#sending best wishes and prayers

[gibb0nz-wow]

URGENT HELP🚨🚨🚨🍉🇵🇸

Hello,

How do you do ? I hope to be in a good condition.

This is my special campaign

We hope to help us by donating or sharing to others.

Every donation makes a different even if it a small.

As you know, the war began on October 7 and lasted ten months. During this period, we were unable to obtain food, drink, or treatment because we did not have money.

There is no source of income for the family at the present time, so we are unable to buy food, clean water, and medicine, especially after we are afflicted with the ongoing infectious diseases spread in the north like Hepatitis C disease.

Our house has been damaged a lot since the beginning of the war. We are from the north of Gaza and we are still in the north and have not displaced to the south. We displaced 10 times from place to another seeking to safety .

We hope for your help and support, even if only a little.🙏🙏

Vetted By Femme intifada on telegram.

This is the link if you would to read our story well 👇👇

https://gofund.me/4e896ac1

Thank you all

.

[rollercoasterwords]

hi rae how r u

having a bad morning bc i got hit w a hospital bill i cannot afford 😃👍 an entire week after they discharged me too & after they told me i would not need 2 pay anything bc my insurance covered it….suddenly they’re like actually u owe us one thousand dollars 🤭🤭 like WHAT. so now i have 2 spend a few hours making phone calls 2 see if i can get it reduced somehow….

anyway other than that life has been fine november has simply been a busy month schoolwork-wise….2 final papers 2 write over the next few weeks etc…have a job interview tomorrow for a job i really want tho so. wish me luck <3

[liesmultixxx]

Please help spread an urgent appeal to save the lives of my children in Gaza

Welcome,

I write to you with a heart heavy with sorrow and anxiety. I recently launched a fundraising campaign on GoFundMe to save my children in Gaza, but have not received the support we desperately need. I recently lost everything, and I am now homeless and this loss has affected me greatly.

The situation has become unbearable, and I suffer from severe depression and suicidal thoughts. I desperately need your help and support. Please consider helping us in any way you can, whether by donating or by sharing my campaign with your friends

You can watch my campaign at the following link: https://gofund.me/1a528474

Thank you for your time and understanding. Any support, no matter how small, will make a huge difference in our lives.

everyone take a look and help if you can!

[hyunebunx]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ⏖ ' spin the bottle with skz !

⁺ 𖹭 . genre: fluff ig? there's a looot of kissing ofc

⁺ 𖹭 . a/n: is spin the bottle the most cliche game ever? yes. will i still re-upload these? of course <3 enjoyyy (if you have any suggestions for fluffy hcs pls send them in! i'd love to write more lovey dovey stuff)

𝜗୧ chan 𝜗୧

The moment he sees the bottle land on him he looks away and chuckles awkwardly. Doesn’t even check to see who is at the other end first, feeling rather embarrassed.

When he sees it’s you though, oh his heart starts racing and now he can’t look away even if he wants to, your magnetic field pulling him in a little too strongly.

Will only proceed to kiss you if you are 100% all right with it. Forget the game and everyone else, your comfort comes first. He knows you already gave your consent when you agreed to the game, but mans need to double check, ok?

Once you agree, all shyness will fly out the window when your lips touch his, the kiss awakening all of the feelings he’s tried so hard to suppress.

𝜗୧ minho 𝜗୧

Spends the majority of the game on his phone, looking completely uninterested. That quickly changes when Jisung elbows his side, everyone’s cheering suddenly reaching his ears and making him look down at the bottle.

His eyes widen slightly but he pulls himself together once he sees you’re at the other end, flustered.

Smirks and crawls towards you, suddenly very interested in the game he thought was boring – Minho would never miss the opportunity to kiss and finally get a taste of you.

Doesn’t actually kiss you until you give the ‘go ahead’, a nod being all he needs before making both of your dreams come true.

𝜗୧ changbin 𝜗୧

Has already kissed a few people at this point so the bottle landing on him doesn’t even phase Changbin anymore.

Or so, he thinks until he sees you’re the one he has to kiss. All of the confidence and cockiness he radiated a few minutes ago goes out the window and he gets shy, not even being able to meet your eyes.

He should be way past that shyness since the game’s been going on for a while now but he can’t help it. You’re…well, you! And Changbin has the biggest crush on you!

He’s kind of frozen in place so you’re the one who has to take the first step and kiss him. Don’t worry, the moment he feels your lips on his, man is a goner and won’t pull away until he gives you the best kiss ever.

𝜗୧ hyunjin 𝜗୧

The only reason he is playing this game in the first place is for a chance to kiss you. That’s all he wants.

Watches the bottle spin with so much interest, his eyes are basically glued to the thing until finally, it lands on him.

His heart skips a beat when he looks up and sees you watching him with a smile, quickly putting two and two together while trying not to lose his mind. His prayers were actually answered!!

Wants to kiss your breath away, to steal it for safekeeping as a souvenir, but doesn’t want to make a scene in public so he controls himself. For now.

𝜗୧ jisung 𝜗୧

Laughs away the whole game, his friends’ rambling more entertaining to him than whatever was going on. Or maybe that’s the alcohol talking.

You won’t believe it, but he also laughs when he sees the bottle landing on him. He’s just very happy, okay?

Smirks and beckons you closer with one finger, thanks to the courage pumping through his veins from the liquor. Doesn’t think much of it until he finally feels your lips on his.

Sobers up instantly and it’s like he can’t get enough, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss to the delight of the other players. Once you pull away, it’s like he’s in a daze, lips puffy, wet, and ready for more.

𝜗୧ felix 𝜗୧

Just like Changbin, he’s also kissed a few people already. But don’t worry, they were quick and fleeting just for the sake of the game.

His eyes are on you the whole time though, even when he’s kissing others all of his thoughts are full of you and how much he wishes to hold and kiss you.

When the bottle ends up towards him again but you aren’t the one at the other end, Felix wastes no time in reaching over to move it so it does, patience running thin.

Ignores all the complaining and loud voices and quickly closes the space between you to finally press your lips together in the sweetest kiss, dragging you in his lap in the process. He doesn’t let go of you for the remainder of the night.

𝜗୧ seungmin 𝜗୧

Isn’t really playing but isn’t out of the game either, just somewhere in between. A little farther away from the circle, watching it all with fake disinterest.

Looks like he wants to be anywhere but here – anywhere else with you would be perfect for him. Just you two and no other distractions.

He’s fine until your turn comes around, the bottle stopping between you and some random person, and that’s when he loses it.

Without a word, Seungmin gets up and makes his way to your side and before you or anyone can say anything, he grabs the bottle and kisses you like he’s never kissed anyone before.

𝜗୧ jeongin 𝜗୧

He gets smooches from the very first round. But not any kisses, no, yours. Yes, he gets to kiss you from the very beginning.

The problem is (not for him but everyone else that wants to play too) that somehow, you two end up kissing a lot. And I mean, every other round.

Jeongin finds it hilarious, loving his luck and getting giddier with every kiss and caress of yours on his skin. The others not so much.

Ends up just taking you with him and running away to a more private place, taking the bottle with him in the process and ruining the whole game. He isn’t bothered – it’s not like he needs a stupid game to get kisses from you anyways.

[rosyblooom]

I just finished watching Daisy Jones and the Six and I wanted to ask if you could write a Charles SMAU where his wife passes away from illness and leaves a video behind for him to find happiness. They can have a little child together please. Thank you😊❤️

when i die, i want you to live | cl16 smau

PAIRING: charles leclerc x wife!reader SUMMARY: after battling illness, y/n unexpectedly succumbs to it much sooner than expected, leaving behind her husband and their daughter. 8 months later, charles is not coping very well, so your best friend hands him an envelope addressed to him from you. WARNING(S): mentions of death, sad A/N: ooh i love that show!! anyway, this is my first ever request (!!), so hope it's as u imagined 🫶

creds to @classiclitfreak for proofreading!! <3

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption 1: I sure hope so!😌 ] [ caption 2: my heart is so full🥹💕 ]

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, arthur_leclerc, scuderiaferrari and 735,290 others

charles_leclerc Today, 27 years ago, is the very special day that brought me my beautiful wife and best friend. Forever grateful for that. Happiest of birthdays to you, Mon cœur ❤️

view all 3,958 comments

username HAPPY BIRTHDAY Y/N WE LOVE YOU😍

username all time favourite wag ! 🥰

yourusername ❤️❤️

(liked by author)

username ly girl🫶

username oh she won😩

username **they. they're both literally perfect omg username nah u right my bad🫡

scuderiaferrari happy birthday y/n 🥳🥳

username if my man ain't like charles i don't want him

username real

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, yourbestfriend and 263,719 others

yourusername had the loveliest birthday with my dearest people!💕thank you for all the birthday wishes, they've been such a joy! 🥹 here's to another beautiful year, here's to 27🥂

view all 2,483 comments

yourbestfriend ily to the moon and back ❤️❤️

yourusername love u so much🥹

username queen🫶

username 27 and still looks young af iktr! see what happens when u're unproblematic😌

username that's bc 27 IS young lol

charles_leclerc belle👸

yourusername 😘 username you guys are so cute omg username *cries in 29 and single*🤧

username girl drop the link to the dress RIGHT NOW @/yourusername

yourusername it's from my spring collection love! xx username you ate that y/n😌

iamrebeccad you look so pretty 💗

yourusername my girl 🤍

Three weeks later...

tmz_tv

liked by username, username, username and 1,005,862 others

tmz_tv Tragic news emerged in the early hours of this morning as Y/N L/N-Leclerc, a renowned fashion designer and philanthropist, passed away unexpectedly, just three weeks past her twenty-seventh birthday. Her untimely passing has left her family and friends in shock and disbelief.

In a statement released by her family, it was revealed that Y/N had been battling illness for an undisclosed duration. However, medical professionals had initially estimated a longer prognosis, making her sudden passing even more devastating.

During this profoundly sorrowful time, we extend our heartfelt condolences to Y/N's family.

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username wow and to think she was always so smiley even with all this going on behind the scenes

username a literal ray of sunshine🥹

username I can't imagine how charles feels right now omg, please take care charlie🫶

username this doesn't feel real...

username y/n was always working with charities all across the globe, she was an absolute angel. her impact will live on 💛

username is it just me who's thinking about their little girl in all this?? she must be so heartbroken :(

username I think bc she's so young she probably doesn't even understand what's going on😭💔

username y/n, you were a great addition to the paddock, always smiling and just all around lovely to fans. we won't ever forget you!💕

username sending prayers to the family 🙏

scuderiaferrari

liked by username, username, username and 594,752 others

scuderiaferrari Due to personal matters, Charles Leclerc will not be continuing racing for the remainder of the season. Ollie Bearman, our reserve driver, will take his place instead.

This was not an easy decision, and therefore we ask that you handle this news with respect and sensitivity.

Our thoughts and support are with Charles Leclerc and his family during this challenging time. 🙏❤️

comments have been disabled

8 months later...

Charles enters the living room, ensuring the door closes softly behind him to avoid disturbing his little girl. Running his fingers over his beard, he examines the envelope in his hand and sighs. Y/N’s best friend pressed it into his hand at a dinner party the previous evening, insisting he watch it as soon as he finds the time. And here he is now, holding the thin envelope.

If someone had told him when he was younger that he’d get emotional over something as simple as seeing his wife’s handwriting on paper, he would have scoffed in disbelief. Not him, that would have seemed absurd. Yet here he is, feeling a lump form in his throat over mere black ink on paper.

As peculiar as it seems, he brings the envelope to his nose, and memories of Y/N flood his mind. He can almost feel her soothing touch as she works the knots out of his back after a gruelling day of racing. Inhaling, he feels Y/N’s sweet scent—it is as comforting as her smile.

A smile tugs at Charles' lips as he pictures that infectious grin that lit up his wife’s face at the most unexpected moments. It was one of the things he loved most about her—she had a way of bringing brightness to even the darkest of days.

Shaking his head, he snaps out of the trance, shifting deeper into the living room until he sinks into the welcoming embrace of the couch. There, he retrieves the laptop resting on the coffee table, feeling the weight of the moment as he opens the envelope and extracts a flash drive from within. Rolling it between his fingers, he inserts it into the side of his laptop with a determined motion.

Once all is in place, he watches a file labelled “To my dearest Lover, brightest Heart, and deepest Soul” materialise in his list of files. The sight catches him off guard—his throat constricts, making each breath a struggle, and his eyes well up, though he fights against the tears. Not now. He can't afford it. Allowing himself to be consumed by grief would mean losing precious time, time he needs for his daughter waiting in her playroom down the hallway.

He takes a moment to regain composure, squeezing his eyes shut, focusing on the rhythm of his breath until the tension in his chest begins to ease. With a sharp intake of air, he opens his eyes wide and taps the file, revealing a video. Running his teeth over his lower lip, he hovers the pointer over the play button, then taps the mousepad with a steady hand.

The video opens with Y/N seated on the very same pale couch he’s currently occupying. He places both hands onto the soft sofa, yearning for a connection, a way to feel her, even though he knows he can’t—touching the past is impossible.

Y/N walks toward the camera, readjusting it before taking three steps backward and retaking her seat. Inhaling deeply, she hesitates, her mouth opening, then closing again, like a fish out of water.

“Mon cœur,” Charles whispers, moving the laptop onto the coffee table.

“Hmm,” Y/N drops her hands into her lap and smooths down her flowery dress. She stares directly at the camera, tilting her head sideways with a crooked smile. “I don’t know where to start.”

Her eyes widen. “After all this planning, I still don’t know where to begin.” She lets out a few chuckles and then purses her lips. “Well, I suppose greetings are in order?”

Her expression softens as her brows furrow. “Hello, my darling, my world, my everything.”

“Hey,” Charles whispers, his throat tight with emotion, barely allowing sound to escape.

“Although I'm very happy to see you, if you’re watching this, it means you're not living as I want you to,” Y/N's voice trembles, causing her to pause and swallow. “I know it’s hard, baby. I don’t expect this to be easy on you, but I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life looking back at us in sadness, you know?”

Charles leans forward, elbows on his lap, eyes fixed on the screen, his face tinged with a faint shade of red.

“Remember our first date, when we had to cancel our reservations at that restaurant because you felt sick on the way there?” Y/N bursts into laughter but quickly stifles it, her hand covering her mouth.

“No, no,” Charles pleads softly, shaking his head, “please don’t hide your beautiful smile, my love.”

“It’s not like there was anything you could do about being sick, but I remember feeling miffed because I already had a stressful day, so for you to cancel just like that, it irritated me,” she reminisces with a nod. “But you were quite pale, so I wanted to make sure you got home alright. And we walked, barely talked,” she giggles, the joy reaching her eyes, “but then this little kid appeared, his name was…”

“Benny,” they both say simultaneously, a faint smile tugging at one corner of Charles' lips.

"Boy, was he excited to meet you, his idol. It was like seeing a completely different person. You became someone entirely new for this little boy whom you didn’t even know. Nobody forced you to take time out of your day when he came running, his arms wide open," Y/N says, extending her arms along with the words. "You could’ve just walked away. I mean, you had a reason to: you were sick."

Pausing for a moment, Y/N sits up straighter, leaning forward and shaking her head. "But you didn’t. You put on a brave face, and you turned into Benny’s hero and so much more. I think we stood there with his parents for about half an hour, and you didn’t complain once. And that’s when I knew."

Y/N nods, crossing her legs and slinging one hand behind the sofa. "That’s when I knew you could be the man I was going to marry. And turns out you were," she says, smiling sheepishly. "The love you have for people, for our daughter, it’s… it’s so profound, it’s boundless. So don’t limit it. Don’t you dare limit yourself just because I’m not around anymore."

Her expression turns serious as she exhales. “You’re such a bright light. You bring happiness and purity into people’s lives—into my life,” Y/N presses her hand against her chest. “I don’t want you to dim it. I want you to shine for as long as that candle burns. Don’t let it die prematurely because of bad happenings. There’s so much more to love, to live, to enjoy. And while you may not see me at your side anymore, holding onto D/N, I’m right here.”

Charles sniffles, folding his hands over his mouth as he swallows his sobs, while Y/N points to her heart.

“I’m with you forever and always. I’m protecting you and D/N, and I’m watching over you, making sure everything’s alright.” Y/N releases a sigh before chewing at her bottom lip with a wistful smile. “And part of that means making space for more love, for you. You have a big heart, you know? There’s enough room for you to find happiness with someone new. There’s no shame in it, and there’s no guilt in it. It’s what makes being alive such a beautiful thing: your love is yours, and it’s not confined to just one or two people. You can spread it, and still, our love will remain unchanged.”

Tears stream down the sides of Charles' cheeks as he struggles to maintain his composure, his eyes fixated on the screen as if afraid that if he peels his gaze away for one second, his wife will disappear.

Y/N briefly looks off to the side, her attention seemingly caught by something in the room, before snapping her head back to the camera with a bright smile.

“It seems I have to go,” her shoulders sink.

Charles leans forward, the screen mere inches away from his face, as he strokes the outline of Y/N’s face on the screen, whispering desperately, “Please don’t, mon cœur…”

“I love you so, so much. You and D/N are the most precious gifts, the greatest joys I have had the privilege to experience, so please, please,” she claps her hands together, moving them back and forth, “please…when I die, I want you to live.”

Y/N rises from the couch and walks towards the screen, her eyes unwavering for even a moment. “Give my little girl all my love, and kiss and hug her extra tight for as long as you can, for me.”

Offering one final smile, she blows a kiss at the screen. “I love you. Please don’t stop. Don't stop loving and don't stop living.”

The video freezes with Y/N frozen in place, a beautiful smile etched onto her lips, filled with the purest form of love.

Feeling suddenly overwhelmed, Charles collapses, the weight of the world pressing down on him. He drops his face into his hands and releases all of it: sob after sob after sob. There’s something liberating about finally letting go; the burden pours out of him, leaving behind a fragile yet tranquil Charles as he gazes at the still shot of his beloved wife, whom he adores so deeply.

A soft click draws his attention to the door just in time for it to creak open slowly, revealing his little girl standing there, her favourite yellow teddy bear clutched tightly in her arms.

“Papa,” her voice floats like a gentle breeze.

Charles smiles, opening his arms wide as she runs towards him. He's momentarily winded as she reaches him, but he quickly regains his composure and lifts her onto his lap.

“Hello, my love,” he whispers, touching his forehead to hers.

Her tiny hand pats his cheek, her expression filled with concern. “You’re crying?”

Charles shakes his head, trying to reassure her. “Happy tears,” he explains, “look.” He points at the screen, where Y/N's serene face is frozen in time.

“Maman!” D/N exclaims, slipping from his lap and heading towards the screen. Her small hands tap the screen eagerly as she calls out, “Maman! Maman! Maman!”

“Yes,” Charles swallows, ignoring the pang in his chest as he shifts his focus to his little girl. “You want to see Maman, huh?”

He rises from the sofa and lifts D/N into the air, settling her on his hip. “How about we go take a look at the photo albums, okay? There are lots of beautiful pictures of Maman in there, alright?”

“Maman! Maman! Maman!” D/N continues to exclaim, squirming excitedly in his arms as they walk through the door and down the hallway into the living room.

f1gossipofficial

liked by username, username, username and 14,296 others

f1gossipofficial Nine months after the tragic passing of his wife, Y/N, Charles Leclerc has been spotted for the first time on a beach in Spain with their shared daughter.

Witnesses who captured the photographs above mentioned that he appeared to be coping well, and fans respectfully gave them space while appreciating the sight from afar.

We're glad to see Charles out and about again, and we extend our best wishes to him and his family as they continue to navigate these changes.

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username im so glad the fans kept to themselves

username right?? so respectful🫶

username charlie🥹❤️ it's been so long but we'll always be here whenever he's ready

username tbh I was very worried during the radio silence but I think him being out there is a step in the right direction🥲

username still can't believe y/n is no longer here... i miss her sm😭

username omg there's a vid on twitter of them playing ball and u can hear their daughter giggling 💕

username I can't find it could you pls send the link?🙏 username dmed u! username me too pls

username it must be so hard to grief y/n while also trying to be strong for their daughter :( sending him all the strength!!

username 😭😭😭

4:44 ────────────ㅇ 4:44

[c00kieguy]

Mornings are sometimes OK

relationships: Feixiao x GN!Reader summary: Feixiao’s morning routine but she’s dating you and you are oh so sleepy.  cw: none, just fluff, reader is called cute once wc: 1k a/n: Last Feixiao thing if I don’t get her today btw. So if you want me to keep writing for her send me your prayers please and thank you 🙏 /s

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7:00

You groan in your sleep as the annoying continuous beeps of the alarm clock ring through the room. The sharp noise pierces your mind in an uncomfortable way you did not feel like experiencing at the moment. Thankfully the noise stops as Feixiao slaps the clock away.

“Morning.” she utters groggily as she turns to face you. In your drowsy state you barely manage to reply as you feel Feixiao’s lips on your cheek.

Oh.

You smile to yourself, morning kisses were always your favorite, but just as you attempt to reciprocate she’s off. In a split second she’s up and opening the curtains to let in the gentle morning sunlight. You sigh to yourself as the soft rays hit your face, you’ll get her later.

But you still miss her presence. Clumsily you reach for her pillow to use it as a substitute and hopefully get a few more hours of sleep in. Just because Feixiao had to wake up this early didn’t mean you had to as well. Holding the pillow close you get yourself comfortable again, the soft thuds of Feixiao’s footsteps as she uses the treadmill working as good background noise to lull you back into sleep. The way she managed to brush her teeth and change into her workout clothes in such a short time was something you were used to now.

8:30

You swore you had only been sleeping for a few seconds before you were awoken once more by Feixiao. “Morning sleepy head.” she says, but despite her teasing tone she places a small peck on your forehead. You really wished you had more energy to respond to her but in your tired state you only mutter a small ‘morning’ which draws a chuckle out of the general. “Breakfast?” squinting at her through blurry eyes you do your best to sound coherent.

“Mhmm whatever you’re having…” you mumble. As soon as the words leave your lips she’s out the door, you can’t help but wonder where she gets all her energy from. If you had even a fraction of that much enthusiasm in your daily life you were sure you’d be somewhere else entirely right now.

Letting out a yawn you snuggle back into the comfort of your bed, just a few more minutes won’t hurt right?

Too bad. The door bursts open in what seems like mere minutes later as Feixiao rushes to you. You almost feel like you were seeing two of her with just how fast she was. Gentle hands brush your messy hair away from your face and you get yet another peck on the cheek “Food’s in the hot box.” Already? you think to yourself as she zooms away again. Well now you have no choice but to wake up soon. Your wonderful girlfriend went through the trouble of making you breakfast, what kind of partner would you be if you let it get cold?

Despite your guilt you decide to sleep a few more minutes anyway. Who could blame you? Whatever it is that this bed was made of made it incredibly hard to get out of it. You place your hopes in the hot box and once again feel yourself drift off the sleep.

10:00

To your dismay the alarm goes off once more, but luckily at this point you were mostly awake having slept an extra two hours or so. Begrudgingly you switch off the alarm and wonder how it hasn’t broken yet despite being knocked to the ground every morning by Feixiao. Suddenly you hear the roaring sound of a hair dryer, yea you’re definitely awake now…Reluctantly you prop yourself up on your elbows just as Feixiao rushes to check the clock. 

“Still got time” she says under her breath. You can’t help but let out a large yawn watching her get ready, you truly were not feeling it today (or any day if you had to be honest). You don’t even notice when Feixiao stands in front of you, but you do notice the warmth on your nose as she kisses it. “Time to wake up.” 

You let out yet another yawn “Morning…” you whispered to no one in particular as Feixiao had already rushed off to change. It only takes her a split second to get into her formal clothes before she starts running around the room cleaning up things. Meanwhile the greatest thing you managed to achieve today was sitting up on the bed.

“I’ll be home by midnight, you can eat out if you want.” She states. For once today, Feixiao stops to take in everything, and by everything she meant mostly you. There was something really comforting seeing you in this state, drowsy and barely able to hold your head up, hair and clothes an absolute mess, and eyes you could barely keep open. You looked so cute she was almost tempted enough to stay back today, and she really would’ve if it wasn’t for the meeting. 

Feixiao can’t help the small smile that makes its way to her face. She sighs to herself, oh how she couldn’t wait to come back home to you. Taking slow steps she makes her way to your side as you stare up at her in confusion. Wasn’t she running late?

Just then she places your hand under your chin to make you face her and gently places her lips on your own.

Oh.

You lean into the chaste kiss, almost wanting to reach out and hold her closer but you let it be. Some things are best enjoyed as is.

Eventually she pulls away leaving you a little flushed. “Love you.” She whispers, as if the words were reserved for only you.

“Love you too.” you barely manage to get your words out before she zooms out the door and you can’t help but chuckle, only Feixiao.

However, seeing as your early bird girlfriend was off, you felt yourself being more and more tempted by the bed, a short nap should be ok right? You ask yourself, knowing full well the ‘short nap’ would end up as a very long sleep. But since Feixiao would be out the whole day you really saw no harm in sleeping in and having your breakfast for lunch instead. 

Unfortunately for you, your tactics were all too predictable. Just as your head rests on your pillow the door is practically knocked down by Feixiao saying “Don’t you dare.”, the sudden noise nearly knocking you off the bed.

Needless to say you had a very productive morning, against your will.

masterlist

© c00kieguy ➼ do not repost/copy/translate (without my permission) or claim any of my works as your own. Reblogs are appreciated ❣

[rene-darling]

here me out on this, afab Scara, reader eating him out while praying, since you mentioned in your 'how easy to bed each of the scara eras' that he likes being worshipped I think it'd be pretty interesting.

TO- be worshipped is to be loved.

...you pray daily, without fail you pray to your god, in a place..made best for prayer...credits [Oishru] on X

Hinted AFAB scaramouche though it's not clearly described, gn neutral reader, as reader's gender is not hinted to! Though if you squint its kinda hinted to the fact that the reader is in the church very often

So it can be perceived as nun!reader, but you can also take it as priest!reader

...scaramouche...

Wanderer wouldn't like to be worshipped as much as his past self, scaramouche would.

He finds it embarrassing to part his legs for you; in order for him to feel worshipped, he needs to feel above you, at least in the beginning. His back is cushioned by soft pillows as he tugs in your hair trying to ground himself in some way,

Tugging fists fulls he can't decide whether to pull you into the heat spreading through him or to push you away, it's too much!

And your soft, ever so sweet words- a contrast to your harsh tongue which eats him raw, a contrast to even his own harsh grip. But you never say anything. You don't complain about the scratch marks or the fist full of your hair that he pulls out

Nor about the blood that seeps from any part of you that he holds on to, his grip is never yielding, afraid that if he lets go, you'll go too.

But those thoughts get buried the longer the night goes on, spasms of his body shaking at every touch every lick every tug. His body presses against the statue of the archon, the stone carved to perfection. His gaze sometimes moved behind you to the church doors wondering what the nuns would think of the sacrilegious scene before them.

Tears as he listens to your murmur your face burned deep within him sending vibrations up his spine. Murmurs, more like prayers. The ones which would be considered holy, and innocent if not for where and how you were exactly praying.

His head rocked back and forth as if nodding in agreement to whatever you said, as if he himself would make it come true. Squirting onto your face as you drank him up like holy water,

You'll look up every once in a while, mouth dripping as you would ask him to fulfil your prayers "if- hah, if you bring me pleasure- then- I'll accept whatever prayer you wish for- AH-"

He's never felt this high, this above. Here you are at a place of worship- worshipping him. Your archon, your god. The one that he couldn't be.

Sweet slick drips down the hard stone of the statue as his legs are spread on top of either side of your shoulder. "Wh- ah mhm- am- I- I" barely a whisper, but you hear every oracle from your dear, "my archon." And with a pop of your lips as you let go of the meal that you were latched onto "my god."

That alone brings him over the edge, body slumping against the stone as tears fall like endless waterfalls. Yours, that's what he is.

[asongofstarkandtargaryen]

The funniest thing Daemon could do, is sending Alicent a letter like the ones she send post Lucerys' murder

" Dear Alicent,

I'm sorry we killed your grandson, I actually wanted to kill your son, Aemond. Don't worry though, I'll light a candle for the little kid and keep him in my thoughts and prayers.

best wishes,

your brother in law Daemon "

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Halloween prompts year 2 day 2

Tim, as a child, went to a party/gala with his parents and ended up getting dragged into an Oiji board session when he was shoved off to go join the other kids.

It somehow escalated to a "bride of Satan" ritual but instead of Satan they chose the "king of ghosts" just to see if anything replied. Tim didn't believe in ghosts at this point and was goaded into being the bride. They thought the ritual failed after the flames of the candles turned green then purple then green again before blowing out entirely.

After Jason dies Tim makes a wish/prayer to anyone who could hear him. He desperately wanted his hero, his Robin, to live.

Phantom died at four and became the king of the Infinite Realms at 7. He was often lonely and hid his halfa status from everyone outside of the Far Frozen where he was raised. Both he and the Yetis guarded this secret zealously. Still, he craved contact from other humans and knowledge of thier world that was so different from his own. So naturally when he felt someone willingly sacrificing themselves to be his spouse? He only hesitated a moment before agreeing. Then he just needed his fiance to wish for something and thier engagement would be set.

Cue Jason Todd waking up in his casket.

Nothing really comes of it until Tim gets his first major injury from a bad guy as the new Robin and Tim wakes up to a giant nightmare fuel skeleton monster just chilling on his ceiling watching him. It had mandibles like a beatle made from fingerbones woven into one another and its face seamed the same save for the artistic inclusion of opals, pearls and other small bones that Tim couldn't identify. Its body looked like a mass of bones both human and animal while its many, many arms kept it stuck to the ceiling where dark empty eye sockets stared down at him. Two human skulls protruded from the creatures back, one watching the window and the other watching the doorway.

Tim screamed.

Danny just hoped his fiance liked his new bodyguard. He made it himself special order, he called it a BoneKeeper.

----

Much later

Batman, Zatanna, and Robin: *tries to summon ghost king*

Phantom: omg my fiance wants to meet me!

Phantom: I cant go like this! I want to meet him while looking my best!

Phantom: *sends note through in his stead stating to call back at a specific date and time*

Heroes: wtf? Is this a trap?

Day comes

Heroes: *summoning*

Phantom: *appears looking nice and very much a child* Are you my fiance?

Batman: ...oh god thats a child

Zatanna: ...oh god thats a child

Robin: *same age as Danny and unbothered* Whats with the bone monster?

Phantom: I made it to protect you! I heard that you guys used fear as a weapon. Is it scary enough?

[vivian-pascal]

Like a Prayer

dbf!joel x f!reader

summary: Since you last saw Joel, he's been on your mind nonstop. You just can't get him out of your head. You miss him, and sure enough he misses you. So, you both plan something and decide to play a little game. (part two to Summer Love)

warnings: age gap, teasing, f!masturbating, dancing, fluff, piv (wrap it up) hand job, lil bit of sub!joel, joel cums fast, fingering, breast play, joel's dirty mouth, bit of feelings, breeding thoughts, lap grinding, description of what reader wears, reader is on birth control, aftercare

"Ugh!" You slam your head against your bedroom door for the five thousandth time today. You just can't take it anymore. He's everywhere. The last time you saw him, you barely got to say good bye to him and you haven't seen him since.

Yes, he texts you, but that only makes it worse. He sends you the most teasing and crude messages that just make you yearn for him harder. It's been horrible, let alone for Joel.

He dreams about you almost every night. The sweet moans you let out for him, the touch of your soft fingertips on his rough body, the way you moved and whispered sighs into his ear.

He is so uncontrollably in love with you. Love? Love is something he'd never be in again. Especially with his best buds daughter, who, not to mention, is at least a good twenty years younger than him.

Your blasting 'As long as you love me' by the backstreet boys on loop and your dad keeps coming upstairs to check on you and see if you're mentally okay.

He cracks open the door and sees you with your forehead resting on the wall and your arms hanging down. "You alright honey?"

You turn your head and nod. You look back down at the ground and sigh loudly. "That doesn't sound like you're okay, sweetie." He walks over to you and turns the volume down on your radio.

You stand up and lift your head from the wall. "What are you doing?" He looks at you with confusion and a sarcastic look on his face. "Turning the volume..down?"

"No, dad, turn it back up." You cross your arms and give him a death stare. He only looks back at you and crosses his arms too. If you want to play, he'll play too. "No."

"And why not?" You quirk your eyebrow waiting for his 'good' reason on why he should turn your music down.

"Because, honey, i've been hearing that song on blast and loop, for the past, let me see." He lifts his arm up and checks his watch. "Two hours, and I can probably sing every single verse to that song. So, I think you should take a break from the music, or play a different tune."

You look at him with shock. How dare he? If he doesn't like The Backstreet Boys or that song, then he can go away. You were doing just fine with that song on blast and loop for the past two hours and he just ruined it.

"Or, I keep the song on, and keep it on blast for another two hours." You give him a sweet smile as you turn the volume back up, grab his arm and lead him to the door, pushing him out and shutting the door in his face.

You smile at your good work and go back to the spot on your wall. Listening to the lyrics and singing them in your head. Dreaming of Joel and only wishing he were here with you right now.

Just as your about to bang your head on the wall for another couple hours, your phone pings and you instantly go over and grab it. It's Joel.

Hey sugar

hi joel

Whatcha up too?

oh, you know, the usual

You set your phone down and plump onto your bed. You haven't seen Joel in so long its making you go insane. When you hear the ping from your phone, you read the message and your face goes red.

Hm, let me think, the usual, as in your knuckles deep in that sweet, creamy pussy thinking about me huh? Oh darlin'. Can't wait to just devour you whole once again, you taste so sweet f'me sugar, man you make me hard.

You slowly put your phone down, grab a pillow, and scream as loud as you possibly can. He can't make this anymore worse for you can he.

You stare at your phone as you rest your head on the pillow. You look at the message and read it over and over again. Your hand slowly tracing circles around your torso and then into the waistband of your underwear.

You circle your clit softly and sigh at the feeling. You imagine Joel as you soak in the feeling of pleasure.

You think back to when he had you pinned against the bathroom door while he shoved his face into your pussy. The feeling of his nose, his mouth, the way his tongue moved so perfectly. The scratch of his beard on your thighs. His hair, tugging it and hearing him groan into your core.

You arch your back as you begin to rub your clit faster. Sticking a finger into your pussy as you whimper at the feeling.

You just wish it were him doing this. His big, calloused hands would run along your beautiful frame, his fingers would go deep into your core and fill you up just right. He'd praise you like no other. Filling your ears with pure filth.

Your mouth goes agape as you come. Imagining Joel on top of you, resting his sweet little head on your shoulder as he pounded you to death.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You remove your hand from your panties and grab your phone.

"Sweetie?" Your dad calls from downstairs. "Yeah dad?" You open the texts from Joel and begin to type one up. "I'm going out with Todd and Jim, I'll be gone for about four hours, we're goin to a bar alright?" You smile cheekishly as you send your message. "Yeah, bye dad have fun! Love you!" You hear the door shut and you smile as fireworks go off in your head.

dads going out, come over now please

Desperate I see, I'm on my way babygirl.

You roll your eyes as you read his message. You get up and look out your window to make sure your dad is really gone. You then go out into your closet and pick your outfit.

You go with a skimpy, white dress that cuts off at the knees and a cute white bow in your hair. You smile as you twirl in the mirror.

You hear a knock on the door and immediately rush downstairs. You quickly make sure your dress looks good and fix your hair as you open the door. And there he is, in all his glory, Joel miller.

You gasp when you see him. It's been so long, too long. He smirks down at you. He's wearing his same old pair of jeans and a flannel.

"Well hello darlin'. Been quite some time." He grins as he sees your flustered state. You look him in the eyes with desperation and grab him by the collar. Pulling him into your face and smashing your lips together.

He stumbles as he walks inside with you and shuts the door. You let go of his lips and release his collar as you start to unbutton it. "Woah, woah, I didn't know you were this desperate hon, I would've come over a whole lot earlier."

You death stare him as you get on your knees and run a hand over his bulge. He groans and closes his eyes at the feeling. You throw off his flannel and unzip his jeans. He takes off his shoes and turns around to put them in the corner, when he looks back, his mouth drops.

Your there, in nothing but the sweet, little bow in your hair and your panties. His jaw tightens as he walks towards you and grabs your hips.

"Well don't you just look so yummy." You giggle as you smirks down at you. You walk over to the couch and grab his hand. He sits down with his legs wide as you sit on top of him.

You run your hands through his hair and mold your lips together. He groans into the kiss as his hands flow down to your waist. You begin to grind against his covered crotch. His hands help you with the motion and he whimpers in your mouth.

You can feel him getting harder and harder by the minute. Your grinding motions quicken as his hands pull you into him faster. "Oh yeah darlin'. Just like that." He rests his head against the back of the pillow as you run your nails along his chest.

He shivers as you get to the waistband of his boxers. Skimming your nails along the soft curls. You carry your hand downward and over his bulge.

He flinches as he watches your movements. You run your nails along his covered length. Feeling his cock through his boxers, running your nails along the veins and tip.

He lifts his hips as a plea to remove his boxers. You only giggle as you keep teasing him. "D-Darlin'" He throws his head back as you grab his shaft through his pants. He whimpers at the feeling and lifts his hips once more.

You give him mercy as you release his cock from his boxers. He groans loudly as he feels your soft hand on his dick. He throws his arms over his eyes as he feels you run your nails along his soft skin.

Precum dribbles from the tip as you circle it with your nail. You admire the way it twitches and leaks for you. You admire how Joel is so desperately trying not to grab you and rail you too death, and how he's just barely holding on because of you.

He moans loudly as you lean down and lick a stripe up his cock. "I can't-" You giggle softly. "Can't what Joel?" You position your covered pussy over his cock and begin to rub against him. His mouth opens as he sees your soaked cunt over his dick.

His thighs begin to tremble as you quicken your pace. His cock twitches and cries under your core. He throws his head back once more and groans. "I'm cumming." He speaks threw gritted teeth. "What Joel?" When you look down at your panties, you soon get your answer. "Oh."

You sit back on his thighs as you watch his cock soften. His face is a flush red as his arms cover his eyes. "Joel did you just die or something."

He lifts his arms from his face and looks down at you. His eyes soften when he sees how absolutely stunning you look right now. He sits up and brings his hand to your face and rubs circles on your cheek with his thumb.

"Probably darlin'." You roll your eyes as he smirks and grabs your hand. He stands up from the couch and picks you up. You wrap your legs around his torso as he carries you upstairs and into your room. "Wait Joel, no-" But before you can say anything else, he's in your room.

"Yes sweetheart?" You grumble as you pick stuff off your floor and throw them into your closet. "Are you seriously cleaning up before we fuck?" He stands there, in your doorway, butt as naked with his arms crossed and a look on his face that says 'you better get your ass on the bed before I make you'

You roll your eyes and throw the stuff on the floor once more. He grins as you crawl onto your bed and lie on your back. He removes your panties as he crawls up your body and kisses your nose. "Baby girl, I don't care if your room is messy."

You giggle as he kisses your lips. You wrap your arms around his neck and through his hair. He deepens the kiss and groans into your mouth. He runs his hand down your body and between your legs.

He slowly circles your clit and you arch you back from the pleasure. You moan into his mouth as he runs a finger through your slit. You kiss his lips harder as he rubs your clit faster.

"Joel." You moan when he inserts a finger into your weeping hole. "I'm here baby, right here." He kisses your neck as his fingers work their magic.

You arch your back as you moan loudly. He feels your juices as you come and groans. "There ya go honey." He brings his hand up from your core and licks it clean. You stare at him with lust and tug his hair as you kiss him once more.

"Ready f'me?" You nod as he lines himself up. That's another thing you love about Joel. He's sweet and will always make sure your okay with something.

You gasp as you feel his cock seethe into you. He rocks his hips forward and you close your eyes.

He kisses along your neck and up to your lips. He groans against your mouth as he thrusts his hips faster. You arch your back as his pelvis knocks into your clit with each thrust.

He runs his hands along your body and rubs your breasts. He rolls your nipple between his fingers and latches his mouth onto your neck as you squeeze his cock.

He kisses and sucks that spot as you arch your back further off the bed. He grunts as he thrusts up and into you faster.

He can tell your close as your moans get louder and your breathing quickens. "Cmon baby, come with me."

You grab his face and collide your lips together as you come. Moaning into his mouth as you feel his thrusts get sloppier as he comes. Filling your pussy with his dripping seed.

His hips come to a stop as he rests his head against your forehead. You open your eyes and see that he's already looking at you.

You stare at his face for a bit. Looking at how beautiful he is. He looks into your eyes with love. He wants to hold you, wants to stay with you forever, he wants to love you. But he can't.

He kisses you once more before getting up and heading to the bathroom, leaving you all alone, for now.

He returns back with his shirt and a soft cloth, this feels all too familiar. Like he'll just clean you up and leave you once more.

You smile as he sits in front of you. You sit up and he taps your knee to spread your legs. Your raise as eyebrow as you do what your told.

His eyes droop as he sees the sight in front of him. Your gorgeous pussy leaking his cum. God, he wonders what you'd look like pregnant. With his baby, that he put into you. No, he shouldn't think like that, you're his best friends daughter after all.

He shakes the thoughts from his head and puts the soft rag against your core. Wiping away his hard work. He throws the rag down and into your hamper as he lifts your arm and puts his shirt on you.

You lift the fabric to your nose and sniff in. You open your eyes and look at him. Oops, you forgot he was here.

He smiles softly down at you and gets up. You follow him as he heads downstairs. He picks up his clothes and puts on his boxers. You don't want him to leave you just yet because you know that right after his shoes are on, he's out the door. So, you come up with an idea.

He pulls his jeans up and then he hears music. He turns around and sees you smiling at him with your finger in your mouth. You walk over to him.

You wrap your arms around his naked shoulders. He chuckles as you begin to sway your hips. "And what's all this darlin'?" You giggle as he steps side to side with you. "Just a little dancing." He smiles sweetly at you.

Like a Prayer by Madonna plays in the background as you both giggle and dance together. He grabs your arm and twirls you around. His hands on your hips as you sway your hips to the beat and he pulls a John Travolta move and you laugh and giggle at him.

You stare up at him as the beat begins to come to an end. You just stare into each others eyes and you want to say it so badly. Want to claw at his chest and make a hole in his heart for you. You want to scream to the whole world that you are so deeply in love with him. Joel Miller.

He stares into your soft eyes. He looks into each one. He would love to just take you back to his house and stay with you forever. He wants to hold you and kiss you and love you till the day you die. But you both know you can't and never will.

The music comes to an end and he stands with you in your empty living room, with no shirt on and his hands on your waist. He leans down and slowly kisses your lips with deep passion and love.

He's never kissed you with such tenderness. When his lips release from yours, you look up at him with tears in your eyes. He smiles down at you and brings his hands to your face. Just say it, just say it, please just say it.

He boops your nose with his finger and goes to grab his shirt but realizes you have it on.

You clear your throat and walk over to he door. He's soon behind you and tugs at the flannel your wearing. "It's alright sugar, you keep it, it's hot out anyways." He smirks at you as you shyly smile up at him.

He walks out the door and waves goodbye. "Bye Joel." You say with sadness as you close the door. You walk back up to your bedroom and shut the door, plunging your face into your pillow and crying your eyes out. You are so so so deeply in love with him and you don't know what to do anymore.

part i part ii part iii

tags!!

@guelyury @livingonthehems @ursagittariusgirlfriend @iamsherloocked @heartpascalispunk

@pinkcrystal44 @amyispxnk @simplewanderer @tupelomiss @heartramen

@kotourasan123 @mermaidgirl30 @brittmb115 @littlevenicebitch69 @sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts

@morallyinept @magpiepills @javierpenaispunk @rav3n-pascal22 @yorksgirl

@itsokbbygrl @mountainsandmayhem

[gibb0nz-wow]

Hello ❗ I'd like to ask you to support the campaign in > @khawla-gfm < to reach it's goal.🙏 Khawla is Mohiy's sister from @mohiy-gaza2 and he contacted me to organize and run the campaign for his sister since she has limited to no access to internet at any time. I'd appreciate if you could donate even just a small amount to her campaign, or to spread the campaign further by reblogging it, or reposting it elsewhere. She's in urgent need to reach her campaign goal to pay for lactose free milk, diapers, food and water.

campaign link: https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-khawlas-family-in-gaza-crisis

Link to someone certifying the campaign's legitimacy by association with Mohiy: https://www.tumblr.com/dlxxv-vetted-donations/759083705638731776/this-campaign-is-vetted-by-association-through

Thank you for your time 💖❤️‍🩹✨

‎

[lnfours]

lando w breeding kink😝

OH ANON i’m going feral. i think about this constantly and i get weak in the knees.

inbox

your head was spinning, breathing erratic as your back arched off the mattress and your chest pushed into his. his curls were sticking to his forehead, body warm to the touch as his fingers dug into your hips. your legs wrapped around him as you tried to find something other than the sheets to grip onto, settling for his bicep instead. nails pressing into his skin as his head dipped down to leave marks on your collarbone.

“fuck,” his breathless moan was all that you needed to, all you really wanted to hear. he moved one of his hands down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit as he rubbed right circles around it. a state of euphoria as he mumbled against your skin, “gonna come for me?”

you whimpered softly into the darkened room, letting out a soft, “mmhm.”

“come for me, baby,” the pet name rolled off his tongue effortlessly, the way he tilted his head back up to look at you almost being enough to send you over the edge right then and there, “c’mon, love.”

you were right there, moaning out his name like prayer. he would kill to have you like this every second of the day, not just when he finally got a break between races. he wished to have you there with him all the time, catching himself wishing it was your hand on his dick every time he got himself off while thinking of you in a completely different country.

“i’m close,” you breathed out, “so close.”

“me too,” his hips were snapping into yours at an ungodly speed, but it felt too good to care about the bruises he’d more than likely leave on your thighs and hips, “missed you so much.”

you grabbed at his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. full of teeth clashing and moaning into the others mouth, “come in me.”

that was more than enough, his head dropping back down to your chest and his hips stuttered. the feeling of his dick twitching inside you and filling you sending you over the edge, his strangled moan filling your senses.

he breathed hard, looking down to where your bodies met before he untangled himself from you, moving down to your aching core as you tried to regain your composure. it was no use, though. watching as he watched his cum leak from you, shaking his head more to himself than anything.

you hissed softly, gasping as he fucked his cum back into you with his fingers. you grabbed at his shoulders, stomach contracting as he tried his best not to overstimulate you.

not that you really minded, anyways.

“can’t wait to for you to walk around, pregnant with my kid,” he said in between kisses on the inside of your thighs, “gonna put a baby in you by the time winter break is over.”

you let out a soft laugh, running a hand between his tangled curls as he gently pulled away from you, “did you catch baby fever all of a sudden?”

he smiled sheepishly, laying his head on your chest, listening to the fast pace of your heart, “maybe,”

[mandalhoerian]

sacrosanct | leon kennedy x reader | 1

NEXT >

pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader

summary: Leon, a paladin of the temple who became a disillusioned oathbreaker, returns from years of war with a noble title and shattered faith. Once devoted to the Saintess who healed him, Leon's admiration has twisted into repressed desire—feelings he could never express, tainted by guilt and shame. Now a celebrated hero, he’s drawn back not to the kingdom’s praises, but just for a glimpse of you to move on with his life.

The god he abandoned has other plans for him.

word count: 14K (i am so sorry)

warnings: descriptions of war, suggestive themes, slow burn so it's only sensual for now, religious shame and guilt

disclaimer: this work contains Catholic imagery that is a part of rofan manhwa worldbuilding tropes. "the saintess" trope itself isn't a saint in accordance with Catholic traditions, it's just a character archetype that developed over time in the isekai genre and means more of a "holy maiden chosen by god" and "healer" with "divine powers" protected by the "church" of that specific fictional world. however, i did my best to do my research. this work has nothing to do with Christianity or any other religions and is totally fictional. please keep that in mind as you proceed!

author's note: mandalhoerian goes back to her reader era! please say thank you to @chesue00 for allowing me to use her artwork in this fic, I wrote a whole scene that depicts the art piece which was the whole inspiration for this 3-day frothing at the mouth frenzy!!!!

now, Sacrosanct is a blend of tropes i love in rofan manhwa/webtoon/mangas that are my favorite, so prepare for misunderstandings galore in the future 😭 but leon specifically is inspired by malthus from hilda furacao. which just means yearning and sexual repression. re2!leon to re4!leon pipeline is just the sweet commoner knight to cold duke of the north pipeline in manhwa, and if you understand what that means, im personally sending you a virtual kiss LMAO Happy reading, I hope yall like it!

don't forget this is the first part only.... heh. the template credit

🌀READ ON AO3 !

The first blush of dawn trickles through the gaps in heavy drapes, bathing your chambers in apricot hues. Crisp echoes of rustling silk resonate as you delicately lift the mask from its velvet perch. Bathed in daybreak's golden light, coloured glass chips embedded into the mask shimmer in lost constellations. The caress of velvety smooth fabric against your skin sends shivers dancing down your spine as you tie on, freshly laundered linen smell intertwining with lingering scent of last night’s incense used in nightly prayers, hints of lavender meet smoky frankincense.

Your gaze shifts to the mirror, the mask now concealing your mortal features, intricate filigree swirling across your face in an ethereal web and tiny crystals dotted along the lines sparking like stars. Taking a deep breath to stand a little taller and square your shoulders, you reach up to adjust your veil, ensuring no errant strands of hair are visible. The gauzy fabric falls in diaphanous folds around you, the whispers arising with your every movement the only sounds in the stillness of dawn.

Though the sacred mask and veil hide your earthly form, they cannot conceal the weakness of the human soul in your eyes.

The gateway to your wishes is wide open, one closer look is all one needs to see how you yearn to walk unencumbered through the gardens, to feel the caress of sunlight on your bare skin.

But the edicts are clear - when you leave these chambers, the Saintess must be fully shrouded, an exalted vessel and naught else.

You amble down to the sacred chapel for morning prayers before breaking your fast - a custom enacted in hushed reverence. As you descend stone steps weathered by time, you're swaddled in the scent of smoldering incense permeating from open timber doors, trailing invisible veins into the invigorating morning air. Inside, familiar faces of fellow sisters and brothers offer gentle nods of greeting as you find solace before the altar, sinking onto the cushioned bench tailored specifically for you, in the name of quiet contemplation and prayerful kneeling.

In honor of Ethelion, your one true Lord, silence descends—a pause amplified by its gravitas. Then with an authority that makes everything else seem trivial in comparison, there's the priest: his directing is ripples on still water reaching out towards infinity—sound molded into sacred words known only too well to heart.

The humming drone of faith-soaked chants serves as a welcome breather from the constant ponderings on war and sacrifice that’s been plaguing you for weeks. Those gnawing realities always sneak up and nibble away at your moments of peace, but here in this church, Ethelion’s mercy reigns supreme—the refuge is heard in the choruses belted out emphatically, slicing through any weighty thoughts, their lyrics loftier than any worldly worry.

As the sun stands at its zenith above and sends shards of golden light filtering through the stained glass canvases, the ceremony unwinds. It feels like saying goodbye too soon amidst vibrant echoes of hymns that grip onto ancient brick walls built upon stories spanning centuries, currents of history carrying their inevitable fade. Here, they stand still—if only for a while—pinned by lingering notes lost in air rich with incense burn and oakwood musk coupled with memories tasting of sacramental wine still clinging to tongues.

Stepping into the courtyard, you're swathed in a prism of pastel hues—blossoms unveiling their sugared whispers to the inviting warmth of a lingering breeze. You catch wind of their fragrance; it hooks you, a blend of sweet floral undertones and spring's renewed vigor carrying history within its essence, and you cannot wait to check on your lily garden.

Children dart amongst looming pews, mischief gleaming in their eyes as they engage in hushed games, shards of laughter echoing softly around the otherwise hallowed space. The sight tugs at a wisp of nostalgia, memories when life was simpler, less layered with expectations and daunting futures.

The youngest ones eyeing your departure don't miss a beat. Like mini warriors possessed by unruly spirits, they break rank from the congregation to run after you—a whirlwind of giggles and shouts lacing the air. Their excitement thrums against your skin, buzzing like electricity—an unexpected surge that leaves behind a ghostly imprint.

Yet before they can reach you or even conflict with stone-faced paladins on guard duty, an adult hand restrains them. Respectful bows font towards you as if to acknowledge an unspoken understanding—a solemn line between what is allowed and what isn't negotiated under sacred roofs and watchful gazes.

The breaking of your fast happens solely in the intimacy of your chambers, where you can abandon the weariness of your mask.

Fresh fruits and bread baked by the monks in the kitchens await you on a simple wooden table, their colors vibrant against the muted tones of your chamber. The apples gleam like polished rubies, their skins taut and inviting, while clusters of plump grapes spill over from the plate. The bread, golden and crusty, emits a warm aroma that fills the air with comfort; its texture promises a satisfying chew that will sustain you through the day’s trials.

You pour yourself a glass of tea, steam curling up like ethereal wisps as you set it beside the fruits, its sweetness rendered by generous dollops of honey that transform each sip into liquid amber. As you bite into a slice of bread, the crust crackles under your teeth, giving way to a soft and airy interior that melts on your tongue. It’s simple fare—yet it nourishes not just your body but also stirs echoes of childhood memories spent in the kitchens, where laughter mingled with the scent of baked goods.

The weight of your impending sacred duty hangs over you like storm clouds heavy with rain.

It's not just a responsibility; it's an anchor dragging you into the depths of despair, each step forward to navigate it is like wading through molten lead.

You peer through the frost-kissed window, and the courtyard below unfolds like a battlefield before a decisive clash. Figures clad in armor move with the grace of dancers and the determination of warriors bound for glory or doom. The pieces of gleaming plate mail reflects the pale light, casting fractured rainbows on the cobbled ground.

The gleam of virgin armor, polished to a high sheen, is nothing more than a facade.

It's an ornament, untouched by the brutality of combat—it’s their holy calling that these paladins embrace, not the bloody stain of war. And yet, you sit there on your throne and hesitate to send even one amongst them into the fray for your crown's sake.

How easy would it be to fool yourself into believing that time has frozen, and these young knights in training are simply rehearsing under the guise of some distant uncertainty. But your eyes have skimmed those sealed parchment letters, their inky truths seeping more dread into an already strained air; you're not as naive as all that. The chilling certainty of the Holy War lurks just on the other side of these weathered stone walls—it's only a matter of moments before a gasping messenger dispatches reality like storm clouds breaking open.

Regardless of how fervently you pray or how deep your self-sacrifice runs, it won’t alter this predetermined destiny.

Even as you grip your blessed rosary so tightly it leaves hardened impressions in your palm's soft flesh. Even when unshed tears blur your vision, scalding hot yet stubbornly refusing to fall free, and a knot of shame twists low within your stomach like vile poison—an uncomfortable squirming inside that is almost visceral. Your journey forward leaves much to be desired–mired with dark ambiguities, where faith resembles something more akin to a clumsy blind groping in the vast unknown.

Your heart twinges—a raw ache—at the sight of blond hair all too familiar.

"Leon," escapes in a murmur from between your chapped lips against the icy window pane—the cold seeping into your skin; tiny tendrils numbing any sensation away.

The young paladin has blossomed into a towering figure since his personal guard duty by your side the last month, his frame enveloped in the armor that’s bigger than his still-growing form. The sight of him clad in battle gear is a poignant one, for the metal plates seem to engulf him rather than adorn him. He looks anything but menacing, sweet consideration towards those he’s sparring with, despite clad head-to-toe in battle gear, with such carefree confidence that threatens to split your aching chest.

In a split second, on the other side of that cold glass wall; Leon’s focus latches onto your unveiled and unmasked presence like a sunflower bending towards light.

It's as if you've breathed some forbidden word into the wind - an inaudible gasp tingles the silence and ripples off his lips. He stammers mid-battle stance, frozen under some unseen celestial hammer, scorched into oblivion.

You step back hurriedly, yanking your veil down over your face once more; it's rough underneath your fingertips, but nothing compared to the turmoil swirling inside you. His own stunned gaze falters, tugs itself away as if burned - damn those beautiful eyes! But that moment costs him dearly as his rival lunges and he crumbles under the assault, and your heart won’t stop racing, undeniable fondness with a foreign heat creeping up your neck.

Leon bounces back from the blow almost instantly, staggering back to his feet like it's second nature; like he hasn't just had the wind knocked out of him and seems more rattled than before.

His opponent’s moves are unforgiving, one after another until Leon's guard slips. With a resounding thud that sends shudders up your spine, Leon gets slammed into the dirt floor.

His helmet soars through the air with an eerie ring that echoes around the courtyard, tumbling to rest at the boots of a nearby Paladin whose gaze is stuck on Leon’s prone form - filled with something close to pity but still masked by pride. A comrade extends a roughened hand, helping Leon upright, his comforting pat lingering just a moment too long on his shoulder blade as if unsure whether to leave or stay for strength. Jovially yet sternly, the older knight cuffs Leon on his arm, gauntlet striking armor with a dull clang.

As you retreat from your voyeuristic post at the window when reverberating tolls from the grand temple's bells signal practice time has run its course, there's an adrenaline rush buzzing under your skin even though you were merely watching. The upcoming blessing ceremony casts its shadow over you – all consuming and much larger than life; leaves no space for silly fancies.

Sunset paints the temple grounds in a bronzed hue as Leon treks alone back to the barracks, his mind adrift. Training bruises throb under his armor, though it's the sting of his fractured pride that truly wounds him.

None of it matters in the face of the glimpse of divinity he accidentally caught.

He nearly bends with the weight of it, an abyss of greed that he fears his brothers-in-arms can sense infecting his spirit. It maligns his growth as a paladin; he's sure Ethelion sees the invasive avarice lurking beneath skin and bone, an illicit truth residing within him nipping at him from the inside like a woodworm.

The seed of which had been planted over a decade ago, in these lily gardens, in the healing hands of a young Saintess whose presence and unmasked face lingered in his heart and grew into an infatuation with her holy touch.

He was but a boy back then, brittle and broken in body, his fragile skin stretched thin over bony limbs, rife with illness that stole the color from his cheeks and the air from his lungs. His very life seemed held together by prayers of his parents alone, fluttering like leaves in the wind. He'd stumbled into the garden by accident, chasing a stray cat with his siblings, not realizing he was lost.

Yet fate cast her sanguine smile and Ethelion himself turned an eye on him, sending the Saintess his way.

A warm glow drew him further through the bushes, and there you stood, cloaked in a robe that made your radiance seem as if it were born from moonlight. His eyes should have burned upon landing on you unmasked, youthful face that unmistakably belonged to a human girl of his age and not that of Ethelion in the flesh, but instead, his lungs expanded with an unknowable strength because of the divine power around you, an easiness that made it feel like he was breathing for the first time.

Not met with punishment for such audacity—he was instead gifted healing through your sacred touch–and got left laced with a perpetual yearning, sickness eradicated from his being and infused life onto starved limbs.

A lesson was disclosed to him later on when he’d become aware of himself, about why the Saintess had to be veiled.

His desires knew no end. It was for her spiritual purity that the Saintess could not be seen unmasked or reveal herself to mortals. Could one imagine the consequences of men akin to him lying eyes upon such magnificence, gracing skin intended only for Ethelion's touch? The impressionable child that he was had bloomed into an adult consumed by her divinity, hell-bent on basking in it all life long. Surely kingdoms would fold, as mortals were bound to disrupt natural balance attempting to seize the maiden of god.

So, when you appeared in the tower window today, he was overcome with a sensation so powerful it felt like angelic apparitions traced their wings down his back.

Divine grace embodied, shining forth in ways he couldn't articulate.

An inexplicable need arose from his bones for him to go to you, throw himself down in worship, confess sins one by one and receive penance:

In the hush of many nights when the temple halls were empty, he would wander like a ghost and always come back to kneel at the feet of Ethelion, daring to touch the cushions before the altar where you prayed, his fingers lingering where only your robes should caress. The audacity of his gaze tracing the delicate embroidery of your veil when he stood guard by your side, seeking to unveil something meant solely for Ethelion’s eyes, was but one of his many transgressions against the sanctity that cloaked you…

His form of worship seemed askew, borne more out of desire than devoutness; staining the starkly white fabric of his duty with its off-colour ardour.

He could never allow you, the revered Saintess, to know about this sinful sentiment dwelling within him; tarnishing every sweet memory associated with you.

The fantasy he harbored diminished his image, trendlessly etched as an obedient paladin's plight – but for him, you represented something significantly more profound. To even admit how dreams featuring you bewitchingly bathed in grace tainted his oath of celibacy would risk jeopardizing the hope invested in recognizing his service towards Ethelion.

The desire to earn the highest recognition, a Paladin's title and acceptance of his fealty to protect you as such – got increasingly tangled in a visceral wanting lost somewhere between sacrilege and worship that left a devout hunger echoing within him for your sake.

To satisfy this, he threw himself fiercely into arduous training channels to strengthen both his body and mind with every challenging day that went by - striving ceaselessly with dreams of deserving a place by your side.

Now, he stands precipitously on the verge; holding on desperately to this undisclosed confession – harboring a stolen glance of you from earlier as a secret talisman.

How could he go into the Holy War with his brothers now, knowing he'd seen beneath your veil and… Felt.

“You seem troubled, Sir Leon.”

Leon doesn’t dare turn; a jagged lick of dread splinters down his spine. He recognizes that voice—how could he not when it haunts his dreams night after night? Instead, he stares into nothingness, rooted to the ground, his mind unable to process that you're speaking to him.

But he does turn, finding you standing serenely beneath an archway covered with tangled fragrant vines in the Temple's back garden.

Your presence fills Leon with equal parts awe and unease, as if Ethelion himself is shaming him from above for desiring what should be beyond mortal reach.

Yet your countenance remains unchanged, unmarred by his inner turmoil. The mask stays in place, an extension of your divinity—only now, Leon swears that beneath it, your eyes are smiling at him.

Leon stands within the cool shadow of the ancient temple, its weathered stones holding an age-old embrace that wraps around him like a cloak. The air is thin with the delicate scent of lilies that’s wafting towards him from the garden—from you, and outside, where sunlight filters through the leafy canopy, you stand amidst color. Your garments catch the sunset, casting a shimmer that mirrors the beauty of your surroundings.

The difference between his shadowed presence and your radiant figure is a shaming from above, showing Leon your place in His divine light while he remains shrouded in sin.

The clinking of Leon's loose armor rings as he lowers himself to one knee before you, “Forgive me, Saintess. I did not mean to disturb your meditations.”

The rustle of silk heralded your approach, brushing against the cool stone floor like a gentle breeze stirring a field of wildflowers. He inhales sharply, his breath hitching in his throat as the fragrance of lilies envelops him.

You stop before him, your robes cascading around you like a mirage of opal waves, he is captivated by an urge so primal that it sends a flush of heat to his cheeks and makes his palms sticky; he longs to press his lips to the delicate fabric that seems to breathe with divine grace.

“Please rise, Sir Leon. I saw you training today. Your skills are formidable.”

His pride swelled silent and strong within his chest – a sudden weight that could unbalance him more than any physical blow ever could.

"Your words honor me greatly," he manages to speak to the stones at his feet, even after he is back up at his feet.

"Yet you seem to have much on your mind."

He cannot meet your eyes; it feels overwhelming to face such beauty and concern directed solely at him.

"Pardon me, that was a silly question, wasn't it? Of course you have much on your mind. You're about to ride into battle. Such thoughts are not easy to bear. Do you wish to talk about it?"

"It's not my place to trouble you with such things, Saintess. They will soon be far from here, and you will be safe in the Temple.”

He glances at you, and the look in your eyes is enough to make him forget how to breathe. It’s a blend of curiosity and tenderness; an innocence that nearly pierces through his mask and grazes the wicked depths of his heart.

You tilt your head, much like a bird contemplating a worm, and gently ask, "Would you indulge my curiosity and share one worry with me?"

It's an impossibly generous gesture, for you to extend this small piece of yourself to him in the middle of your meditations. Leon's teeth ache at the sweetness of it, at your kindness that extends even to him.

“I’m doubting my worthiness to serve,” he confesses unceremoniously. “I train relentlessly, but I lack the innate spark my brothers were born with. It's as if... as if I'm play-acting at being a Paladin.”

Those aren't the only doubts that torment him—but the ones he can actually say out loud without burning at the stake for.

"Do you remember the day we met, Sir Leon?" you begin, clasping your hands and turning around to face the gardens, the gentle breeze is making your veil flutter.

Leon nods, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. Even so many years later, the memory still has the power to stir his soul, churning something in his chest that makes it hard to think straight.

"It seems like it was yesterday that a young boy came stumbling into the garden, barely able to stand up, and looked me dead in the face. What do you think I saw in him?"

He always assumed the Saintess would have forgotten such a brief encounter, yet it was etched firmly into his memory and to hear it spoken aloud has his pulse miss a couple beats.

"Do you think I saw weakness as he lay gasping in the dirt? Or did I perhaps see an innocent curiosity that was easily swept up by the cruelty of this world and tamed into obedience? Or maybe I saw something else entirely.”

He shakes his head, trying to make sense of your words. It sounds like you're making a statement, but it's not clear which part you agree with.

"Tell me, Sir Leon. What is a spark? Does it come to life, or can it be nurtured from the smallest ember of resolve?" you whisper, fingers trembling as they ascend, tracing a path as delicate as a petal's fall, nearing his cheek with hesitant affection.

He’s paralyzed when your touch indeed lands instead of drifting away.

Your fingers linger, tracing the curve of his jawline with such gentleness, demure and awkward; and the pressure of it makes his skin sing, sparks dancing along every inch.

It's barely a caress, but he feels it in his bones—this ache—that swells and burns, a fire set alight inside his chest that’s on the precipice of consuming him whole.

A whole-body shiver breaks free, but you remain unfazed—your hand is still there, stroking his flesh with such tenderness; soft against the corner of his jaw.

"One is not born to greatness, one achieves it." You're calm, yet firm, a voice that commands respect. He's reminded of the many times he heard you deliver blessings on high ceremonies. There's something about the cadence of your words that pulls at the strings of his soul, drawing him in closer—deeper. "What truly matters is the conviction behind your actions. And, Sir Leon, you may not see it yet. But there's a spark inside your chest that burns brighter than any candle. Don't let anyone dampen it, for it shall shine a path forward unto others and bring glory to our land."

You pull away, leaving a void in your wake. Leon finds himself wanting to reach after you, wanting nothing more than for your skin to keep pressing against his, for your warmth to bleed through his own and ease the burden that's crushing him.

He wants to kiss those fingers that have—

Red hot shame enough to set firewoods aflame shoots straight to settle on his cheeks, flushing them as a wicked feeling sinks in his stomach, a heavy sinking pit. The meaning of your words resounds in his heart like a thunderclap after the lightning that was your touch, your holy words washing over him like a balm—or a warning.

He's brought back to reality abruptly with the harsh cackle of metal against stone as a group of paladins walk by and salute him and bow for the Saintess, pulling him out of a daze as he greets them. Their voices seem distant, faces a blur. It's a miracle Leon manages a nod at them in acknowledgment.

He finds his tongue eventually, his face still aflame with embarrassment at the realization of being in front of the Saintess, an idol of the Church, a woman he thinks of during his late-night ruminations, and still feels guilty for.

"T-thank you, Saintess,” his voice wavers, trembling even with those two simple words that leave him shaking, stirred to the core as if a sudden storm just swept him away to sea, and you are the shore he longs to return to. He fears he might drown in the depths of those beautiful eyes, pulled under by the current.

"It is I who should be thanking you, Sir Leon. You're risking everything to ensure peace for our realm."

Your words wrap around him like a hug, holding him in place while also offering a moment of comfort, like coming home from a long trip away. He treasures those precious few seconds, committing them to memory. But you are a Saintess, not a fellow knight, and there are no hugs or handshakes in his world.

"I'll see you in the ceremony," you continue, before leaving Leon with his heaving chest and a pressure knotting deep in his stomach, walking back to the serenity of the Temple, robes fluttering around your feet like snow settling over frozen earth.

Once you have disappeared into the confines of the temple, he lets out a deep breath. His heart is still beating wildly; the memory of your fingertips brushing his skin is seared into his flesh, an indelible mark that cannot be scrubbed away. He is unable to shake the feeling that he has committed some unspeakable sin; his body a living, breathing violation of his vows.

Leon washes himself in the barracks' bathing chambers, and as he stares at the naked flesh beneath steaming water, his thoughts turn to the ritual that awaits him. In the heat and sweat of it, he wonders if you can wash him clean, baptize his tainted heart.

His sweat trickles down his back, leaving shimmering beads of perspiration in its wake, he can feel each droplet sliding down like a ghostly caress overheated skin glistening under the light of flickering candles; his head is thrown back, and wet hair is slicked away from his face as he reclines in the wooden bathtub. He reaches up to trace the lines of his jaw with trembling fingers that hover just above his skin, remembering what it felt like to have your touch there. He closes his eyes and lets the steam envelop him; he feels the heaviness in his groin, thick and full between his thighs.

In this moment, he is alone with his guilt and shame; but underneath all that self-recrimination there lies a deeper emotion he dares not acknowledge: hope.

The blessing ceremony unfolds with the break of dawn the next day.

Rows of paladins stand at attention, forming a formidable barrier outside the towering chapel. You make your way up the marble steps, flanked by your retinue, and lift your veiled face to behold the regimented paladins before you. Their armor catches the sunlight in a dazzling display, swords resting peacefully in their scabbards. Every single one of them is an anonymous guardian, faces obscured by identical helmets and billowing white capes adorned with a shimmering blue starburst emblem emblazoned on their chest plates.

Upon reaching the summit of the staircase, the massive oak doors swing wide open, revealing an expanse filled with devout worshippers immersed in fervent prayer. Bathed in hues of multicolored light filtering through intricate stained-glass windows, their worshiping forms kneel upon the cool marble floor. Sunbeams caress their bowed heads like a halo, creating a mosaic of ethereal radiance that plays upon their serene features.

The hush that descends as you cross the threshold is whispered benedictions through the hall, enshrouding all present in a solemn embrace as you draw nearer to the altar at its heart.

At the altar stands the head priest, garbed in ceremonial robes—the deep hues of white and gold intertwining with ancient symbols. His palms are raised towards the statue of Ethelion, supplication etched into every line of his face. Before him sits an empty altar table covered in rich crimson velvet trimmed with gold brocade, and at its center rests a silver bowl filled with holy water, reflecting shards of light like fragments of a broken mirror.

Beside the basin stands a golden chalice and a sharp blade gleaming ominously.

You sink into a curtsy before the priest—your knees grazing the cool stone floor—as he intones your full title: "I salute the Beloved of Ethelion, Avatar of Eternity and Renewal,” before he gently beckons you to rise.

Taking your place before the altar, you feel the weight of an entire kingdom resting upon your shoulders. This ritual isn't mere superstition; it's a tangible link between mortal and divine—a celestial promise that Ethelia is indeed favored by the gods.

Yet beneath this grandeur lies urgency cloaked in ceremony: you're chosen by Ethelion to channel his blessing—a gift that comes with strings attached. It promises good health and protection from injury but depletes as quickly as candles flicker out in gusty winds.

You've done this countless times, yet it never becomes easier. You can only hope that the god residing within you answers earnestly today—gracing the paladins with divine strength and healing their wounds as you pour every ounce of yourself into them.

A hushed silence envelops the chamber as the priest lifts up the basin and blesses its water. He then raises it above your head, pouring its contents slowly over your body. The liquid cascades down your shoulders like molten gold—cool initially but warming as it mingles with your skin—and pools at your feet like melted sunlight. It seeps into the hem of your flowing robe which now shimmers like saffron touched by daylight's first rays.

The priest murmurs prayers of consecration while taking up the gleaming blade from beside chalice's stem. Gesturing for everyone gathered to join hands, he swiftly cuts into your wrist without warning—precise and unyielding. Blood oozes forth; dark as ink with whiffs reminiscent faint iron scent permeating air around tendrils curling upward almost ethereal fashion dripping fingers’ tips.

"May Ethelion guide thy swords on this path forward!" you invoke in a solemn tone. The words carry an authority that rings throughout the entire Temple, sending vibrations through the gathered crowd as they repeat your verse.

With a sharp exhale, you approach the priest and rest your open wound over the golden goblet, watching your blood drip into the vessel, drop by painstaking drop. All the while, the attendees recite their blessings in a swelling crescendo, their voices echoing back from the domed roof like an urgent prayer caught between earth and sky.

Your arm throbs incessantly—a dull ache blossoming into searing pain, but you press on, undeterred. Despite how difficult it becomes, there's solace in sharing this burden with others, knowing that they too have a part to play.

Finally, when enough blood has been collected, the priest holds the chalice high and exclaims, "For the kingdom! For Ethelion!"

On command, the paladins march forward with military precision, lining up in single file before the altar, the line extending out of the doors. With measured steps, they kneel in succession, resting their forearms atop the surface in a gesture of humility. You are handed the holy sword, its blade shimmering beneath the lights, its hilt ornately decorated with rubies and diamonds.

Placing your bleeding wrist atop the hilt's cool metal surface, you hold it above the first kneeling paladin's helmeted head. Slowly and carefully, you dip your finger into the cup of crimson liquid and anoint him with your blood by marking his crested forehead—a tangible sign of his sworn loyalty. Whispering a blessing so only he can hear it feels almost intimate—the sword becoming a conduit for divine power. The tip of the blade descends upon his crown; his shoulders instantly stiffen under this sacred touch—they tremble when it grazes one shoulder then moves to deliver an ethereal blow to the other.

The process repeats itself, endless and exhausting, as you move down the line.

Each anointment saps more of your energy reserves until you're left weak and nearly hollowed out from within. Yet pouring every bit of life force into each paladin so they may be shielded on battlefields ahead brings bittersweet satisfaction mixed with aching relief—you find strength anew just enough to persevere.

By the time you reach the end of the rows, your skin feels as paper-thin as the gauzy fabric covering your body. The edges of your vision have started to blur, and it takes considerable effort to stay upright, gripping the edge of the altar to steady yourself. Your heart is fluttering beneath your ribs like a frantic bird, wanting to burst free from its cage of bone and muscle and escape this agony. Your palms are clammy; you're sweating profusely beneath your robes, but despite this, you must see this rite through till its completion.

The ancient wooden door of the chapel creaks open, its mournful groan deafening in the silent night. A thin beam of moonlight slices through the gap, illuminating the dusty air. Inside, flickering candle flames cast warm, trembling light on Ethelion’s marble statue, which gazes down at you with unblinking, expressionless eyes.

You place your mask at the base of His effigy; unveiling yourself like this is a crucial part of the ritual—a moment of communion with the deity. You stand exposed before Him in every way—physically, spiritually, and emotionally. He serves as a mirror reflecting your deepest essence—a piece of you laid bare without fear or shame. Hiding from Him would be like refusing to acknowledge your own existence.

Summoning all your bravery, you remove the fragile veil that acts as your last shield against the world’s curious eyes, letting it rest gently next to your discarded mask. With both face and hair now revealed, you kneel before His statue. Your head bows low in penance, hands squeezed together in a gesture of deep devotion.

"Blessed Ethelion, forgive your servant," you plead with a tremor. "I have doubt in my heart. I'm afraid."

The statue remains silent; only overpowering stillness fills the air as seconds stretch into eternity. Then warmth radiates through you—starting from your chest and unfurling into your limbs—like sunshine poured into your veins, igniting every fiber with radiant energy.

"I don’t want any of them to die," you confess quietly, tears spilling free to splash against the cold flagstone floor. "They’re innocents caught in a war not their own."

There are no words in response, yet you feel an undeniable answer; Ethelion’s reassuring presence envelops you like a warm embrace. He is there to listen to you in silence.

This ritual is a moment of weakness—where fear manifests openly for release. These men are about to step into hell itself beyond the walls. Though they fight for honor and glory, deep down you know it will become a bloodbath—a massacre that will rend this kingdom apart.

"There's nothing sacred about this; yet here I stand sentencing Your children to death," you lament as tears trickle down your cheeks, mingling salty bitterness against trembling lips. No further sign comes; Ethelion appears content merely to observe from His heavenly perch—perhaps reminding you gently of your divine duty—the role He has ordained for you. "I beg forgiveness, O Lord. I could not change the minds blinded by ignorance. My heart bleeds for those suffering because of this conflict. Please protect them so they may come back to bask once more in Your radiant light."

You bow deeply before Him; rising again is a struggle as your knees quake beneath you.

"Saintess."

You jump at the familiar voice that slices through the sanctity of silence, eyes widening in recognition and trepidation.

This is the third time Leon has witnessed you this vulnerable without the holy artifacts shielding the flesh beneath, yet he remains unassuming and gentle; shock absent from his spirit this time. He stands close behind you in this hallowed space belonging solely to Ethelion's infinite wisdom, and you dare not breathe—afraid of shattering this ethereal moment.

"Avert your eyes, Sir Leon.”

The hairs on the back of your neck prickle, standing erect. You remain there unmoving, save for the tiny droplets of sweat gathering on your hairline as he moves with the grace of a shadow, his steps measured and deliberate, until he stands by your side, his eyes unwaveringly fixed upon the towering statue of Ethelion that looms before you both, as if seeking solace in the stone divinity rather against the evil of your human form.

He drops down onto both knees, bowing so low that his forehead nearly kisses the cold stone floor.

A subtle movement draws your attention, and you steal a glance from beneath your lashes. The moonlight caresses strands of golden hair and spins them into threads of silver. His attire deviates from the usual paladin's armor; instead, he wears a simple cotton shirt, its sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, veiny forearms sculpted by hard practice. The fabric clings to his form, hinting at the sinewy strength that lies beneath. Riding breeches embrace his legs snugly, tucked into worn boots that have weathered countless journeys.

The collar of his shirt is notched open, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of the base of his throat and the expanse of his upper chest. Your gaze traces the contours of muscle defined beneath the sheer material, and traitorously ventures lower, lingering on the curve of his bent knees before daring to explore further down to where his knuckles rest—taut and unyielding atop thighs etched with power. It leaves your mouth dry.

The intensity with which he shuts his eyes mirrors that boy from years past—the one who clenched his fists tightly against pain, refusing to cry as he battled an illness that should have claimed his life but didn't.

You yield to an impulse, enveloping him in the ethereal embrace of your veil, a shield against the world's gaze and your own. His body tenses beneath the delicate fabric as you glide it over his features, a soft gasp escaping from deep within him. With a trembling exhale, he quivers imperceptibly, fingers pressing into the cloth with a fervor that leaves faint dents on his skin, hands strained from the intensity.

"Open your eyes," you murmur tenderly, reluctant to disrupt the fragile moment.

Gleaming blue flickers into view through the white, translucent shroud, their clarity distorted by the gossamer material. You observe his swallow, the rhythmic rise and fall of his Adam's apple as he tentatively reaches to draw it down over his face.

Through the veil's prism, you must appear as a kaleidoscope of hues and forms to him; a phantom of your true essence, an elusive apparition hovering at the edge of reality.

"The… The blessing went well today," Leon sputters, cracking at the end like glass under pressure.

"Why did you come here, Sir Leon?" you ask gently, sensing that beneath his stiff formality lies a multitude of untold emotions.

"Are you alright?" The genuine concern for your person sends shivers cascading over your skin; fine hairs on your arms lift as he touches his wrist—mirroring right where your blood had been drawn. "Does it hurt every time the blessing is performed? I've never watched it before. It's..."

He falters, mouth opening and closing, and you notice how the fractured light from the windows bathes the swell of his cheeks in a tender luminescence. His words hang between you both, delicate strands of silk trying to knit themselves into coherence.

"It's awful, Saintess. To see your suffering laid bare before everyone."

"I would drain my whole body if it meant those brave men will go out knowing they are protected," you say with resolute calmness, though deep down, you're curious about how he truly perceives you now.

A barely audible "I know," escapes him. It feels like a confession—an unpleasant truth he doesn’t like being faced with. Whatever it holds makes warmth surge through you, igniting your skin and causing another involuntary shiver as he moistens his lower lip with a slow sweep of his tongue. "I know."

"Don't worry about me, Sir Leon. Your job is out there defending these lands, while mine is to ease your burdens. Think only of protecting those who need your shield.”

“Is it wrong to care for those I serve?” His wholehearted question tightens something within you—stirs an undefined yet potent emotion ready to bloom.

"Not at all," you reply almost breathlessly as he gazes intently at the curve of your jawline—your face blurred but memorized by him with stunning accuracy. "Remember whom your sword serves; we live only to honor Ethelion."

"I wish the world were different," his words seem hollowed out, lacking meaning, and yet there's an unmistakable conviction there, a resolve that drives him.

"As do I."

You glide your fingertips over the altar's slick surface, taking in a deep breath that fills your lungs fully with the sanctity of this space.

Then he straightens up suddenly; determination shines in his posture. He doesn’t rise from his kneeling position, yet it frightens you in the same way it would if he had shot up to stand.

"If you'll allow it, Saintess," he says, venerating, and the delicate fabric of his veil brushes against the embroidered sleeve of your robe. That fleeting contact sends a jolt through you, reverberating like a soft, whispered promise. His simple gesture, his proximity—it shouldn’t mean anything. But you feel he might as well have taken your hand in his. "I would pledge an oath to you as well."

There’s a deliberate slowness in how he pulls back, the motion of a man lingering at a threshold he has no right to cross.

Your chest tightens, your breath coming slower as you try to compose yourself. “Of course, Sir Leon,” you manage, though the stillness between you is filled with your uncertainty. What if you're not worthy of his devotion? Of his sacrifice? If he saw what lay beneath the veil, beyond the role of saintess, would he still look at you this way? Or would he recoil, realizing the truth of what you are: flesh and blood, no more divine than the earth beneath your feet?

You feel his stare. It’s as though they’re tracing the length of your body, reaching you through the barrier of the veil, and somehow, that makes the sensation more intimate than if he were standing before you fully revealed.

His breath catches, just slightly. You hear it, feel it, even though the veil between you muffles the sound. "It’s not about whether you’ll accept it," he continues, and there’s a shift in his stance. You can’t see his face, but the way he holds himself, the slight movement of his shoulders beneath the fabric, tells you that he’s grounding himself. "I give this vow because it is mine to give. For you, not for recognition or reward. It’s my choice, my will. No one needs to know."

His spine is ramrod straight now, but there’s a softness in his words, a slight tilt of his head as his eyes search yours. “My loyalty belongs to you alone.”

You swallow hard, the meaning of his words sinking deep into your soul. A lowly servant of Ethelion, that’s all you are. A vessel. No name, no family, no identity beyond the veil. His words... they speak of individual loyalty, devotion to you, not to Ethelion, not to the divine purpose you embody. You are no one. You have no right to such things. How could you take from him what rightly belongs to the god you serve? Wouldn’t you be struck down for such hubris? For leading a paladin astray, pulling him from the only true master he should follow? You tremble at the thought.

"Sir Leon, I cannot accept this." Your fingers curl around the skirt of your robe, the fabric twisting beneath your grip. “It’s—”

His chin lifts, eyes steady on you. "—wrong?"

You start at his interruption. Your voice sounds so feeble as you finish the sentence with a meek, "Yes."

He stays rooted, motionless, but something in the atmosphere shifts again. His breathing, though controlled, seems deeper, and you sense the quiet resolve in the silence that stretches between you.

"Then let me be the one who wrongs Ethelion." His tone carries a weight that presses against you, not through sound but through the way his body holds firm, unwavering. His movements are subtle, restrained, yet the soft brush of his hand grazing his side signals something deeper, a release of tension. "I pledge myself to you, Saintess. To your will, your desires. You are my strength."

The air feels dense, thick with the weight of what he’s offering.

These words flow from him like water spilling over stones, filling up spaces where it couldn't previously reach. The warmth in your chest expands, spreading outward until it seeps into every fiber of your being. Your fingers twitch, the edge of your sleeve twisting between them as you try to ground yourself.

"Please grant me a token of your favor."

Your hands tremble at your sides, your pulse quickening as you fidget with the fabric between your fingers.

What can you possibly offer him?

You glance down, but everything feels out of reach, the world reduced to this one moment.

"But I..." you begin, unsure, your fingers tugging nervously at your sleeve, "I am not a Lady."

There’s a pause, the kind that stretches, and though you can’t see his expression, it feels charged. He shifts ever so slightly, enough that you catch the faint rustle of fabric as he moves.

"All the more reason," he says, a shy smile in his words. "An unworthy paladin asking for a favor from the Saintess—what could be more fitting?"

"Then you may pick whichever object from the temple you desire—"

"I want something of yours, not an icon, nor some relic," he replies immediately, cutting you short, the butteriness sending shivers running down your back. "What do I lack that you have plenty of, that you won't miss, even if it's just a small trinket?"

Your heart stumbles in your chest, the weight of his request crashing into you like a wave. Real? What could you give him? What is yours to offer?

"A lock of hair?" you whisper, feeling your pulse quicken as you say it. The words feel small, vulnerable, but they tumble out before you can stop them. "Would that… suffice?"

Silence follows, his breathing seems to stop.

A lock of hair would belong to you, not the Saintess. A proof of your worldliness, beyond the connection to Ethelion's divine essence. Something that is of the girl and not the holy maiden. Is that what he seeks?

"Your hair," he breathes out in an exhale, as if tasting the words. He appears completely entranced and you become conscious of yourself, the inappropriate nature of just what you brought up.

You draw a slow, shaky breath, the idea settling uneasily in your chest. There’s something intensely personal, too intimate about the exchange. "No, you misunderstand—"

"Your hair, Saintess," he repeats it again, this time more forceful than you've ever seen him; you'd never dare refuse this request and it steals your breath, silencing every protest rising in your throat. "I will accept no less."

Leon rises to his feet, dwarfing you with his broad frame. For the very first time, in Ethelion's presence, you feel small and helpless, like a child who's wandered into his garden. There's something overwhelmingly disarming about sharing this space with him. A foreign sensation blooms within you— a spark that threatens to ignite your world into flames—but you dare not give it voice.

Leon had once worn his armor with pride, each plate fastened like a second skin, the weight of his sword as natural as the rhythm of his heartbeat. Every step forward felt as if he marched hand in hand with something divine, a force greater than himself guiding his every move. The blessing of the saintess had lingered on his skin, a quiet touch that had etched itself into his soul, fortifying his resolve. He had believed, back then, that he was a vessel of the god’s will.

That was years ago.

Now, standing at the edge of the battlefield, the familiar weight of his armor feels heavier, pressing down like an unbearable burden. The bitter taste of dried sweat clings to his lips, and a dull ache pulses beneath his ribs where his armor had done little to stop the last blow. The sun glares down on the blood-soaked earth, the cries of the wounded melding with the clash of steel and the sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground.

This was not what he envisioned. There was nothing divine here.

A shout rises above the noise, sharp and commanding, drawing his gaze toward the horizon. The enemy soldiers draped in black, surge over the hill like a wave of shadow. His grip tightens around his sword, the hilt slick with a mixture of blood and sweat, fingers straining against the leather-bound grip.

“Leon!” A voice, rough and worn from years of battle, cuts through the din. Leon turns, his eyes locking onto Captain Krauser, a veteran whose gaze is as sharp as a hawk’s. His expression is hard, impatient. “Orders from the Temple: we flank their left side!”

Leon’s heart clenches at the mention of the Temple.

It had been a long time since the orders felt pure, righteous. The Church’s demands had grown more questionable with each passing day. What had once been a campaign to protect the kingdom and its people now reeked of ambition—land grabs disguised as divine conquest. Territories seized, villages razed under the pretense of holy duty.

But Leon doesn’t question. He never has. He is a soldier, a paladin. A servant of Ethelion.

The memory of you—serene, always hidden beneath the mask you wore as the Saintess—surfaces in his mind, unbidden, his anchor to the divine, the blessing you placed on him sacred. You believed in him, blessed him with your blood, and for that, he would fight. For that, he would fulfill his duty.

He moves after Krauser, silent as a ghost, maneuvering through the throng of soldiers until they reach the flank. The enemy’s forces are spread thin, their attempt to push the kingdom’s army back leaving them exposed. It should be an easy victory. A victory that would tighten their grip on the region, crush the enemy’s morale.

The order comes swiftly, brutal and final: Leave no one alive.

Leon hesitates, his sword held in a grip that tightens until his knuckles ache. Leave no one alive. The same command they’d been given in the last village. And the one before that. What once felt justifiable—crushing the enemy for the kingdom’s safety—now sits like lead in his bones.

Those they slaughtered hadn’t been soldiers. They were farmers, villagers. Innocents. Women and children.

He closes his eyes for a brief moment, and the memory of the last village rises unbidden, a flash behind his eyelids. He can still smell the smoke, hear the anguished cries of mothers shielding their children. His punishment for hesitating, for not cutting through them as he did the soldiers, feels lighter than the weight of that memory.

“Are you deaf, shiny?” Krauser says with a low growl, dragging him back to the present. “I said move.”

Leon’s jaw tightens, the muscles in his neck pulling taut. His body moves automatically, his sword rising as he steps forward, following the rest of the paladins into the fray. Steel clashes with steel, bodies crash against one another, but the noise fades, swallowed by the gnawing doubt lodged deep in his chest. He strikes down another soldier, their blood splattering across his already stained armor, but the pit in his stomach only deepens.

He had been blessed to protect the kingdom, to serve the saintess. How did it come to this? When did righteousness turn into this—bloodlust veiled by holy orders?

Each swing of his sword feels heavier, as though the weight of every soul he cuts down drags him closer to the earth. He fells another enemy, watching as the light drains from their eyes, but it’s not just the life that drains from them—it’s something in him too.

This war, it’s nothing like he’d imagined. In the temple, they had spoken of glory, of righteousness, of battles fought in the name of Ethelion. His fellow soldiers had whispered about the honor of dying for the Temple, the promise of eternal life in the afterworld. They had made war sound like a divine calling, a sacred rite of passage where every death was sanctified, every act of violence blessed.

Out here, there is no glory.

Only blood.

The blood of his brothers, mingled with the enemy’s, staining the dirt beneath their feet. The screams of dying men linger in his ears long after the fighting stops. He’s seen cities burn, watched women and children scramble through the streets, faces twisted in terror, only to fall under a volley of arrows or be trampled beneath the horses of his comrades.

Leon had thought he could stomach it. He’d steeled himself for the brutal reality of war. But nothing prepared him for the guilt, the crushing weight of it, as each atrocity committed in Ethelion’s name piles higher on his soul.

At first, he’d believed the bloodshed was necessary, part of the divine plan. But with every passing day, that belief crumbles a little more, cracking like fragile glass.

Now, standing over the bodies of men who’d once fought to protect their own, Leon can barely remember why he’s here. He can’t recall the saintess’s face anymore—only a faint echo of your eyes, the memory fading like a forgotten dream.

How did the lines blur so completely?

He tightens his grip on his sword, but the weight of it feels foreign, like a weapon forged for someone else.

Facing the fire, Leon watches the flames dance, their orange glow casting restless light over the camp. The logs hiss and crackle as they blacken, edges curling inward with each passing flicker. Every so often, flares shoot out from the heart of the fire, sending sparks spiraling up into the night before falling back down into the pyre. Heat washes over his face, warm yet uncomfortable, the kind that burns if stared at for too long. Leon turns away, unable to face his own reflection in the fire’s glow.

Around him, shadows shift across the ground as torchlight flickers over tents and hastily constructed barriers. Laughter rises from nearby campfires, men gathered in groups, boasting about their conquests in battle, their stories of women left behind growing hazy with time. The smell of roasting meat mingles with the sharp bite of smoke as soldiers cheerfully drink from their ale rations. Some play cards or dice, animated, full of hope for victories yet to come. Others simply bask in the temporary lull, telling tales of their glory to fill the silence.

Leon keeps his distance, seeking refuge near a cluster of trees where the light barely reaches, and the noise fades to a murmur. His back rests against a sturdy trunk, sword and shield propped beside him, the armor around him a forgotten weight. He has no desire to join in the revelry. Solitude feels more fitting—more honest. He closes his eyes, trying to relish the brief respite, though the chance of true rest feels distant, as elusive as peace itself.

"If you don’t eat, you’ll lose your strength." A gruff scoff breaks the silence, drawing Leon from his thoughts. He glances sideways to find Captain Krauser standing above him, holding out a steaming bowl of stew. The smell of the meat, thick with gravy, rises into the cool night air, but Leon’s stomach churns at the sight of it.

"Captain Krauser," Leon mutters, accepting the bowl out of obligation more than hunger, balancing it on one knee. "Didn’t feel like celebrating with the others."

Krauser doesn’t move. He stands there, arms crossed, his bulk casting a shadow that blocks the faint moonlight. His scarred face is half-illuminated by the fire’s glow, the deep lines etched into his skin more pronounced in the flickering light.

Leon stirs the stew absently, blowing on it before taking a small bite. It’s warm, but tasteless. Each mouthful feels like ash, though he forces himself to swallow.

Krauser lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. He lowers himself to the ground beside Leon with a heavy sigh, the earth shifting beneath his weight. "Is that guilt weighing you down, shiny?" His voice is rough, edged with a mockery that barely conceals his weariness. "Because that’s a damn waste of time."

Shiny. The word used to grate on Leon—an insult for paladins whose armor hasn’t yet been sullied by enough blood and battle. His once-polished metal has long since dulled, but the name lingers. Now, he doesn’t care what anyone calls him. It’s just another word.

"Just a bad feeling," Leon replies with a shrug, forcing another spoonful down. The broth is bland, lukewarm at best, but he eats slowly anyway, chewing as if it will somehow ground him in the present.

Krauser grunts, his large frame shifting uncomfortably as he leans back against the tree. "You’re learning." He pauses, eyes narrowing slightly as he glances toward the distant glow of campfires. "New orders came in. We move south at first light to intercept a convoy carrying supplies."

Leon keeps eating, though his grip tightens slightly on the spoon. He waits. There’s always more.

"Intelligence says there may be hostages," Krauser adds, his voice turning grim. Leon notices how the lines around his eyes seem deeper, more etched than before. There’s exhaustion in them, though it’s well hidden behind his hardened exterior. "Our task is to eliminate the threat to the kingdom."

"Kill the hostages?" Leon’s response is flat, more a statement than a question.

A heavy silence falls between them, stretching like a weight neither of them wants to bear. The fire crackles on, sending occasional sparks into the air, while the distant hum of soldiers' voices fades into the background. The smell of burning wood fills the space between them, thick and stifling.

Krauser doesn’t answer immediately. His jaw clenches, the scar on his face pulling tight as he looks ahead, not meeting Leon’s gaze. "You know the orders," he says finally, the words dropping like stones into the quiet. "We do what we’re told."

Leon lowers the spoon, the taste of the stew forgotten as his stomach twists. He’s not surprised, but that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow. He stares into the fire again, watching as the flames curl around the blackened logs, reducing them to nothing but ash.

The sword feels heavier today.

Leon rides ahead of the troops, the rhythmic clop of horseshoes striking the stone path echoing across the endless stretch of open land before him. The morning sun climbs lazily in the sky, casting pale light that stretches the shadows of soldiers and horses over fields soon to be stained with blood.

His breath puffs in the crisp air, small clouds that vanish as quickly as they form. His fingers tighten around the sword’s hilt, knuckles whitening under the strain, even though there’s no immediate need to wield it. Sweat runs in a thin line down his spine, sticking his shirt to his skin beneath the armor.

Behind him, the sounds of the army in preparation are a constant hum—swords being drawn from scabbards, armor buckled into place, horses snorting in nervous agitation. Soldiers march in disciplined ranks, though their faces carry the tension of men too aware of what’s to come. Some are barely more than boys, fresh to the battlefield, eyes wide with fear they think they can hide. The village lies beyond the next ridge, nestled in the hills. The command had been clear: leave none alive.

Leon shifts uncomfortably in the saddle. His throat tightens with the weight of it, as if each breath is a struggle to swallow the bitter taste of what they’re about to do. He glances to the soldiers beside him, seeing faces too young, too eager to kill or die, all in the name of a god who remains as distant as the stars.

There was a time when Ethelion’s will felt as close as his own heartbeat. When the saintess’s blessings had filled him with purpose, your touch a reminder of the grace he fought to protect. What would you think of him now? Would you still offer him your blessing, knowing the blood that stains his hands? The lives he’s taken, the innocents who died beneath his blade?

As they near the village, Leon pulls back on the reins, slowing his horse. The captain riding beside him narrows his gaze, a sharp glance cast his way, but Leon doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Captain,” Leon’s voice comes out rougher than intended. “What if we’re wrong?”

The captain scoffs, not even turning his head. “Wrong? These people are traitors. They must be dealt with.”

Leon’s grip tightens around the reins, the leather biting into his palms. “But we have no proof. No confirmation that they’ve—”

“There is no what if, shiny,” the captain cuts him off, his tone as cold and unyielding as iron. “Our orders are clear. Or have you forgotten your place?”

Leon swallows hard, his throat dry. His place. To serve, to obey, to carry out the will of Ethelion without question.

But his place has never felt so wrong.

They crest the final hill, the village coming into view below. Smoke rises lazily from chimneys, the scent of cooking fires carried on the wind. From a distance, it looks serene. Peaceful. The villagers go about their day, unaware of the army bearing down on them, unaware that in moments, their world will be torn apart.

Leon’s stomach churns. His horse shifts beneath him, sensing his unease, and he forces a slow breath, trying to calm the storm of doubt swirling inside him. His brothers-in-arms march forward, steady and resolute, their swords ready, their minds set on the task ahead.

But Leon’s horse won’t move. It stands rooted, mirroring the weight in his soul.

The captain urges his own horse forward, barking orders to the soldiers to fan out and surround the village. Leon watches as they obey without hesitation, without question. Their faces remain emotionless, minds focused on the task at hand.

How can they not feel it? How can they not sense the wrongness of what they’re about to do?

As the soldiers advance, the first shouts of alarm rise from the village below. Leon can hear it—the panic in their voices, see the sudden fear on their faces. Mothers pulling children close, men scrambling to gather their families. Chaos erupts as arrows fly and swords are raised, and yet, Leon remains frozen in place, his hand trembling on the reins.

The first bodies fall, the clash of steel and screams blending into a cacophony that drowns everything else. The world tilts beneath him, the ground shifting as the sickening sound of death fills his ears, louder than the wind, louder than anything.

I can’t do this.

The thought slices through the haze like a knife.

I can’t.

His grip tightens further on the reins, every muscle in his body tensing, ready to move, ready to do something. Anything.

A shout from behind jerks him from his paralysis. “Sir!”

Leon turns sharply, his pulse racing. A young messenger rides toward him, his face pale, fear etched into every line as he pulls his horse to a stop, barely managing to speak through gasps for air. “Urgent orders from the capital! Princess Ashley has been taken by the enemy. We must mobilize immediately to retrieve her.”

Leon’s heart slams against his ribs.

The princess. The heir to the throne.

For a brief, blessed moment, the chaos of the battlefield fades away, replaced by the only thing that matters. He can save her. He can stop this madness and do something that truly matters.

But the church has other orders.

The captain rides over, his brow furrowed as he tears the sealed letter from the messenger’s hand, the royal crest glinting in the sunlight. He scans it quickly, his expression hardening with each passing second before crumpling the parchment and tossing it to the ground.

“We proceed as planned,” the captain snaps, his tone cold, final.

Leon’s blood runs cold. “But the princess—”

“The orders stand,” the captain repeats, not even glancing at him. “We were sent here to purge this village of traitors, and that’s what we’ll do.”

The sound fades from Leon’s ears, replaced by a sharp ringing that drowns out the Captain ordering the messenger away and trying to direct him to the nearest base.

His pulse pounds in his temples, each beat like a hammer driving nails into his resolve. This isn’t just another village. This isn’t just another order. It’s the future of the kingdom hanging in the balance, and they’re about to throw it all away for what? For bloodshed masquerading as faith?

The bile rises in Leon’s throat, bitter and burning.

He thought he could stomach war. He thought he could follow orders, no matter how brutal. But this?

The last thread of the leash holding him snaps.

Leon’s hands shake on the reins as the captain’s sharp gaze lands on him. “Leon,” the captain growls, noticing his hesitation, “Remember yourself.”

An oath. To serve, to obey, to protect.

But as he looks out over the village, sees the smoke rising, the screams tearing through the air, Leon knows the truth.

This isn’t the will of Ethelion.

This is the will of men.

Men who’ve twisted the divine into something grotesque, something that demands blood for power. Men who’ve forgotten what they were supposed to protect.

Your face flashes before him—soft, kind, with that quiet strength. The words you once spoke come back to him, clear in the chaos.

One is not born to greatness. One achieves it.

“I can’t do this,” Leon whispers, the words slipping out before he can stop them. His voice is barely a breath, but the weight of the truth in them rings louder in his mind than any shout of command.

The captain’s gaze sharpens. “What did you say?”

Leon meets his eyes, feeling the fire build inside him. “I won’t do this,” he repeats, stronger now. “I won’t sit by and watch us slaughter innocents while the kingdom’s heir is in danger.”

“You swore an oath.”

“I swore an oath to protect,” Leon retorts, his breath catching as conviction tightens his chest. “And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

For a long, tense moment, silence stretches between them. The captain’s face twists in fury, his hand hovering near his sword. “You defy the Temple, and you defy Ethelion himself. You’ll be branded an oathbreaker. You’ll never be able to return.”

An oathbreaker. Cast out from the temple, from the faith, from you.

But Leon knows, deep down, that this decision was made long before he spoke the words.

“If following the Temple means abandoning the kingdom, then I’ll bear that title gladly.”

The captain’s jaw tightens, fury flashing in his eyes, but Leon doesn’t wait for the response. He turns his horse with a sharp tug, spurring it forward. The wind rushes against his face as he rides, faster and faster, leaving behind the chaos, the orders, the lies.

He knows what this means. He knows what’s waiting for him at the end of this path. There will be no place for him in the temple, no return to the saintess’s grace.

But as the wind cuts through him, sharp and freeing, he knows one thing for certain:

He’s made his choice.

And now, he’ll live with it.

The streets of the capital are thick with people, their cheers rising in waves that echoed off the towering stone walls of the city, the air alive with the sounds of celebration—laughter, music, the rhythmic beat of drums that thrummed through the cobblestone streets like a heartbeat. Banners of blue and gold flutter in the breeze, catching the midday sun and casting fractured patterns of light across the throngs of spectators who lined the streets.

And there, at the center of it all, rides Leon, astride a massive warhorse clad in gleaming black barding, the royal crest of Ethelion emblazoned on its chest. The horse’s hooves clatter against the stones, a steady, rhythmic sound that matches the beat of the drums, though Leon barely hears it. His focus is elsewhere—distant, cold, fixed on a point far beyond the horizon as the cheers of the people wash over him like distant waves.

He sits tall in the saddle, his body encased in full black armor that gleams like polished obsidian despite the streaks of dried blood splattered across the metal. His cape, once a regal white, fluttered in the breeze, its edges torn and frayed from the brutal campaign that had crowned him victor. Though battered, the helmet is tucked under his arm, leaving his face exposed to the cool autumn air.

The cheers from the crowd echo off the stone buildings, filling the air with a roar of excitement and adoration. Cries of “Long live Sir Leon!” and “Hail the hero!” ring out from every direction, the people pushing and jostling to catch sight of him as he rode by.

It all means little to him.

They shout his name, faces alight with joy, hailing him as their hero, their savior. He has returned from the war triumphant, Princess Ashley safe at his side, the enemy defeated and the kingdom secured. To them, he is a figure of legend, a warrior draped in glory and victory.

But to Leon, the glory feels hollow, like fool’s gold.

He fought for close to a decade, driven by a purpose that no longer existed. The blood on his armor, the lives lost in his name—it all seems to blur together in his mind, a swirling mass of faces and screams that he can’t escape. Even here, amidst the fanfare and celebration, the battlefield clings to him, its shadow cast long and dark over his soul.

The people can’t see it. They see only the armor, the crown of laurels resting atop his head, the bloodied sword at his side. They don’t see the burden of it, the way it presses down on him like a sin he could never lay down.

He glances to the side as the parade moved forward, the crowds pressing in closer as they strained to catch a glimpse of the soldiers coming home. Children are perched on their parents’ shoulders, waving small flags, their faces painted in the colors of the kingdom. Women throw flowers from their balconies, petals raining down like confetti, their bright colors almost a mockery to the dark steel of his armor.

And then, through the sea of faces, something catches his eye.

A small blur, darting between the legs of the adults, weaving through the crowd with surprising speed and determination. Leon’s gaze sharpens, his body tensing instinctively as he tracks the movement, his hand hovering near the hilt of his sword.

It’s a child.

A little girl, no more than seven or eight years old, her hair tied in messy braids, face flushed with excitement. She breaks free from the crowd, slipping past the guards who stood watch along the edges of the street, and before anyone can stop her, she runs toward Leon, her small hands clutching something tightly to her chest.

The crowd gasps, a murmur rippling through as the girl reaches Leon’s horse. The guards move forward, ready to intervene, but Leon holds up a hand, signaling for them to stop.

He looks down at the child, eyes dark and tired. The little girl stares up at him, her chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths, wide eyes filled with awe and something else—something Leon hasn’t seen in a long time.

Hope.

For a moment, the world slows, the noise of the crowd fading into the background as Leon and the girl lock eyes. She is so small, so fragile, standing there in front of him, her little hands trembling as she holds something out to him on her tiptoes.

A flower.

A single white lily, its petals slightly crumpled from her tight grip, but still intact, still whole. She raises it up to him, her hands shaking, lips parting in a shy, nervous smile.

“For you, sir,” she yells, her voice barely audible over the distant roar of the crowd. “Thank you for saving us!”

Leon stares down at the flower, his heart constricting painfully in his chest. The blood on his armor, the dirt caked beneath his fingernails, the weight of the sword at his side—all of it feels wrong in the presence of such innocence. He’s a soldier who threw away his oath, a killer, a man forged in the fires of war, and yet here stands this child, offering him a flower as if he were something more than just the weapon the kingdom had wielded.

His hand, still encased in the cold metal of his gauntlet, moves slowly, hesitantly, as if it doesn’t belong to him. He reaches down, the armor creaking with the motion, and gently takes the flower from the girl’s outstretched hands. The petals brush against the bloodstained metal of his gloves, stark and bright against the darkness of his armor.

“Thank you,” Leon mumbles, rough and strained, the words catching in his throat. His grip tightens around the delicate stem of the flower, careful not to crush it. For a brief moment, the warmth of the child’s gesture pierces through the fog of guilt and weariness that’s permanently settled over him, a glimmer of light in the darkness.

The little girl’s face lights up with a smile, her eyes shining with pure, untainted joy. She stands there and jumps up and down with excitement, beaming up at him as if he were the sun itself, as if his presence alone could banish the shadows that lingered at the edges of her world.

But Leon knows better. He feels the lock of hair curled inside the locket above his heart burn his skin.

The grand doors of the royal palace groan open with an echoing creak, revealing the hall beyond—a glittering display of prosperity and flamboyance that seems to scorn the simple austerity of the life Leon has known. Polished marble floors gleam beneath chandeliers of wrought gold, their light refracting off mirrors that line the walls. The air here is crisp, almost sharp with nose-breaking blends of perfumes, with none of the heavy warmth of the temple's incense.

Leon’s boots click sharply against the marble as he enters, each step ringing out in the cavernous hall, a sound swallowed by the murmurs of the courtiers who line the edges of the room. The steady hum of muted conversations fills his ears, escorted by the occasional clink of glasses. They watch him with calculating eyes, the nobles dressed in silks and velvets of every hue, faces painted with smiles too precise to be genuine, as suffocating as the armor that once bore him through battle.

He feels naked without it now, standing here in formal garb, his sword sheathed and distant at his side, a mere symbol of his victory rather than a tool of survival. The dark fabric of his tunic hangs heavy on his shoulders, trimmed with the royal blue of the kingdom.

Ahead, at the far end of the hall, the king sits on his throne. The high-backed chair is a towering edifice of dark wood, inlaid with gold and precious stones that sparkle under the dazzling chandeliers. The king himself is an imposing figure, draped in royal blues and deep purples, a crown resting atop his graying hair. He watches Leon’s approach with the same detachment as the nobles—his gaze that of a man weighing the worth of a tool rather than acknowledging the triumph of a soldier.

As Leon reaches the dais, he stops, kneeling—an action that should feel natural after years of service, but here, it is different.

The king rises slowly, the robes trailing around his feet like the velvet shadows of dusk, and approaches with the same calculated precision that governs the court. A ceremonial scepter gleams in his hand, more ornament than authority, but its significance is clear.

“Sir Leon,” the king’s words cut through the room like the edge of a blade, each syllable crisp, measured. “You stand before this court as a hero of our realm. For your valor in battle, for your unwavering loyalty to the crown, and for the rescue of Princess Ashley, I bestow upon you the title of Margrave.”

The tap of the scepter on Leon’s shoulder is light, almost delicate, but it might as well have been a hammer.

The king returns to his throne, settling back with a rustle of silk, and gestures for Leon to rise. “Rise, Margrave.”

Leon pushes to his feet, the formality of the moment bearing down upon him as the court claps in practiced politeness. Their applause is soft, a murmur of sound that fades almost as quickly as it had begun, leaving the room in an expectant silence.

It is time.

A low ripple of movement stirs at the far end of the hall as the clergy step forward. Robes of pristine white trail across the floor as the procession approaches, a stark contrast to the vivid blues and purples of the nobility. At the head of the clergy is the Archbishop, his ceremonial staff clicking rhythmically against the floor with each step. And beside him—veiled, serene, and radiant in her holy robes—is the saintess. The mask is a pure white, veil milky and opaque; the contrasts of light and darkness across its fabric give the impression of a reflection on water, of a thousand shifting stars under the sun. On your head rests a delicate crown of silver thorns, interwoven with fine filigree, glimmering like fresh snow, hands folded in your lap are covered by silk gloves, so smooth they almost shine.

Leon’s heart stutters.

This is the moment he has been longing for, the only prayer that’s ever left his lips even after his faith had fallen.

He has endured the war, survived the bloodshed, all for this. For you. For the woman who has been his guiding light, the saintess who had once healed him with her touch, whose presence had filled the void within him during the long, cold nights on the battlefield.

He steps forward, his hands trembling at his sides, his breath catching in his throat as the group approaches the dais.

His knee wants to bend before he even realizes it, the instinct to kneel before you stronger than any other impulse.

But as when you take your place atop the steps of the dais, hands raised in the familiar gesture of blessing, something gnaws at him—an unease that creeps along the edges of his mind. The movement of your hands, the tilt of your head—it is all wrong. Too stiff, too formal.

He hesitates.

The room holds its breath, the nobles watching in silence as the saintess descends down towards him, the veil obscuring your features, body swathed in layers of white that flutter with each step.

Leon’s pulse quickens, and his eyes—despite his every effort not to—search for yours through the veil and the mask. He needs confirmation that it’s him who has changed. He needs to see, even if it is just the glimpse of the eyes he had held in his memory through every moment of agony, through every victory.

But as you draw closer, his stomach drops.

The eyes behind the veil—dark, unfamiliar, and cold—are not yours.

His body freezes, his muscles locking in place as the realization hits him with the force of a blow.

This isn’t you.

This woman—this stranger—isn’t the one he had fought for, the one whose face had kept him alive in the blood-soaked trenches of the war.

The saintess lowers her hands, preparing to lay her blessing upon him, but Leon jerks back, his knees refusing to bend, breath quick and sharp in his chest. The room grows still, the murmurs of the nobles faltering as the tension thickens around him like a noose.

The Archbishop’s head snaps toward him, the ceremonial calm in his expression faltering for just a moment. His fingers tighten around the staff, the knuckles turning white beneath the pressure.

“Margrave,” the Archbishop’s reprimand is sharp, cutting through the air like the crack of a whip. “You must kneel to receive the Saintess’s blessing.”

Leon’s fists clench at his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking under the strain. His body is trembling, but it isn’t from fear. It is from the fear-soaked anger that is building inside him, slow and burning like a fire stoked too long. His gaze fixes on the false saintess, his heart thundering in his chest, his mind spinning with questions that have no answers.

Where are you?

The walls close in, the air thick with the silent judgment of nobles and clergy. Each breath is a growing struggle, laden with the oppressive load of their expectations. His limbs feel anchored, refusing to bow before this stranger, this imposter.

“Margrave,” the Archbishop’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and commanding. His eyes flash a stern warning. “You will kneel.”

The pressure shatters.

Leon’s body moves before he can stop it, his hands flying out to grab the front of the Archbishop’s robes, yanking him forward with a force that sends the man stumbling, the ornate staff clattering to the floor. A collective gasp sweeps through the room, the nobles recoiling in shock as Leon’s voice, low and ragged, spills out.

“Where is she?” His hiss is a harsh rasp, breaths coming in short, jagged bursts. “Where is the real Saintess?”

The Archbishop’s face twists in fury, his hands flailing against Leon’s iron grip. “Unhand me, you fool! You stand in the presence of Ethelion’s chosen—”

“No.” The word is a snarl, the growl of an animal promising to get violent. Leon’s grip tightens, the anger boiling over, his muscles trembling with the force of it. “What have you done with her?”

The room descends into chaos. Nobles rise from their seats, the sound of their hurried footsteps mingling with the low murmur of alarmed voices. The clergy shift uneasily, their faces pale, but none of them dare to move. The paladins stationed near the walls exchange nervous glances, their hands hovering near their swords, but none step forward.

They have seen what Leon is capable of.

“Release me!” The Archbishop’s voice cracks, his pale face contorted with fear and rage. “You dare attack the church? You will be branded a heretic for this!”

Leon barely hears them, his body trembling with rage as he stares down the terrified clergyman clawing at his arm, nails digging into Leon's skin, leaving behind bloody scratches.

“I don’t care.” Leon’s voice is low, silent, the words spilling from him like venom. “Tell me where she is.”

Before the Archbishop can answer, a hand—small, yet firm—clamps down on Leon’s shoulder.

Princess Ashley doesn’t release his arm as she pulls him toward the side of the throne room, guiding him through the side doors that lead into a quieter, more secluded hallway. The heavy wooden door closes behind them with a dull thud, cutting off the noise of the throne room and leaving them in a sudden, suffocating stillness.

Leon exhales, his breath shuddering as he leans against the wall, one hand coming up to palm at his face, and between his fingers, stares down at the ground with a wild look.

[bones4thecats]

What If Their S/O Was A Royal Heir?

Type of Writing: #1 - Poll Result Characters: Riddle Rosehearts, Idia Shroud, Jamil Viper, and Jack Howl Name: What If Their S/O Was A Royal Heir? Original Poll Link: Here

A/N: Alright, so, the basic set-up behind this is in the order of pieces on my upcoming list is going to be the order in which these are released. Also, requests shall NOT be reopened until I finish at least most of the random prompts I have are done, thanks!

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

❤️ You were a descendant of the Queen who took up after the Queen of Hearts passed away years ago, and ever since then, your family has ruled the Queendom of Roses without faults

❤️ Because of fears of betrayal and such, your family never really spoke to many others outside of work, but, when you received a letter claiming your advising attendance at Night Raven College, you jumped at the opportunity

❤️ When you arrived, you suffered far less criticism from Riddle than others, and many believed that he feared you because of your ranking, he didn't want to upset his mother

❤️ But, when you guys started to befriend one another and began your relationship, you figured out the true reason he didn't behead you as much as others

❤️ He didn't wish to bring any shame to his family, and when you saw how down he looked about that thought, you admitted to faking so many smiles, just because it was what your ancestor, known as the White Queen did

" I guess we aren't that different after all, huh? "

❤️ Ever since that day, you have recommenced having his parents meet yours, and, despite his constant pleas of you letting it go, you finally relented and asked for him to at least help you send a letter to his mother

❤️ Riddle's mother not-shockingly wasn't fond that her son began to see someone without her permission, but, when she realized how prominent you were in their homeland, she had to relent and allow your relationship to proceed, she didn't need the royal guard on her back

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🎮 How did this guy manage to get your attention? The world may never know

🎮 As a higher-ranked official, specifically a descendant of the man who took the thrown of the King of the Underworld after his demise, you were normally thrown into many different affairs, making you try hiding away constantly

🎮 Thankfully, your prayers of freedom were answered, and you got an offer to join Night Raven College, and your family couldn't hold you back, since you gave the school a solid yes behind their backs

🎮 When you were organized into Ignihyde with Idia, he was very intimidated by you, since you were so popular among students

🎮 Though, funnily enough, you would go running away from the many students who wanted to ask you for things, and you would end up running into a nearby room, one in which Idia was occupying alone

🎮 You guys started speaking about how much you enjoyed a game and you ended up becoming quite close, in which you helped with with building Ortho's mechanical body

🎮 Idia was definitely nervous when you started your relationship, to him, you were the best thing to exist; powerful - yet caring, and quite smart when it comes to strategies, while he was, in his opinion, odd and not-worthy of you

🎮 Most of the time, he pushes your ranking in the Island of Woe, if you could push his issues aside, then he could put everything about you aside as well!

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🐍 Many feared you because of how logical you were, you were rumored to be able to see through any kind of lies or, really, any kind of deceit, no matter the person

🐍 Jamil had heard about you mainly from Kalim and his parents, as you were a far-off relative of the Al-Asim's, specifically, you were a descendant of the Sultana from hundreds of years ago

🐍 You were being forced to heir the thrown, since your older brother had been assassinated a few years prior, and when you came by for a summer to spend time with your younger distant cousins, he would be lying if he said he wasn't fond of you

🐍 Whenever you noticed that Kalim was getting to be too much for Jamil, you would grab the young ball-of-sunshine and ask if he wanted to play with his younger siblings and you

🐍 Due to your far different rankings, you kept your relationship hidden, as you didn't wish for your family's council to end up punishing his family, who had done nothing wrong

🐍 Jamil would normally grab you and him a small cup of tea and relax with you on the balcony of your room, keeping the silence either in progress or cut it out with conversations about your lives and dreams of the future

🐍 And while your relationship may be in forcible secrecy, you shared your dream of living with Jamil by your side, either ruling over your homeland or relinquishing your role to one of your younger siblings to travel with your one and only

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🐺 Jack knew quite a bit about you, as his parents loved to tell stories of the news to him and his younger siblings as they grew older, and they just made the news more recent and a hint more mature as Jack aged

🐺 So, when you arrived at Night Raven College at the same time as him, he was quite excited when you were organixed in the same dorm as him, Savanaclaw

🐺 He noticed how casually you would speak to Leona, and that was when the pieces of his mind actually realized just who you were

🐺 As the second-in-line heir to the Shaftlands, and the offspring of the descendant of the Fairest Queen and a high-ranking raven beastman, you had met the two heirs of Sunset Savannah early on in life, prompting a strong friendship between you and the lion-beastman to emerge

🐺 Jack began to speak with you when he saw how you trained your unique magic to be stronger than it was at the start of the year, and he began to train with you

🐺 One day, his siblings decided to come by for a visit, they stopped and starred at you as your boyfriend chuckled and introduced you, and after hearing your role and name, the young boy and girl began to bombard you with questions on your life as a royal member

🐺 The wolf-beastman smiled and watched as you spoke gently with his siblings as his grandparents and parents asked him how you met and when you began your relationship

🐺 He just smiled and answered them honestly, and he hoped one day his family could meet yours, and the kids you were currently playing with were adults as your own children took their places...

[writingstoraes]

secret trip 🛫

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: instagram imagine, social media au

notes: this seemed like a really cute idea so! lmk what u guys think 🤍 requests for charles imagines are open btw! pls send some cause my own ideas r betraying me rn lolol

about: the entire grid seems to be going to italy together, fans can't seem to put the pieces together!

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, ferrarifan, wagsf1, and 234,110 others

yourusername with love, italy

isahernaez Have fun, babes ❤️

yourusername wish you were here 😣

wagslove SOOO GORGEOUS

charles_leclerc My beautiful angel

yourusername love you, handsome :D

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, carlossainz55, maxverstappen, and 1,334,982 others

charles_leclerc Loving the view a little too much, loving my muse the most.

f1films Charles and Y/N vacationing in Italy is something I never knew I needed

mercgirl I think they're with some of the drivers, check their stories

pierregasly Have the best time 😝

arthurleclerc No picture of me?

charles_leclerc Leave the hotel for once?

carlossainz55 and pierregasly recently added to their instagram stories!

danielricciardo and landonorris recently added to their instagram stories!

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, pascale_leclerc, and 345,892 others

yourusername good food, good times, and the best people ❤️

pierregasly Someone pass the salt

carlossainz55 Why did you feel the need to ask that here pierregasly Why do you wanna know? 🙄

charles_leclerc No one told me Max gets wine drunk...

yourusername i say whoever ordered the wine takes care of him danielricciardo That champagne saving me right now 🤣

ferrarihorse I didn't know all of you were all so close omg this is adorable

charlesfearless italy with my loml and friends... now i want that

yourusername and charles_leclerc recently added to their instagram stories!

Trans: Nothing I'd love more than spending a lifetime with you.

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, isahernaez, and 501,221 others

yourusername the answer to the million dollar question — why everyone seems to have flown to italy, well it's because today, i married the love of my life who also happens to be my best friend and my answered prayer.

i have had the best time conquering the world with you, my love. from the big romantic moments to the small mundane things, you make life more pleasurable. here's to forever 🥂

tagged: charles_leclerc

charlosfan aaaa an intimate wedding! truly one of the best option, congratulations to my favorite couple <3

yourusername thank you love! it really was nice being surrounded by close friends and family ❤️

scuderiaferrari Best wishes, Y/N and Charles! We still remember your first paddock appearance as a couple; time truly has flown!

charlieferrari I KNEW ITTTT MY FRIEND OWES ME 50 DOLLARS LOL

yourusername hahaha thank you for the faith then 🙏

lewishamilton Congratulations once again, you two! What an honor to be there as you celebrate a new milestone in your life together 🎉

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, arthurleclerc, lewishamilton, and 1,982,221 others

charles_leclerc Exactly five years ago, I could not resist asking for your first name just so I could see you again. Today, you took mine.

J'ai hâte de passer ma vie à t'aimer. I cannot wait to spend my life loving you.

tagged: yourusername

pierregasly Haha you weren't best man carlossainz55

carlossainz55 You weren't either?

maxverstappen Time to bring out the wine 🍷

charles_leclerc No landonorris No danielricciardo With love, no

carlossainz55 Overflowing best wishes, mate! You owe me for actually sending Y/N the text of you wanting to ask her out 😁

---------

tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12

notes: believe it or not this prompt has been gathering dust on my notes lol lmk what u guys think! also lmk if anyone wants to be a part of my permanent taglist :)

[poohsources]

🐝  *  ―  𝑷𝑰𝑪𝑲 𝑼𝑷 𝑻𝑬𝑿𝑻 𝑴𝑬𝑺𝑺𝑨𝑮𝑬𝑺. 

[ 📲 message sent: ]  do you smoke pot? cause weed be cute together. [ 📲 message sent: ]  do you believe in love at first swipe or should i match with you again? [ 📲 message sent: ]  i see me in your future 🔮 [ 📲 message sent: ]  i can't see you right now but i bet you look great [ 📲 message sent: ]  can you send me a selfie? i just want to show my mom what my future partner looks like. [ 📲 message sent: ]  are you http? because without you i'm only :// [ 📲 message sent: ]  i believe in following my dreams ... so you lead the way. [ 📲 message sent: ]  should we get coffee? cause i like you a latte. [ 📲 message sent: ]  i see you like tequila ... does that mean you'll give me a shot? [ 📲 message sent: ]  you know what's beautiful? read the first word. [ 📲 message sent: ]  i bet you smiled when you saw my name pop up on your phone just now. [ 📲 message sent: ]  take a guess. which emoji did i place next to your name on my phone? [ 📲 message sent: ]  i'm sending you hugs and kisses 😘 [ 📲 message sent: ]  i just accidentally walked into a pole because i was thoughtlessly staring and smiling at your text messages. [ 📲 message sent: ]  i never believed in love at first sight until i saw your profile picture. [ 📲 message sent: ]  i do not think much. i do not think often. but when i do, i think of you. [ 📲 message sent: ]  just so you know, i'm not flirting with you. i'm just being extra nice to you since you're extra attractive. [ 📲 message sent: ]  you're so beautiful that i actually forgot that i was supposed to send you a pick-up line. [ 📲 message sent: ]  you see, i really suck at starting conversations. do you want to try? [ 📲 message sent: ]  are you free for the rest of your life? [ 📲 message sent: ]  ugh, i have to go to some boring event. will you come with me to make it fun? [ 📲 message sent: ]  hi, my name is trouble, and i'm looking for my soulmate. mind if i ask you if you have room for a little trouble in your life? [ 📲 message sent: ]  i can't figure out if i should start this conversation with a compliment, a pick-up line, or a simple hello. you choose. [ 📲 message sent: ]  they say nothing lasts forever, so will you be my nothing? [ 📲 message sent: ]  well, here i am! what are your other two wishes? 🧞 [ 📲 message sent: ]  hey, you're pretty and i'm cute. together we'd be pretty cute. [ 📲 message sent: ]  i would flirt with you, but i'd rather seduce you with my awkwardness. [ 📲 message sent: ]  when our friends ask us how we met, what are we going to tell them? funny answers only. [ 📲 message sent: ]  i had the best pickup line on the way, but i saw you and now i'm speechless. [ 📲 message sent: ]  if you were a fruit, you'd be a fineapple 🍍 [ 📲 message sent: ]  hi, i know your name is [name] but can i call you mine? [ 📲 message sent: ]  are you a bank loan? cause you have my interest. [ 📲 message sent: ]  are you religious? cause you're the answer to all my prayers. [ 📲 message sent: ]  i'm researching important dates in history. would you like to be mine? [ 📲 message sent: ]  you look like you know how to have a good time! i like it. [ 📲 message sent: ]  i know you're busy but please add me to your list of things to do. [ 📲 message sent: ]  if i told you that you had a great body would you hold it against me? [ 📲 message sent: ]  complete this sentence: you, me, and ___ [ 📲 message sent: ]  dinner first or can we go straight for dessert? [ 📲 message sent: ]  do you like sleeping? me too. we should do it together some time.