you, it feels like your life has been turned upside down, and you're struggling to find your footing. He sees that, and he wants to help. Or maybe it's not as pure as that. Perhaps he's just looking for a new plaything — an artist to inspire, or someone to slowly destroy.

word count: 4.5k

genre/cw: angst, smut, suggestive, fantasy, thriller and/or romance, yandere themes, supernatural au, faery au, leanan sídhe!yunho, human!reader, they/them pronounces for reader, I tried my best to keep all descriptions gn as well - I welcome all feedback on this area ofc, grief and death depicted/mentioned, specific smut warnings will be listed in each part.

rating: 18+

a/n: this has been a big project for so many people this year, and I would like to thank all of the inspiring people in this collab for all the fantastic ideas that has been contributed to make all of these fics possible. it has been a journey writing this, but this fic is only the beginning of the even longer journey that yunho and our mc will be going on ;)

this is part one of my first fic for the wonderful collaboration thrill of the hunt, hosted by @cultofdionysusnet - check out the other exciting and thrilling stories on the official master list here!

the second part to this story will be found here once it's posted. if you wish to be tagged in the continuation you can dm me, send an ask, or comment on this post <3

network tagging: @svthub @cultofdionysusnet @k-labels @kvanity-main

“Oh, he’s the most wonderful man I’ve ever met, y/n! He’s perfect… I didn’t think anyone could be so perfect until he came into my life. He makes me feel like I’ll never need anything ever again… like he and I are enough forever. I need you to meet him someday soon! I wanna introduce you to him, I promise you’ll love him too!”

You never got the chance to meet him. The more you think about it, the more you regret not making more of an effort to do so. Your best friend Anna had been in love with someone, and you hadn’t even had the chance to meet the man she spoke so fondly of.

“I haven’t been feeling very good lately, y/n… I’ve been to the doctors and they say there’s nothing wrong. They said it’s all in my head, that I should go talk to someone… y/n, do you also think I’m making myself sick?”

She only got weaker after that.

And he had seemingly fallen off the face of the earth after she became bedridden.

She said he came to visit, but she wasn’t in her right mind in those final weeks. Nobody had signed in at the reception. Nobody had seen a beautiful man with dark brown hair that gleamed blood-red when the sun shone. During all that time when she was admitted into the psychological ward at the city’s second-largest hospital you and Anna’s mom were the only visitors.

They said she was mad…

You had wondered a lot about who he might’ve been during those times when she had talked about him as if she had just spoken to him, but nobody had seen anyone in her room. Had he been a fraction of her imagination the entire time? Or had her mind created a lie based on a man who had left her before her illness took over her mind and body?

When she passed he was the one piece of the puzzle that you couldn’t let go of. If you had tried harder to meet him, would her illness have been caught earlier? Could it have been found and treated before it took her life…?

You’ve been staying late at the studio lately, trying to get through your feelings about losing her through your art. The shadows in the room seem to close in on you at every chance they get, and you don’t fight them. Hugged by the darkness is somehow better than being left so completely alone.

The brush strokes soothe you like nothing else is able to. Fizzling seas crash along the shore, a looming tree stands barren and alone, and her face appears in the dark clouds.

The only things you know to be true are that: she is gone, you are in pain, and you can only paint this one single picture. The lonesome tree at the cliff, watching the storms and waves trying to pull the ground away from beneath the large oak tree. You paint it over and over again, day after day, and you haven’t even paid any mind to when other artists have come and gone through the studio. People painted right next to you, people posed on the podium in front of you, and you didn’t care about any of it. All that matters to you is that you have been left all alone.

Your best friend has died, and you can’t even do the one thing you have been able to do your entire life ー paint. You had pursued your passion fiercely, not budging even as your parents pleaded with you to be reasonable and try “having a career worth having”, and let painting stay as a hobby. It was how you had met Anna. She was a dancer, and she had gotten into the same art college as you. Back then you had both been carefree young adults, simply trying your best to survive on your own for the first time in your lives. Now, she has left you, with the bittersweet taste of the last conversations you had had with her on your tongue.

“He inspires me you know, I’m just a dancer anymore when he looks at me, I become the air itself.”

You had smiled and nodded at her nonsense, she seemed to be dreaming of it. Her limbs were too weak to be of use, but she had the same smile on her lips as when she performed. You had tried your best not to be mad at her for only speaking of this man even as she lay dying in a hospital, dreaming of her passion was at least better than dreaming of him. The tears had stung your eyes as you held her hand before leaving her to her rambling.

It has been a while since her funeral, and you have practically been living at the studio. Home doesn’t make you feel any better, so you sleep on the small pullout couch in the corner instead. It isn’t meant to be slept on and your back is sore from the many nights in a row you have spent on it. But the art studio is at least comforting you more than home. You have too many memories of Anna in your apartment. Here you can focus on your art. At least, that’s the idea. You have had no inspiration since her death. It’s strange, she hadn’t exactly been the reason you painted, but everything that happened still affected even that part of you.

You had begun questioning if you should give it all up, move home to your parents for a few months, and go back to your waitress job until you had processed all of this. But could you give up on your passion? After years of struggling to pass courses and hustling on the side of your studies just to make it all work? What would Anna say if she knew…?

You aren’t sure how it happened, it might've been a dream. It’s barely been three weeks since Anna’s funeral and you woke up with the clearest picture of a man you had never met in your mind.

He’s handsome, just like she had told you. He has gentle features, and dark, captivating eyes that catch hold of your mind and refuse to let go. You can’t seem to escape the image of the stranger you know in your bones is the same man Anna had known.

Sometime after the day you had first seen him in your mind, after hours in front of your easel and a blank canvas, you finally force yourself to pick up the brush. This couldn’t be the end of pursuing the only career you had ever wanted. You need to get over it and paint something, other than that stubborn tree and the punishing sea. His features burn your eyelids, and you see him as you blink and dream of him as you sleep. You can’t escape the visions, so you make him real, tangible. You create a portrait of the man in your head. Watching the finished portrait once you put down the brush.

You look at it until it gets dark again, staring into his eyes until you fall asleep on the couch in the corner.

You wake up with a headache. You groan quietly since you neither have the energy nor the will to get up and take something for the throbbing pain stemming from the sides of your head. Before you could even summon the will to get up despite this, you almost jumped off the couch in surprise. There is another person in the room. You’re still in the corner of the room, so the stranger might’ve missed that you were even there, you reason. It looks like a man from behind. His short dark hair lay in a rather messy way against the back of his head. He’s turned away from you, watching the painting you had fallen asleep staring at. He’s tall, his shoulders are broad. You panic, because what did this man want, and why was he here in the middle of the night?

“Who are you?” you ask breathlessly, jumping up from the couch, trying to see if he’s someone you know in the dim light. Could he be another artist here to paint at an odd hour? You don’t recognize him, but you aren’t the best at remembering people, so you’re not sure if you should be screaming or apologizing for your hostile greeting.

The man didn’t even flinch at the sound of your voice. He didn’t seem like a threat, but then again, something about him creeped you out. You ignore the fact that he also intrigued you, and try to catch his attention again. “Hey, I asked you a question.” In response, he simply raises a hand as if to shush you.

This man hadn’t just broken into the studio late at night – he was also incredibly rude. The air around him is so still, so calm that it’s giving you chills. You want to see his face. If he was going to murder you, you want to have looked the fucker in the eye so you can, at least, curse his existence. You take a step forward, grabbing a long paintbrush from the drying rack. Maybe you can get his eye if you’re fast enough.

“So aggressive, little dove,” the man finally says. His voice is smooth and deep. It’s an attractive voice, at least your murderer has a nice voice, not that that makes this situation salvageable. You’re still prepared to stab him with the wooden brush in your hand.

“Wouldn’t you be aggressive if you woke up to a stranger in your bedroom as well?”

You had tried putting on a brave face, hoping that he wouldn’t notice how scared you were. He seemed to see through this facade easily though, chuckling at your attempt instead of turning around to face you. “Not your bedroom. I’ve been to your bedroom and this isn’t it. Also, not really a stranger, am I?”

Your breath won’t calm down, and your heart is beating mercilessly in your chest. This man had been in your apartment? And you know him? What the hell is he talking about? “Are you some kind of stalker you fucking creep?” you wheeze out, taking a step away from him.

You desperately wish for this to be some kind of nightmare.

When he turns around you’re sure it is because there’s no way the man you see in front of you isn’t just a fiction of your imagination. Dark hair, streaks of red when the light from the window hits it. Perfect lips, and captivating eyes. It’s him. The man in your painting, alive right in front of you. Your grip on the brush tightens, the bristles folding backward from the pressure of your palm. The world began to spin, he wasn’t real, he couldn’t be real. You see the edges of your vision blur and his smile widens at the visible panic you were displaying.

He was right, he isn’t a stranger.

“I think you might’ve heard about me, little dove. She used to talk about you ー the talented artist she had met in college.”

It couldn’t be, you hear the blood rushing in your ears like thunder. “Who?”

He smiled innocently, “Don’t you remember your friend? Anna, I think her name was.”

No. It couldn’t be true. The brush fell from your hand as you fell to the ground. Your already sleep-deprived mind couldn’t handle the thought that maybe the man Anna had spoken about was real, and right in front of you. Knocking yourself unconscious was the only thing your body could do to stop your heart from giving out.

Have you gone mad as well? Maybe this was your way of grieving? Should you go to the hospital?

The questions spun in your mind. He was gone when you woke up. But the long brush in your hand and the bruises on your knees and shoulder felt like substantial proof that you had not lost your mind. He had been here, you know it, but who would believe you if you told them? Who would even care?

You decide to let it go, instead, you force yourself to go back to your apartment. A change of clothes was needed and you know that the lady down the hallway will be worried after not having seen you for days yet again. She had been at Anna’s funeral, wondering how and why your roommate had passed so quickly at such a young age. You hadn’t known what to answer. You still didn’t have your own answers as to “how” or “why”. At least, none that you could share…

You had managed to shower and get into some clothes when your neighbor knocked on the door.

“Hi, Auntie,” you greet her as she had insisted you do ever since you and Anna had first moved in. She’s older than any of your real aunts, but remarking on that had felt incredibly inappropriate, so you had both simply accepted your fate and begun calling her “Auntie”.

"Darling!" How are you? I haven't seen you here in days! I was beginning to worry. You know, this was just how it was with Anna, I didn’t see her for days and then she would show up saying she had been busy practicing and dating and whatnot!”

You don’t respond, forcing a smile. She meant well, but when she insisted on bringing you some food you wanted to refuse her. She didn’t mind your protests, “Oh, dear child, you don’t even know how sunken your face looks. You need some of my home-cooked food to get your spirits back up!”

In the end, your refrigerator was filled with casseroles and little boxes of different dishes, and a bitter feeling, knowing you wouldn’t be here to eat it. You left your apartment as swiftly as you had arrived, not wanting to stick around long enough to see the traces of a life lived – a life you didn’t feel belonged to you anymore. You brought what you could carry in your bag back to the studio.

You fall asleep again, after hours of trying to create something, only creating more pain in your back from sitting on the wooden stool all afternoon instead. It’s not like you hadn’t tried your best to think about anything else besides him, you had actually tried your very best! But in the end, your mind kept wandering back to the dip of his lips, and the grin on his face as you fainted. You painted the outline of his lips, over and over again.

You hated him.

Would he come back?

He had mocked you with his words.

Why had you felt such a rush when he spoke?

You never wanted to see his perfect face ever again.

Why couldn’t you stop wishing to see him just one more time?

You woke from a cool hand on your hair. Slowly and gently he patted your head until you opened your eyes. It was still dark out, and he was back. Leaning over your sleeping body, a large hand caressing the side of your head. You scream, and he smirks. He shushes you, and you push him away angrily.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” you shout.

“You wanted to see me again, I thought it best to wake you so your wishes could be fulfilled.” His voice coursed through you, giving you goosebumps again. “Don’t be angry with me, little dove.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“Don’t lie. It’s not polite,” he retorts as soon as the words leave your mouth.

“I don’t care, I hate you. Leave me alone!” You bark out the words, tears stinging your eyes. You don’t know why you’re reacting so strongly to him.

His tongue darts out to lick at his lips in annoyance. “Little dove,” he chirps menacingly, “Lie one more time and I won’t help you anymore.”

He terrifies you. He’s beautiful, but nothing about him feels true. He’s like those beautiful flowers forever trapped inside glass orbs. You wanted to protect the frozen beauty from getting the slightest scratch and smash it to pieces, all at once.

“Help me…?”

The gentle smile on his lips came back when you revealed that he had managed to pique your interest. “Mm, I help people. Artists, especially… it’s an interest of mine, the arts.” He winked at you, which caught you off guard.

“And you came here to help me?”

He nodded, but you weren’t convinced.

“Why? I didn’t ask for any help from you.”

He looked around the room, gaze wandering over the canvasses you had painted in the last couple of weeks, all depicting the shore and the dead tree. All except two. The portrait of him, and the sketches of his lips.

“You did that?” You ask incredulously. His gaze snaps back to you sharply.

“Of course. Didn’t it feel different? It felt like you had been inspired by something again, did it not?” His voice is honey in your ears, but the sticky feeling is making you want to flee for your life. You don’t.

“Want me to prove it?”

You frown, “What do you mean prove it? Are you going to inspire me to paint something on the spot in the middle of the night?”

“Tell me you want it and I’ll make sure you feel inspired for the rest of your miserable human life, little dove.”

His wording is so unnatural, you think for just a moment. You don’t trust him one bit, but perhaps this is the way to convince yourself that he is indeed just some creep that you need to get away from. You take a deep breath before answering, “I’ll agree if you tell me your name.”

The man stepped back, you had made him flinch. You don’t know why you made that exact demand. Maybe you had just really wanted to call him something other than “the one Anna spoke of” in your mind. It hurt each time you remembered her name.

“A name can be more powerful than you think, little dove,” his tone warned you of something. He seems on edge for the first time since you met him.

You don’t budge, his reaction only makes you more sure that you need to follow your gut. “Tell me, and you can help me.”

He hesitated before seemingly giving in to some innate need that you didn’t understand yet. “Yunho. That’s one of my names… Use it with care, little dove.”

You turned his name around in your mind, tasting the sweet taste on your tongue as you said it out loud. “Yunho… Sure, help me find inspiration to paint again.”

The same excited and menacing grin he had worn the last time you spoke now grace his lips again, and you feel you have committed a horrible mistake.

You look around the room, the sun is rising and casting long shadows from the easels placed around the podium. How has the entire night already passed you by? You have no memory of sleeping. You look at your hands, they are covered in paint. Why had you been so messy? You couldn’t remember right away. You know that you have painted. Yunho had kissed your hand, you can still remember the heat of his breath on your skin. Then you had picked up your brush. You hadn’t been frightened by the fact that you weren’t in control of your actions. After the weeks of forcing yourself to do the most basic human functions to stay alive, having something else move your hand in your stead was somehow freeing.

When you look at the canvas your breath stops. It’s him, you have painted him again. He’s not completely like himself, however, he is just as captivating in the picture as he is in reality. You had managed to capture his beautiful features, from the way his cupid’s bow dips graciously on his lips, to the way his hair gleams blood red when light shines through it. But behind him is something new, something you have never seen belonging to a human before. Wings, almost translucent wings, appearing on the canvas as a shimmer of light blue and white, adorned with shimmering ruby gemstones. He looked magnificent.

“Pretty,” you hear his voice whisper on your neck before you feel his soft lips press against your skin. You shiver, it feels good but you’re still in shock, watching the man who’s behind you on the canvas in front of you.

“How is this possible?” you mumble.

“You were inspired,” he responds calmly, brushing your hair away from your face from behind. “Did you enjoy it?”

You have a feeling that the answer to that is yes, but you also know you shouldn’t reveal that. “I don’t remember.”

“I think you did… I know you did.”

The way he seems to know everything, even the things you don’t, scares you a bit. But you might be addicted to the feeling of his touch, you’re addicted to what he can do to you, addicted to what he makes you feel deep inside. He has given you your passion back, he has helped you paint again, and you had enjoyed it this time. This shouldn’t be possible. Why does this man have so much power over you that he could help you paint as you had used to, for the first time since Anna’s passing?

There’s no way he��s human, no human looked like he did. In the morning light, he was even more dashing, even more unreal. You want to smash his perfect exterior to pieces and see the flower inside rot as the air hits its delicate petals.

“Go away. I don’t want this,” you choke out, pushing down the sobs that threaten to escape your throat. He kisses your neck again, but you don’t move. “I think I’ll die if I don’t end this Yunho. Please, just leave me alone.”

“It’s possible, but maybe you’ll be the one who makes it out alive.” His honey voice rang in your ears as the day began and his touch against your back disappeared. You cried yourself to sleep. You knew everything was wrong, Yunho was wrong. But there was nothing you could do about it anymore.

Two days passed without so much as a glimpse of Yunho. The hours of the night when he didn’t come to see you had almost been enough to convince you that you had truly gone mad. But then, suddenly, there he was, as dashing as ever. Pretty eyes watching you stare at an empty easel.

A chilling chuckle escaped him, nothing more. He stands and gazes upon your hopeless state for a while in silence. You will never get rid of him, you realize. You’re not upset about it. You can’t be upset. Nothing feels real anymore.

Yunho circles you, a predator watching his prey. You don’t flinch under his gaze this time. When he leans his lean body against the stool next to yours you feel disgusted. You weren’t upset that he would never leave you alone, but you deserved to know why, at least.

“What do you want from me?”

“Want?” He sounds almost offended.

“You’re not here just because it’s fun to sit around and watch me paint all day.”

He didn’t give you an answer, he just smiled at you with that perfectly enchanting smile of his. He’s dangerous, his beauty is dangerous. He leans forward on the stool, his face now scarily close to yours. Will he kiss you…? You can feel Yunho’s breath, hot against your lips, his gaze burning as he stares into your eyes and flickers down to your mouth. Do you want him to kiss you…?

What do you want from him?

You almost forget that he hasn’t given you an answer when he bends forward, his lips inches away from yours. This time you do flinch. Can he read your mind too? No, your eyes stare right back into his, a flash of maroon tints his irises an unnatural color before it disappears just as fast as it showed up.

His thumb drags across the side of your cheek, a small smirk plays on Yunho’s deceptive lips. “I’ll make you a promise,” he whispers, “I promise to make sure you’re motivated to do what you love the most, for the rest of your life.”

His breath burns hot against your wet lips. You want to kiss him. “A promise…?” you exhale, mind not quite able to focus on his words, but they sound good to you right now. You swallow, eyes flickering to his perfectly shaped cupid bow, his rosy lips, and the tongue that teases behind his plump lips. “What… what would I have to do…?”

“A clever dove, I knew you would ask the right questions.”

You didn’t truly understand though, too distracted by Yunho’s eyes mirroring your flickering gaze, teasingly watching the way your hands fiddled with the brush in your hand.

“All you have to do in return is say that you agree, and I will fulfill all of your wishes.” His soothing hand moves around to the nape of your neck, his grip gentle but secure.

Will he fulfill them all?

Does it even matter? Almost anything would be good enough to accept right now, at least you can’t think of something that would be worse than walking through life as the zombie you had been since… Since Anna’s death. If you accept his proposal, will you find out what happened to her?

“I agree.”

Your stomach flips when plush lips are pressed against yours. It seems he had already begun living up to his word. At least he wasn’t playing a trick on you when it came to that part. His hands travel over your body, he knows exactly how to touch you the way you like it. Has he been watching you for a long time? Or is it something magical, like those shimmery wings you had imagined he had? You’re not sure, but knowing could wait until later. Right now you have a couple of needs. Needs that Yunho had promised to fulfill. His leg firmly presses open your legs, strong muscle relieving some of the intense pressure that had built up in your lower abdomen since the thought of having him in this way had sprouted in your mind. You need more. You close your eyes even tighter as you let the brush fall from your grip. Hands moving across Yunho’s perfect form without hesitation.

The sound of the brush hitting the floor didn’t reach your ears. You were already lost to the world of humans.

“Do you believe in fairies? I do. I think there are things we don’t know in this world. Magical things. If I could go there I would, I think it’s a beautiful place, nothing like Earth. I’d want to dance for them…”

Reblogging and commenting is highly appreciated!! Hearing what you thought is what makes writing and being here overall so much fun! Ty and ily 💕

#kwritersworldnet #thrill of the hunt #yunho smut #ateez imagines #ateez smut #yunho angst #ateez x reader #atz #yunho #jeong yunho #yunho x reader #ateez yunho

151 notes · View notes