#they’re fathers and in love and married your honor

[eonszyn]

hmmk tender kiss on the cheek because i said so ‼️‼️

[stargirl-in-dilfspace]

Heaven - Marcus Acacius x f!reader

[a/n: cried while writing, hits too close.]

Warnings: suicidal intentions/attempt from reader!!!! [DO NOT read if you cannot handle this theme. You are responsible for what you read, please protect your mental health!!!!], mentions of readers betrothed husband being a pos/pedophile, Ancient Rome is a warning in itself, time warning sexism/misogyny (not from Marcus.)

Content: suicidal intentions, dramatic writing in tragedy style, Marcus & reader grew up together and remain best friends, Marcus is unmarried, in the Roman army, reader is betrothed under her fathers choice, he is a piece of shit, reader does not want to be married, a lot of crying, poison, terms of endearment, no y/n here ever, they’re in love and it hurts, plenty of angst, sad, sad, sad, Marcus is a lover and a comforter, ambiguous ending (room for a second part.) let me know if i missed anything.

Summary: You see no more ways out of your arranged marriage to a man undeserving of a soul, besides one. You ask your closest friend, Marcus Acacius, to help you.

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Marcus Justus Acacius.

The Marcus you grew up playing swords with, when no other boy would.

The Marcus who helped you adorn your hair with flowers you picked in the summer evenings in your family villa’s garden.

The Marcus who now watched you sit at the head of the banquet hall’s table. Your wine untouched. Your body adorned with jewels and satins, you smell of oils and fragrance your handmaids had tenderly put to your skin as you bathed.

Your husband-to-be attempting to woo a young girl who couldn’t be more than thirteen under the influence of the wine he’d been consuming.

Your Marcus Acacius watched you from across the hall.

He’d planned to indulge in more than plenty of wine this evening. For reasons you would have believed to be celebration in your honor. Reasons he would know to be losing you to a serpent of a man, to the wealth he provided your father for your hand.

But he found his eyes wandering to you and your safety every moment, and his hands not reaching for wine but staying at his side.

Acacius always had feelings for you. Never once did they falter. He never married. Citing his military career as his excuse.

As your father’s guests let their intoxication be their new party host, you decided this was your window. You stood quickly, slipping out of the room, unnoticed, by all but one.

The only one you desired to notice you leave.

You slipped into your chambers, preparing the glass of wine you’d poisoned, and planned to drink, and fall asleep into the arms of a compassionate god.

When you heard the sound of your door opening, you knew it to be one man. You left the glass on your nightstand, standing still in front of your door.

“My lady?” Acacius spoke softly, stepping in cautiously to avoid seeing you indecent. Being his lady remained true after all these years. You wanted to be remembered by him in such a way until your memory died with him, and him alone.

“Acacius.” You found yourself quickly swayed in emotion, stepping forward to wrap your arms around his neck, and hold your head in the crook between his neck and shoulder.

“My lady, what plagues you?” He wrapped his arms around you, a hand rubbing your back.

You hadn’t known when you’d begun to cry, and the moment he heard the change in your breath, see, you always began to breathe from your mouth first, he remembered well, he buried his hand in the soft curls of your hair, the other taking the task of rubbing your back.

“Please, tell me what plagues you?” His voice pulled you back, a jealous and selfish part of him was hoping to know it was your betrothed.

“I cannot go through with it.” You spoke shakily. A hand finding his curls in habit.

“You will not…marry.” He finished his thoughts aloud to you.

“I have no more time left, Marcus,” you let your gaze find his, staring up at him. “I will not serve such a man, I will not marry him.”

After a few beats, he pressed his forehead to yours, a familiar touch, as his larger nose bumped yours.

“You do not have to.”

“I have no way out, no choice. My father will hear nothing of it, I cannot depend on a savior.” You spoke, convicted, closing your eyes as warm tears escaped down your cheeks. “I…I have one option.”

The boy you’d grown with appeared there in his eyes, when you opened yours, a world away. The boy you wanted to lay you tenderly amongst your bedsheets, and touch you slowly.

You were so young, so innocent then. Your love for him was pure, never tainted by your family, his, war, status, wealth, Rome herself.

“My dearest, what is it?” He had this tugging feeling. One that yearned to run away with you and marry, that evening, hoping your thoughts dreamed the same.

You paused. You owed him so much more. How could you ask this of him? How could you tell him? How could you do this to him?

“…If our years together, if our friendship means nothing now, as I am expected to wed,” you stared at him. “Then you must leave me now, Acacius, and never speak of me, of this again.”

“How could you believe I would not consider our relationship now? I care for you, my lady.”

“If you feel obligation to me, my dearest friend, help me go? Help me find a warmer embrace beyond this life?” You continued your statement.

“I…No, tell me you do not mean to-“ He registered your words in his mind, slicing them down, calculating them and determining an answer.

There was Acacius, in his eyes, the man who you trusted most, the one who would do anything for you, the soldier Rome believed to be its next hero. The man you wanted to toss you to bed and conquer you as though you were to be another Roman province.

“My lady? Tell me you are not meaning to ask me to help you take your life?” His tone became more firm.

“I mean to. I am.” You spoke softly, “I see no better end than finding solace in the comfort of my dearest friend’s arms while I take my final breaths in this awful world.”

The thought of living alone in a world where someone as soft as you could not bear any longer; it was tearing apart his heart and soul. He’d give his own life if only you’d be free.

His throat felt swollen, lips dry, as he pulled away, cupping your cheeks rather firmly.

“Stop this. Stop it at once, don’t speak of such things, I will not lose my brightest flower on her darkest night.” He spoke, in something of a murmur only made for the minds of poets. And for you.

“Marcus,” you smiled pitifully at him, tears painfully pulling at your eyes, “I see no other end, humor me one last time?”

At that moment, the Acacius you knew was devising a plan himself, humor me one last time.

“What is it you ask of me?”

“I want to rest in your arms tonight, one last time, and let my final breaths be of your skin, of comfort.” You explained quietly, staring at him, as he brought your foreheads back together. He could never say no to you.

“Okay, my darling, okay.”

“I couldn’t bear to let myself bleed in front of you, let myself be bled, horrified, and cold when found…I’ve chosen poison,” you explained, you had him, didn’t you? He’d agreed, and he’d always kept his word to you.

You stepped away, only for the moment to pulled the glass up, and to your lips.

To Marcus Justus Acacius, this was not your time.

It took him but the blink of an eye to restrain you in his arms and toss the glass to the floor, red wine staining your sandals and his, glass shattered amongst the tiles.

“Marcus!” You struggled against him, he kept you firm back against his chest, arms keeping yours from reaching for him.

“You will not do this! I will not stand for it nor allow it!” He snapped, tugging you closer to stop your struggling.

“How could you stop it?!” You snapped back, hot tears against your cheeks as you wriggled against him. “If not this evening it would be tomorrow morning, if not then if would be the afternoon, the evening! If not now, it will happen soon! I swear it!” You hissed out at him, frustrated that you could not overcome his strength.

“Stop! You will not, and you will never speak of such things again! You will live!” He paused, resting his head against the top of yours, only then did you realize he was crying, a sniffle left him, “you will live.”

“I cannot!” You needed this, didn’t you? No matter how you were breaking his heart, you needed this….didn’t you…?

“Why?! Why do you seek the solace of death so desperately you must leave me?!” He snapped back.

“I cannot live to marry such a pig! I cannot watch him seek to defile young girls, and I certainly cannot bear his children!” You almost screamed at him. You’d never been this angry—especially at him. You tried once again to escape his grasp. “I will not!”

“Then he shall not have you. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever, my lady, please…” he spoke, calmer as you felt tears fall from his cheeks into your hair. You heard him out, and stopped squirming a moment, he took the chance to turn you around to face him, still in a vice-grip to keep you there. “I swear it, I will not allow it. I’ll give up my estate, every coin that’s ever touched my hand, every piece of clothing off my back, I will fight, fists or swords, that he will not have you.”

“I cannot ask that of you! All I asked for was one last moment of peace in your arms before I die!” You felt hot and frustrated, you’d never force him to do that for you. He did not owe you anything, now.

“You are not asking it of me. I am telling you what I will do.” He spoke firmly, despite the redness that plagued his eyes. Was he Acacius? Was he Marcus?

“I’m yours.” The only title he ever wanted, the only name he desired to be called, yours, fell from his lips. Now, he could not fear rejection, as he’d fight for your hand, or for your freedom. He’d fight for you. Whether you wanted him or not. He’d give everything up, for you. “And you’ll marry…”

At the sound of that you nearly growled at him for deceiving you once more, squirming and slumping your full body weight down. You hit the ground, with his arms still fully around him on your knees, he sits with you, and you sob.

“Stop, please, my lady, stop,” he holds you and comforts your body as no other has ever been able. “Listen,”

You continued crying against him, though you stopped wriggling like a child.

“You will marry me. You do not have to marry that barbarian, you’ll marry me.” He explained quickly before you could become upset again.

You almost freeze in his arms, breathing unsteadily, your arms hesitantly around his sides, his hands around you, he pulls back to press your foreheads together again.

“Even simply to free you, you do not have to love me as a wife. You are my only dearest friend, we can be wed, without the pretext of romance.” He spoke to reassure you, if you did not desire him the way he did, you. “But if you seek my love as more, I have more than enough to devote to you, my lady.”

You stared into his eyes, the eyes you’d stared into more than your own. There was nothing seeking to deceive you.

“…more.” You seemed to choke out, through your sore throat. “Marcus-“

“No, let me, first, you deserve more from me, and I owe it to you. I love you, I have always loved you, my dearest. I will never seek to stop loving you.”

You couldn’t speak, so you sobbed, grasping onto the fabric of his garments, holding so tight you may as well have ripped them away.

“Shhhh…rest, my love. It’s okay, you’re safe, rest.” He brushed through your hair affectionately, as he whispered promises to keep to safe. And who were you to doubt him now?

You shut your eyes and buried yourself against his chest, sobbing yourself to cries, and cries to sleep in his arms.

That night, for once, unlike the two teenagers you’d once been, he carried you to bed, and laid with you as you slept, touching your soft curls, unafraid to be caught. And you slept soundly, the same way you always did as he held you.

He didn’t sleep. Not a moment.

He watched over you like the moon did the rising sun. Like he always had.

He’d delicately removed your jewels, and hairpiece and pins, setting them where the wine had been on your nightstand.

He loved you, and with all the bravery and courage everyone had attributed to him, he finally had enough to make his greatest desire known.

He is, has been, and will forever be yours.

Marcus Justus Acacius was a foreign name unless it was placed upon your lips, but being yours, that, that was natural.

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[a/n: if my seasonal depression is good for one thing, it is sad writing. i hope this was enjoyable, hopefully not too sad, but if it was, marcus is there with comfort and love. i hope those who celebrated the holidays had a wonderful time, i meant to write a holiday themed fic for the one and only my javi peña, but almost had a few clark griswold-ish crash outs the last week. Hell, i might still write some holiday fics. I hope everyone is well, much love. <3]

[lyraoftheevergreens]

The Realms Enchantress

Chapter 4

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader!Niece, Daemon Targaryen x Niece!Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen x Female!OC,

Summary: For years Daemon never had a care in the world just, sex, wine and a good battle. With the exception of his favorite niece. His little dragon he called her. He swore to be there for her and he got himself exiled when she needed him the most. Now, he returns from war at the step stones and is determined to get her back. No matter the cost.

Warnings: minor errors in spelling and grammar, Targaryen Inscest, mentions of sex, oral female and male receiving, talk of nudity, mentions of death and blood, mother murdered, dead babies, depression, periods, vulgar language. If your watching hotd than you should already know that stuff written about it will not be clean in the slightest.

Author Note: Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter out, life happened and as we all know it tends to suck at times. This is somewhat edited but please be kind. I’m not gonna lie, I’m not very happy with this chapter but I hope you all enjoy it

Word count: 2.3k

Previous Chapter

You’re in your chambers sat on the settee looking out the window having a cup of tea when there is a knock, your sworn protector announces that the Queen wishes to speak with you. You stood and gave a curt nod and he stepped aside allowing her to enter.

“Your grace.” You curtsied to her.

“Will you be joining us for the hunt in honor of Aegon’s name day?”

“My apologies your grace. I hadn’t prepared to nor do I find hunting pleasant.”

“You could always join me with the other ladies in the tents. Your sister will be joining us.”

“You spoke with Rhaenyra?”

“I have. In truth, it needn’t be this way. Between all of us. None of it needs be.”

“Alicent, you were her closest friend and now you are married and with child from her father. What did you truly expect from her?”

“I tried explaining to her but she wouldn’t hear it.”

“So explain to me. How is it that after my mother dies only a year after my father has plans to wed you?”

“My father had me visit your father after your mother’s passing. To be a friend to him in his time of grief.”

“I should have known your father would play a part in this.”

“We quite enjoyed each other’s company.”

“Thank you, your grace. I believe I have some packing to do seeing the hunt typically last two nights.”

You continued to pack for the hunt seeing as there was no way to get out of it. Alicent had managed to convince Rhaenyra to join so it only seems right that you do as well. Truly you didn’t hate Alicent. You understood she merely just did as her father had asked of her. Just wanting to make him happy. You of all people understood the need to please a parent.

Once in the carriage and on the way to the woods your father attempted to make small talk to help with the uncomfortable silence.

“How lovely. My two daughters, my wife, and my son all together on this joyous occasion. How are you fairing y/n my dear?”

“I’m quite well. Thank you, father.”

“Alicent, should you be traveling in such condition?” Rhaenyra ask.

“The master said that being out in nature would do me well.” Alicent responded and your father added in, “Hopefully one of you will be with your own child, sooner rather than later. And make me a proud grandsire.”

“It’s all that bad. The days are long but Aegon came quickly without a fuss.” Alicent added in.

“The two of you should ride out with me. Join in on the chase.” Your father said and as usual, Rhaenyra was the first to retort.

“I’d rather not. The boars squeal like children when they’re being slaughtered. I find it discomforting.”

“Then how else will you participate? It’s a hunt Rhaenyra. How would you like to participate?”

“I’m not sure why I must.” Rhaenyra snapped back.

“Because you are my daughter. The princess. And you have duties.”

“As I am ceaselessly reminded.”

“I’m sorry?”

“As I am ceaselessly reminded.” Rhaenyra retorted louder

“You wouldn’t need to be reminded if you ever attended to them.”

“No ones here for me. Besides Y/n is your daughter as well. I don’t hear you incessantly reminding her of her duties.”

“Because you are my heir Rhaenyra. And your sister has never failed to perform her duties as princess of the realm. Y/n how do you plan on participating in the hunt?”

“I planned on remaining with the other ladies of the court. If you would like for me to ride out with you I shall, just do not ask of me to remain for any slaughtering.” You responded to your father.

“See, your sister has no problems communicating properly. Why must you be so difficult at times Rhaenyra?”

Rhaenyra just turned and glared at you. You all sat in an uncomfortable silence on the ride to the godswood forest.

It didn’t last long till Father and Rhaenyra got into an argument at the hunt. That you weren’t there for seeing as you were hiding away in your tent attempting to rest from the stressful carriage ride.

Rhaenyra took off on her horse and Sir Criston followed her. Eventually, you got on your horse in search of them. The sun had already set when you had found them. Sir Criston started a fire in which the three of you sat around it.

“Do you remember that one time? We both snuck off on Dirrax to Dragon Stone.” Rhaenyra started recounting the days of mischief the two of you shared.

“Yes. I wouldn’t exactly call it sneaking given the size of him but yes. Mother and father were furious. You were 10 and 1 years of age and I 10 and 5 years of age.”

“It was nice though. Away from court.”

“I agree. Perhaps we can return sometime. Just the two of us.” Ser Criston told stories of his childhood as both Rhaenyra and Y/n listened and told stories of there. Sneaking into the kitchens and stealing cakes. Taking sips of their uncle's wine when he wasn’t holding onto his cup.

“That was hard. Uncle Daemon not have his goblet in his hand. Is like a knight not having his sword on his side.” The girls laughed all night. “Princesses I must make a final plea that we return to camp.”

“I rather like it out here. What says you sister?” Ask Rhaenyra

“I quite like it as well.” You respond.

“Your grace is likely to be worried by your absences.” Ser Criston spoke up.

“His grace can worry himself to death if he so likes. Tell me Ser Criston, do you think the realm will ever accept me as their queen?”

“They have no choice but to, princess.” You three sat in silence as the horses began to fret. Ser Criston unsheathed his sword as twigs began to crack. He began to walk towards the noise when a wild bore came out of the bushes and knocked him to the ground. It turned and charged at Rhaenyra. It was then that y/n rose and stabbed it from behind while Rhaenyra held it back by its shoulders from biting her. The stabs did nothing to subdue the animal. It wasn’t till Ser Criston pierced its body with his sword that the beast fell. Both princesses lay catching their breath when the animal started to rise and growl, Rhaenyra stabbed the animal until it well passed unmoving, taking all her aggression out on it. Rhaenyras stabs got slower, as she began to cry. Y/n grabbed Rhaenyra and pulled her off the animal and into her. Rhaenyra dropped the dagger and began to cry to her sister. Y/n held her till her sobs stopped and they lay together till morning.

“Nyra. Is it just Jason Lannister you don’t wish to marry or is it something else?”

“While no I don’t wish to marry a Lannister. How will I ever know someone is marrying me for me and not my crown? For a chance to become king. My husband can kill me and become king. I can die on the birthing bed as our mother did. Y/n I am scared.”

“I understand Nyra. And I shall protect you. We will ride back to camp. And I will propose a tour. It will give us time to think of a plan that pleases Father. You understand?”

“Yes. I understand.”

The three of you began your journey back to camp and took a moment to view the horizon. When a white stag appeared. Ser Criston began to unsheathe his sword and Rhaenyra quickly told him no in a hushed tone to not startle the animal. The three of you stayed and gazed at its beauty before returning to camp. When returned to camp sir Criston took the boar to the cooks. While the rest of camp including your father and the Hightowers watched as you and Rhaenyra made your way to the tent covered in blood from the boar. Once returned to the castle you and Rhaenyra agree to speak to your father on the morrow.

Rhaenyra meets you at your chambers with the Kingsguard.

“Why do you bring fathers, men?”

“He has requested our presence.” She answers. The two of you make your way to your father escorted by his guards to the council meeting chambers where he is instructing Ser Addam to make haste with a message to Prince Daemon at Drawfstone.

“Drawfstone?” Questions Rhaenyra.

“I’m sending word to Daemon. Aid is sailing to the step stones.”

“Did he make a call for help?” You ask.

“He would sooner die. But his king does not mean to allow that.” Rhaenyra and you both sit. “Do you not think my decision correct?”

“It is no consequence to what I think as I am so often reminded.”

“Daemon is thorn enough in my flesh. Will you insist on taking after him? Must everything be a battle?”

“If you refer to your attempt to marry me off to Casterly Rock.”

“I am sorry, Rhaenyra. I was trying to help you. Will you not be helped? Why must every effort on your behalf be resisted as if to the death?”

“Because you mean to replace me with Alicent Hightower’s son, the boy you always wanted. You have him in your hands now. You have no further use for me. You might as well peddle me for what you can. Who’s to stop you from doing the same to y/n? A mount stronghold or a fleet of ships. Perhaps both, you have two daughters to peddle.”

“You have misjudged, girls.”

“All know it. Jason Lannister knows it. You said it yourself, the lords of the realm gather like vultures to a carcass hoping to feast on my bones.”

“It is true that as rulers we must marry for advantage, to forge alliances and bolster our strength. You have always understood this. I myself was promised to your mother when I was-“

“Ten and seven years of age. The Vale had an army to rival the North. I’ve heard that story since I’ve had ears too. As I’m sure y/n has too.”

“I loved her. She made a man of me. I do not seek to replace you, child. You’ve both been much alone these last few years. Alone and angry. I will not live forever. I wish to see you contented, happy even. Both my girls.”

“You think a man will do it?” Rhaenyra speaks.

“A family.”

“I had a family. We had a family!” Rhaenyra shouts. You take hold of her hand to remind her not to say something she shall regret.

“What would you have me do?”

“If it were for advantage, you would’ve wed Laena Velaryon!”

“That is true enough. You must marry, strengthen your own claim, shore up your succession, and multiply. As to your match, make it yourself. Search him out. Find one that pleases you, as I did.”

“I would like to propose an idea. We go on tour. Find a match.”

“That is a wonderful idea y/n. Girls.” A pause,” I did waver. At one time. But Rhaenyra I swear to you now, on your mother’s memory, you will not be supplanted.” With that, you both walked away. “Y/n. Stay behind dear.”

Once Rhaenyra was gone and the doors closed your father began to speak.

“As I said to your sister. You shall make your own match. But as my first born I ask, perhaps you can whisper in your sister’s ear about Laenor Velaryon. It could strengthen her claim to the throne. As for you. I would like you to think about Harrwin Strong. If you find love on the tour I will not stand in the way, if you do not. Please consider Ser Harwin.”

“You do not send aid for your brother. You send aid to ensure the safety of Laenor Velaryons’ life. You don’t care for Daemon's life. Lord Corlys will protect his son. Daemon is alone.”

“Daemon wishes to get himself killed he will do it on his own accord.”

“And you’ve just pushed him to it. He will never accept your aid! As you said he would sooner die before asking for help, by sending it you have pushed him to his death.”

“I will never understand your infatuation with him.”

“And you never shall. He will have one thing on his mind, defeating the triarchy before your ships arrive! All reason will be gone from his mind.”

“Then that shall be his own doing!”

“Then his blood will be on your hands just as Mothers is!” With that, you took your leave.

[ninapi]

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┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺╚══ Fireflies ╝

Premise: Haganezuka gets a marriage proposal from one of the elders of the village, marrying was a must for those in the Swordsmith's village, self preservation of the clan and its techniques was absolutely mandatory. He hated the idea to his very core, to say the least.

Word count: 3544

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Amongst all the preparations of the corps to beat Muzan, came the craftsmanship of the Nichirin swords, an art that had been passed from generation to generation to this day.

Haganezuka Hotaru, had the honor, some would say, to craft every single one of Tanjiro’s swords, even if the last one wasn’t his own creation, thanks to him it was in fighting conditions.

Though, this also meant one thing, now that the sword was ready he had a lot of free time since his mountain training was over as well, the sword had been officially delivered to its owner and he had just one eye left, even if he wasn’t completely sure of how all that actually happened.

Tecchin, the village’s chief and his father figure called upon him a lovely afternoon.

He thought he was being summoned for tea and sweets, as that’s usually the only reason to call him there, but that was far from the truth this time.

He was rewarded with the promised mitarashi dango set, yet tea time was not the reason for his summoning.

“Hotaru, you are to marry next full moon.” a mochi ball got stuck in his throat making him cough loudly in order to save his own life.

“WhAT?”

“You heard me, boy. It was decided already, you will marry the great granddaughter of the previous chief. I wanted her for Gantetsu, but it appears she prefers you instead. It is your duty to take her hand in marriage, it’s final.”

“But why me? What do you mean she prefers me? Why was I an option? Does she know I don’t want any part in this? Does she even know what she’s getting herself into? Tell me where she lives! I will make her regret her decision!” he was hyperventilating at this point, smoke coming out of his mask, the elder getting ready to face one of his angry outbursts.

“I do not know why she would prefer a crazy boar like you, but it is a fact that cannot be changed. You can ask her all those questions yourself; she should be here any second now.” the man was trying to calm himself down by chewing on some more treats, he needed his head clear, otherwise he would get sucked into this situation without an exit path.

You did arrive a few minutes after his statement, proving your eagerness. The kimono you were wearing was beyond expensive, your hair up beautifully decorated with the finest hairpins, and your makeup had been clearly done by someone who knew what they were doing.

You looked like a doll, one to keep on display for all the village to look at and brag. Or at least that was the impression Hotaru got the moment you stepped into the tatami matted room, definitely not someone who should be interested in a man like him.

“(Y/N), my dear, please sit with us. Do you like mitarashi dango? I got these from the famous shop down the street, they’re Hotaru’s favorite treat.” the mentioning of his name got him restless once more, he had so many questions but also just wanted this whole thing to end so he could go back to his lone training in his room.

“I do, Tecchin-sama. You’re very kind.” stretching a hand over to grab one of the sweetened treats, you smiled in his direction. He just couldn’t believe the audacity of this woman, you weren’t just taking his time with your ridiculous expectations but were also eating his food.

“I informed Hotaru of the ceremony and its date, I will leave you two alone so you can get to know each other.” you just nodded in appreciation, bowing to the elder as he exited the room, plainly excited to finally have some alone time with your future husband.

“Woman, what is this about? I’ve never seen you in my life, why is it you wanna marry me?” the question caught you off guard, you knew you would have to address the matter at some point, you just wished it wasn’t this soon, you tried your best to look presentable and get in his good side, yet that didn’t seem to be the case.

“I- well, I have seen you around…” your voice turned softer, uncertainty could be felt from your words but also an unexplained amount of warmth came along.

“You’ve seen me around? That’s it? Have you not seen any other men ever or what’s your deal?” you could see his frustration growing by the second, you were aware of his bad temper and wanted to avoid triggering him yourself, especially on your first official meeting, though it seemed you also failed at that.

“No, no. That’s not it. I…” sitting up straighter, you left behind the sticky sweets to fully convey your thoughts and show him your resolution filled heart, it was now or never. “I saw you when you were training in the mountains. I was there myself in isolation, trying to cure the restlessness of my soul. You see, my family had been trying to get me to marry someone for a good decade now and it just never worked. But I was the problem, not them.” this piqued his interest, so he just remained quiet, listening without making any sort of commentary.

“They never interested me; I just couldn’t see myself marrying men like them. My father was so angry that he sent me to the mountains to reflect on my behavior. That’s when I saw you. Your extreme rigorous training, you were so focused you didn’t even notice I was sitting beside you one day.” racking his brain he is certain he didn’t see any woman at all while training, this was concerning to a degree.

“To me it was a wonderful sight, all that determination, that concentration, that urgency to become better, those muscles….” the last part was nearly over a whisper, yet he heard it loud and clear, the tips of his ears burning at the little piece of information gained.

“So, when Tecchin-sama and the elders came up with the proposal to marry his son, I just picked the son that managed to interest me instead of the one who was being offered. I also happened to be around to see how you were bleeding everywhere and kept on sharpening that blade for the young lad after the attack, it was so alluring and ugh, yeah…you know…” he could see your blush shinning brightly even under the layers of fancy makeup you were wearing.

He was definitely not prepared for such a confession; he was more than ready to not only turn you down but make a scene just to make sure you’d hate him. He wasn’t so sure if he wanted to go the route anymore, though.

“So, you’re physically attracted to me? Is that it? You haven’t even seen my face. What if I’m an ugly bastard?”

“Oh, but I saw it…though, even if you were…I’ve never seen someone so determined and with such a strong nature. That would be enough for me, since I’m considering traits that I want in a husband.” you were giving him a soft smile, one that made him shuffle on his seat cushion. He’s used to people yelling at him, disrespecting him, being complete dicks to him, but he was most certainly not used to this softness.

“You don’t know me, woman. I don’t get along with others, I prefer to be on my own and some say I have a bad character. Surely this isn’t what you want in a husband, rethink your decision, nobody would blame you for leaving me, I’m a lost cause anyways, nobody expects me to get married.”

“Haganezuka-sama, could you please stop insulting me? I know what I want ok? I like you, is that so hard to believe?”

You were both now standing, facing each other equally enraged by each claim, “Oh you think I’m insulting you? You haven’t gotten a sample of it yet even, prepare yourself, you have no idea what you signed up for, you…you ugly pigheaded woman!” his mask was fogging up with the steam he was blowing out of his nose, completely deranged at this point.

But you…

Oh…you were mad, alright.

How dare he call you such an awful thing after all the time you invested in dolling yourself up for him, this was outrageous.

He was screaming nonsense in your direction, a bad headache coming its way up your frontal lobe.

That’s when you saw your chance.

You’ve heard it from others in the tavern downtown, tickling this man was the only way to get him to shut up, that was his weakest point, an adorable one at that.

Tackling him to the ground, you sat on his hips, pinning him down with one hand on his chest, the other tickling his side at an insane speed.

He was so overwhelmed by the entire thing that his breathing became ragged quite fast, his strength quickly declining, giving you the chance to lift the mask off his face.

When he had your own so close to his, he could see the remaining tracks of angry tears down your beautiful face. It seems like he really hurt your feelings with his harsh words, and honestly that’s what he wanted to accomplish, but seeing your effort so up close made him feel bad for ruining everything.

Not only your clothing and hair accessories were probably bought for this encounter alone, he could see the amount of time getting in so many things must have taken, how your makeup was now ruined due to him, how even if you were tickling him and making him laugh to his death as a result, your expression was one of pain.

“I don’t have a pig face….” you were mumbling in between sniffs, your hands coming to a halt when you noticed his eye trained on your face. “You don’t….”

He sighed, getting you off of him gently, still trying to regain his breath. “Do you really want to, you know…marry me? Even when I’m like this?”

You nodded, wiping your face of any watery remains, “You’re the only man I’ve ever considered for my future. Am I…not to your liking…?” your eyes were on the floor, afraid of his response not being what you had hoped for.

“Ugh…you’re not half bad I guess, but how can I marry someone I don’t know? I get it, you’ve seen me around, you seem to know a lot about me, but I know nothing about you besides what I just gathered on your crazy stalkerish behavior.” his wording made you chuckle, the sadness filling your chest moving away on its own accord.

“Would you consider it after a few dates?” he groaned, reaching over for his discarded mask, covering his face with it once more.

“Just don’t make it awkward…you know where I live.” getting up, he headed over to his room, a weird feeling of expectation invading his confused self.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you asked him to consider your offer after going in a few dates, he honestly thought you’d be pestering him about it the very next day, yet it’s been a week since your last encounter and he hadn’t heard a word from you.

Tecchin thought his boy had ruined everything as usual, so he himself went to check on you, to try to convince you to take his actual son instead.

To his surprise, you were covered in rice flour from head to toe when he arrived at your residence, trying to master the art of pounding it into mochi.

Saying he was confused was an understatement, he thought you’d be heartbroken hiding away in a corner of the house, but you were very much busy, determination covering your face, it reminded him of Hotaru when he’s working, and so, he began to understand your line of thought when choosing a husband.

“(Y/N) dear, what on earth are you doing?”

“Oh, Tecchin-sama!! Sorry I didn’t see you there, I’ve been a bit busy. Who knew mitarashi dangos were so complicated to prepare.” so that’s what you were doing, he thought you’d been chasing chickens in the kitchen and had fallen into a sack of flour, that’s what you looked like at least.

“Why don’t you just buy them from the specialty store near my house?”

“Well, I wanted to show Haganezuka-sama I can be a good wife, so I thought of learning how to prepare his favorite dish, honestly I didn’t expect it to be this hard, but it’s been fun, I’m confident this batch will meet his expectations.” Tecchin was moved to tears, he’s never thought someone would be willing to go this far for that silly adoptive son of his, maybe you were really the one.

“I’m sure they’ll be perfect, dear. Please stop by the house to say hello when your done. Even if he denies it, I can see how restless Hotaru is, he’s most likely thinking you gave up on him.”

“I would never! I’ll go get myself ready as soon as the sauce is fully cooked!” knowing he was grumpy on your account made you smile to yourself, he’s so adorable, you wondered how nobody has noticed this as of yet, it’s so obvious to you it’s painful.

Thankfully, the treats ended up being better than you had expected, the sauce sweetened to perfection, the mochi gooey as it should be, the golden color from it indicated they had been cooked to perfection.

For your visit though this time you opted for a more relaxed fit, you wanted him to see you for who you really are and not some kind of kimono shop mannequin for sale. A pale pink yukata with scattered white lilies on the bottom, a soft braid threaded with wild flowers and only a bit of lip tint as makeup.

To any, you looked pretty ordinary, but when Haganezuka opened the door to your calling, his mask fell from his face on its own.

It was amusing how you looked even more beautiful with clearly less effort. If you looked like a doll before, you looked like some sort of goddess now, those you see painted in temples.

The natural glow of your skin, the rosy accent on your plush lips, the seemingly wild look the small flowers on your hair gave you, it was a bit too much for his brain to function properly. To this day, not even a single woman had caused this sort of reaction from this man, not even the ones from the red district, a day to remember for history books, the day Haganezuka Hotaru broke.

“Haganezuka-sama? Is something wrong?” he was just there flabbergasted while holding the door knob, looked like he was in some sort of trance-like state.

“Boy are you gonna let her go in or are you gonna keep her outside all evening? A storm is coming.” the warning seemed to snap him out of the weird feeling in his stomach, moving a side to let you in and quickly closing the door behind you, keeping his father’s prying eyes at bay.

“I apologize for taking this long, I wanted to bring a gift for you, but I didn’t know how to make it, so it took a while to master it.” your quiet fit of giggles made that awkward feeling creep back into his gut, his chest tightening, could it be possible he was going to have a heart attack just now? Man, what a pathetic way of dying…

You handed him a medium sized container, carefully wrapped in a beautiful cloth.

A gasp left his lips at the sight of way too many delightful balls of gooey goodness. “You made them yourself-?”

“I did. Hopefully they will be to your liking.”

Without wasting any time he dived in for a taste of what he assumes love tasted like. He’s eaten mitarashi dangos all his life but they’ve never been this good. He heard an old lady once saying love is what makes food taste good, guess she was right.

“Are they…good…?” he just nodded pushing a couple more into his mouth, causing you to giggle. “Take it easy, they’re all yours, nobody will take them away from you.” you leaned closer, gently removing the excess sauce from the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

Nobody’s ever been this intimate with him before, what he thought was weird though was how it almost felt natural, like this was just how things should be.

The container was soon emptier than you’ve ever seen it, he even licked the remains of sauce from it, leaving it sparkly clean.

His lazy bum was laying belly up on the tatami mat, trying his best to digest the enormous amount of sweets he just had. “You know? I made that many for them to last you an entire week. They lasted what, ten minutes?” the fond look you were giving him was making his belly hurt even more.

You noticed his discomfort and moved closer to his side, one of your hands reaching over to rub his swollen belly in adoration.

“I don’t get you, woman.”

“Would you stop calling me that? I have a name…” naming things make it hard to let them go later, that’s why he avoids calling others by their actual names.

“Then, I don’t get you, (Y/N)….” hearing your name falling from his lips felt foreign yet wonderfully, it made you smile.

“What is there to understand?”

“You’re too nice for a man like me…I don’t think I can give you what you want.”

“And what is it that I want?” the suggestive tone you were using was clouding his judgement, seems like he was a man after all.

“Well I don’t know…a husband?”

You shook your head, looking into his eyes, “I never wanted a husband, my father was the one that wanted me married with a prominent house, I on the other side, just want you.”

“So you don’t want to marry me then?” the disappointment lacing his words surprised the both of you, he didn’t know when it happened but he didn’t hate you that much anymore.

“Of course I do, silly. But I don’t want to marry you just because I want a husband. I want to marry you because I like you, because I want to spend the rest of my days with you…”

“Just because I have muscles now?” that made you laugh, opting to lay beside him on the floor, still rubbing his indigestion away.

“The muscles are just a bonus, I like your grumpy self a bit too much. Even if I have to tickle you on daily basis. But look! I’ve been here for a while now and I haven’t had to do it at all.”

“I guess you’re tolerable…”

“Does that mean you like me too? I wasn’t sure if you’d prefer me in formal dressing, or-“ he stopped your babbling by holding your face up by your chin, your eyes meeting his instantly. “I prefer you like this. You look real now, not like some sort of princess.” his honesty caught you off guard, the warmth of his hand sending tingles down your body.

“Well, I like you better like this too, without that mask and head wrap…relaxed and by my side…” you chuckled, nuzzling your face against his palm.

“Even if I have just one eye now?”

“I think it suits you, it gives you this mysterious look. I always thought guys with scars were hot, they’re like battle trophies, proof of how strong they are.” your fingers were gently caressing the severed eyelid, with such a gentle touch almost freezing the man to his spot.

“So next moon…”

“Wait, wait! I thought you wanted more dates before making a decision…” panicking, you sat up, worried you had taken too long learning the new skills needed in order to satisfy him and had lost your chances.

“Why wait? The old man is driving me crazy and those dangos gave you some extra points, I don’t think I need to think this further. If I have to marry someone, might as well take a woman this dedicated and effortlessly beautiful…” his last words were all slurred together in embarrassment, making your heart run wild within your bodily cavities.

He reached for your hand pulling you back down beside him, he already missed your belly rubs and not even five minutes had passed.

Maybe getting married wasn’t such a bad idea. Maybe he should start paying attention to the outside world some more, he almost missed on this without noticing at all.

And maybe, just maybe, his heart was as happy as yours to finally find its other half.

The lonely firefly in the pond finally shone its brightest the moment he found his one and only match.

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

Masterlist

[cinnamonest]

okok we’re all aware of the idea of diluc wanting a traditional housewife bla bla ok fine.. but IMAGINE his daughter, his beautiful, precious daughter darling who he’s been conditioning to becoming that ideal traditional housewife (he says he does it so you’re more charming to rich suitors in the near future buut he really just means himself) finally rebels against him. goes out drinking, partying, tries to attack monsters and men alike (poor diluc failed to notice how much she’s been hanging out with her uncle kaeya..) and now she’s starting to have arguments with him and talks back… gosh, imagine the heart attack he’d have.. bless his poor soul..

Your brain anon?? Impeccable, I see the vision

Envisioning it one of two ways — one, single dad Diluc that is struggling to rationalize your behavior, ultimately blaming it on your mother in some way. If she’s remembered fondly, perhaps her untimely death left you without a proper female figure, or if it was a less amicable relationship that spawned you, perhaps he blames himself for poor judgement, reproducing with someone who ultimately abandoned you both (which indicates very poor behavior in the genes and all).

He gives you chances to rectify your actions, tells you to behave in a way that honors the family, but you refuse. You continue to talk to boys (ones of a lower class than you at that!), even disappearing overnight with them, smearing the family name. It crushes him, makes him upset at you, makes him furious with them, to the point that he has to stop the murderous urges before they become too strong.

But they’re boys — of course they’re going to take the opportunity when you hand it to them like that. What, it’s not as if they should be expected to control themselves — the fault of it all falls on you, naturally.

If you're going to keep up the unsightly behavior, then, the only real option is to keep you confined to the home, where you can't embarrass him and disgrace the family name by whoring out and engaging in casual relations.

But the damage is done — you’ve already tarnished your reputation, he tells you, beyond the point of repair. He can’t arrange for you to be married at this point. Even if he did, you’d probably just make things worse by being an unruly wife, maybe even, gods forbid, continuing to run around and have affairs. Since you chose to bring matters to this point, the only option is to keep you at home, where he can monitor your behavior and actions, for the foreseeable future.

But alternatively, with wife!reader, the man is obsessive both towards you and your daughter, the latter platonically — but still, he can barely fathom the behavior he’s witnessing.

This is obviously the result of your influence. You're rubbing off on her, when he very specifically warned you that there would be consequences for not instilling good behavior. You've been teaching her what, to be some kind of temptress, rather than setting her up to be a good wife? Do you want to completely ruin her future?

He's one of those fathers that has a soft side for a (platonically loved) daughter, though, so he can't be too harsh on her… besides, it's ultimately your fault anyway, so it's only logical to punish you whenever your daughter is said to have slept with some boy or done something unsightly. You're the one that gets taken behind closed doors for 'talks’ about what you've done wrong and made to promise that you'll fix things, that you'll stop encouraging and allowing this behavior. It's for both of your sakes, after all.

[starsreminisce]

Lucien isn't just a male who saw Elain and immediately wanted her all to himself.

He is her MATE, which changes the rules, given that he is not only her soulmate but also because, in the world SJM created, there are tangible signs indicating this bond.

This is particularly evident when Elain said she felt a tug on her rib, similar to the same tug Feyre felt from Rhys in the first ACOTAR.

I was pulled from sleep by something tugging at my middle, a thread deep inside. I left Tamlin sleeping in the bed, his body heavy with exhaustion. In a few hours, we would be leaving Under the Mountain and returning home, and I didn’t want to wake him sooner than I had to. I prayed I would ever get to sleep that peacefully again. I knew who summoned me long before I opened the door to the hall and padded down it, stumbling and teetering every now and then as I adjusted to my new body, its new balance and rhythms.

And what is a mate in this world?

ACOTAR tells us

“High Fae mostly marry,” he said, his golden skin flushing a bit. “But if they’re blessed, they’ll find their mate—their equal, their match in every way. High Fae wed without the mating bond, but if you find your mate, the bond is so deep that marriage is … insignificant in comparison.”

And ACOMAF

Rhysand was my mate. Not lover, not husband, but more than that. A bond so deep, so permanent that it was honored over all others. Rare, cherished.

bubububut not all matches work out!

Rhys's father was described as cold and calculating, while Tamlin's father was a tyrant. Neither of these descriptions fits Lucien, especially considering how he has been giving Elain space. The only things he has done for her are giving her presents, which she has accepted twice.

We don't know the current whereabouts of his presents, but we definitely know what she did with the present she received from her choice. Hint: someone else now has it because she gave it back.

If Elain isn't going to reject her bond in someone else's book, then Elain and Lucien aren't going to explore their feelings and their bond in someone else's book either.

Given SJM's track record of 100% of couples turning into mates, why would she deviate from a trope she loves to use?

[kankuroplease]

I could never chose a favorite between the Uchiha & the Senju clan. They’re both elite. But lately I’ve been thinking more about the Senju & have a few questions since I love your Senju fanart.

What are your headcannons about the Senju clan? They’re culture & traditions? What are the common & not so common physical characteristics within the clan based on your headcannons?

Since you designed Lady Asako to have white hair & red eyes because of Tobirama’s cannon design, do you think that the Senju had diverse features? Or is Lady Asako & Tobirama the exception?

Only asking bc when doing my own research, I’ve seen a cannon still of the Senju clan where Hashirama is in the middle, Tobirama to the right of him, Toka to the left & behind them are other random Senju men. They all look different; blonde, brown, grey & even dark blue hair.

What do you think? 😊

Same 🫡

Ok, it’s been awhile sense I’ve answered a clan ask and it’s a bit nerve wracking to take on such a big clan with big deal characters, but I’ll give it shot

I like to think their clan name is in reference to the 1000 armed Kannon statue, which would explain the appearance of Hashirama’s wood release

This Buddhist deity used those thousand arms to help those in need and Senju can also mean thousand hands/skills

so given that information + Hagoromo and Ashura’s natures, I think they were more of a welcoming clan to those who weren’t of them originally and needed aid

I absolutely can see them having had marriages to clans like the Aburame, Akamichi, Yamanaka, Nara, and the Hyuga that were both political and romantic

Because that can explain why these clans felt comfortable settling in Konohagakure once it was founded

But if course having a hard line when it came to the Uchiha 💀

Which of course leads to a clan that pretty diverse in terms of appearance

The majority of Senju people have more darker hair colors, but on the rare occasion, they’ll have a Tobirama or Itama

With the split hair color being the rarest outcome, but the possibility of it happening to a Senju descendent is always there

A trait that’s extremely common is their immense, stamina and energy as descendants of Ashura

I can see childhood in the founders era being extremely short for the Senju and it being seen as wrong to coddle any child too much

Which made children who were bold enough to stand with the older soldiers be seen as a great pride and asset to their clan (which ofc boo child soliders, but they’re literally even present in the modern timeline of Nart)

This of course eased with time (a little), but the end result is that a lot of Senju’s may take things too seriously

The expectation being women; most of the girls are not raised to be strong fighters and are kept in more secure places to aid in the making of medicines but also to make sure there could be future generations

The girls that demand to train and join their brothers and fathers on the battle field are seen as rebellious in the best of ways

But was is generally an uphill battle for them to be taken seriously enough to risk their lives too

Their traditions would consist of festivals similar to Bon and Tanabata. Mostly days for boosting morale and honoring those who have fallen

Another common practice for them is meditation. Doesn’t matter if it’s seated or walking, they’re meditating at least once a day

Meditation would be taken as seriously as training

BUT, it’s also a very Senju way of showing romantic interest in a potential partner as it’s seen as making space for shared openness

Like, ramen together is cool and all, but do you want to have a couples meditation session? 👀

They’re old fashioned as heck. Spend three days at your lovers place and they’ll consider you basically married to your partner

[olympiansowl]

My thoughts on the Numenor arc and on Elendil x Miriel! A thread that no one asked for, but my head is about to explode! English is not my first language, so I apologize for the mistakes I will probably make.

1 - I love them, your honor! Since season one, I was praying for them to get together and I think it will happen, but there’s a big issue and if you didn’t read the books or if you do t like possible spoilers, I will advise to not read the rest of this thread.

2 - One of the “big issues” for me it’s her death. In the books, she dies during the wave thing. But she tries to save herself. We don’t know if she knew in the books about her death and of the destruction of Numenor, but she does know about it in the series. Will she try to save herself even though she will probably stay behind in Numenor? And probably willingly?

4 - The time line is a bit confusing for me. I’ve read the books some time ago, but there’s a part that says that she was never regent to her father, only to her husband, Pharazon. Pharazon usurped her and forced her to marry him, but they never had children. In the series, he has Kemen. Does he have a wife? Will he force her to marry him and change her name? Afraid of losing the throne, would he risk leaving her as regent? Will Kemen be “prince regent”?

5 - And on the topic of time line and regents, there’s another thing in the books and the series that is driving me nuts: the Sauron thing. He was in Numenor as Halbrand and was kinda like a prisioner. He was the reason why Pharazon became more mad and more idiot. The thing is that in the books, Pharazon and Sauron had a “battle” and Sauron gave himself up as a prisioner. And then he “poisons” Pharazon and they go or try to go to Valinor together. In the series, I am a bit lost because there are things that should have happened before, but are happening now and there are things that seem to have happened, but should happen later.

6 - Now, let’s go back to the lovers! There’s a scene that will happen, and it’s Elendil and Miriel talking after he has been captured (probably after being sneaky and/or after beating Kemen)…I’m dying to see what is it all about, if they’re going to kiss, to say the words, or if she’s saying he will be exiled or maybe that Pharazon is forcing her to marry?

7 - I am hoping and praying for her to survive. Truly. Like, imagine that Elendil finally found love again and she’s going to be taken from him just like the first one was? Also, it’s kinda interesting to hear Elendil say “the sea is always right” and we see three people that he loves being killed by the sea or in the water.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

I need to gush about Origins and discuss Duncan okay, listen- DAO is so good for a plethora of reasons but it’s the origins, the thing that it’s literally named after. Which origin you play is the important decision on the players part that has an impact on everything you do, especially if you go hard into the roleplaying of it all, it makes me want to scream. I adore it so much.

So Duncan, right? Great character, love that dude. I read The Calling and he's one of the best parts of that book. If you haven't read it, I recommend it just for Duncan alone.

I enjoy reading opinion pieces on Duncan, especially when the poster mentions which origin their warden is. I find it so interesting because your origin can change your entire perception of him.

Playing as Aeducan or Brosca? Duncan has great respect for dwarves just as the dwarves do for the wardens. Duncan’s your hero. He saved your life. You would’ve been executed or left to rot in the Deep Roads if not for him. And since the wardens are so respected, it’s honestly an honor to join them, no?

Playing a Cousland? You’ve lost everything. Duncan not only does what he can to keep your father alive long enough for you and your mother to find him, but he saves you and gives you a shot to avenge your family by becoming a warden.  

Playing as Amell or Surana? Your best friend lied to you about being a blood mage and chances are you tried to help him escape rather than turn him in, and now he’s gone and Greagoir demands you be punished. But here comes Duncan to conscript you, to take you away from the prison known as the Circle of Magi.

And I know this can vary depending on how you play or what kind of character you’ve created, but I believe you’re waaaay more likely to have a better opinion of Duncan in these origins… but if you play as Mahariel or Tabris?

Mahariel’s more obvious, here. You’re Dalish, and odds are, you and Tamlen are on the same page about humans. Duncan, a human, dragged your ass back to your clan after the eluvian gave you the blight, and sure, that was nice of him… except when you go looking for Tamlen and Duncan destroys the mirror, he’s so dismissive. He doesn’t care about Tamlen. There’s no point in going looking for him, he’s dead. Also you have the blight and Duncan’s taking you away from your family to make you a warden and no, you have no choice in the matter. He'll force his hand if he needs to. Say goodbye, forget about Tamlen, you’ll never see your family again, you’re a warden now. Hope you have fun involving yourself in all these human affairs while everyone points out how different you are!

First off, I think most Mahariel players would agree that they’re still not over Tamlen. How many of you had the thought, “If we look just a little longer, we could find Tamlen and make him a warden, too!” only for Duncan to ruin that? I don’t blame any Mahariel for throwing a fit when he and the Keeper agree you need to go, nor do I blame them for any ill feelings toward him.

And Tabris? This one is personal; my canon warden is a female Tabris, Rosalie, and Duncan really gets to me.

Rose's already being made to marry a man she's never met, some human nobles made their first attempt to crash the wedding, and now here’s this other human waltzing in. Duncan is such a little shit here, too. When you try asking him to leave, he actively tries to push your buttons just to see what you’ll do. But that’s nothing. When Rose and the other women are taken by Vaughan and his buddies, Soris and Nelaros go to Duncan who pulls his bullshit “wardens can’t get involved, they must remain neutral, best I can do is give you a sword and crossbow, good luck.”

Duncan KNOWS what will happen to those women but nope, can’t get involved. Wardens must remain neutral, can’t upset the nobles. I firmly believe that if Duncan had gone with them, Nelaros wouldn’t have been killed and maybe they could’ve made it to Shianni in time, and that infuriates me.

And yeah, in the end it’s Duncan who saves Rose from the guard, but you expect me to be okay with going with him? Alone? After everything that just happened?

It almost feels like Duncan was more interested in testing you, to see if you COULD get out of that situation or what you’d do when the guard showed up. That gives me a lot of complicated feelings about Duncan, and the way the Grey Wardens do things in general. Because let me tell you, Rose hurls that “Wardens must not involve themselves, they must remain neutral” out the fucking window, even post DAO after the blight is over and things return to “normal” for the wardens.  

Side note, I like to think that the wardens out at Weisshaupt or wherever contact Alistair at some point like "What the hell is Warden-Commander Tabris doing over there??? She's breaking every rule we have??" and Alistair's just shrugs like "My wife killed an archdemon to end the Blight and survived, she gets to do whatever she wants forever and honestly, I love that for her."

But anyway-- I get it, Duncan. The Grey Wardens were booted outta Fereldan once before and we don't want a repeat of that. Sure. Fine. Makes sense...but also Rose doesn't give a shit about that? She may come to understand it eventually but that doesn't mean she accepts or forgives it, or would ever be willing to adapt the same attitude.

And I'm not even going to get into everything with the Joining and Ser Jory, because oh my god.

Everything Duncan does influences Rose's views on the Grey Wardens and their duty, like if there was ever anything she and Alistair have straight up argued about, it's Duncan and the concept of "being a warden is an honor."

And I think that's neat. Duncan's a consistency in every origin and even though he dies so early on, his influence remains with the warden no matter who they are.

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Prima Nocta (or the right of the first night) Part 1

Warnings: so so so so many for thematic material. This is dark. Quite dark. This is freshly divorced and verrrrrry bitter and disillusioned Elvis helping himself to the bride of the newest Memphis Mafia initiate. Hugely unreliable narrator, belittling and objectifying of women, dub con because of that, sanctimonious chauvinism, reference to his marriage going very south. no actual sex yet but definitely 18+.

Notes: this got so long from just lead up that I figured it was worth publishing on its own and seeing if there’s interest for a part 2. Sorry for going bonkers on this one, sometimes you just gotta tap into the villain side of yourself. Also, this was inspired by many talks with my previous mutuals about THAT picture of Elvis holding a gun to George Klein’s head at his own wedding…I’m using it for solely for vibes, sorry George

Series: Sky High Lovin -reading Honeymoon might make this even better but not necessary

Dedicated to: Sweet Christi with the wayward mind and all my thanks to Ally and Jane and Elise for spitballing this into existence.

There was a time, not so long ago, when Elvis enjoyed life affirming events like weddings, believe it or not. He enjoyed facilitating days to celebrate love and loyalty and vows before God, promising everlasting devotion. That is, until he learned that “till death do us part” meant about as much to most as a “bless you” did when someone sneezed.

It makes surveying the pink and white festooned hotel ballroom something of an eyesore for him as he lounges back, dressed in black velvet, a sore thumb of ominous derision amidst the pastels, viewing the merry reception through moody, tinted lenses. The familiarly charming table accents of champagne and flowers and paper mache hearts twist his own into something a little furious and decidedly bitter.

A man’s wife betraying him and leaving him and stripping him of his pride and his joy and all his best intentions for her and your child will do that to a man.

Couldn’t even make it a whole decade before she found fault and spread her legs for another and turned his child against the father that loved her.

Sorry for being away so much baby, I was just singin’ myself hoarse to buy you that fuckin ring and car and hair and face and keep you in the style you’d married me for.

Cause it was obvious as all hell that honoring and obeying hadn’t been first and foremost in her mind when she promised forever. Forever to riches and fame, maybe, but not forever to him. She has those now, and he hasn’t got the family he’d prayed an Old Testament God for.

Rather like the pretty lady currently allowing her rodent of a groom to feed her their wedding cake, fake giggles and batting lashes adding to the nauseating act of pretending she can stand being in his company for longer than a couple hours.

Forever, my ass.

Elvis watches her through his shades and with each passing minute the anger burns brighter and his justification steadily builds for the liberty he’s about to commit.

The groom is here for Elvis’ paycheck, the lovely bride is planning to suck that idiot's cock till death doth them part (or a good four years) for the status of being a Memphis Mafia wife, and even the guests now stuffing their faces with pasta and alcohol are here for what Elvis’ money buys.

Loyalty is dead and what’s left is the goddamn food chain, like they’re the animals school tells them they’ve evolved past. In the recent months since his divorce, Elvis has felt a near Devine calling to bring this wicked devolution of morals and motivations to light, to humiliate these homosapiens until some level of shame is regained by mankind. If this is a pack of animals that surrounds him, he is King of the Jungle, and it is a careless and heartless king who lets his subjects run amuck.

He has no appetite for pasta, the hours of frivolity pass him by and he remains aloof, crouching in wait in his chair, running off righteous indignation and primal sufferance. Good things come to those who wait.

That’s what the bride is thinking, Elvis suspects, as the reception winds down and her luxurious honeymoon full of sunbathing and spas, good food and rich wine and the obligatory playing hooky to get out of sex draws nearer. Just a little more time letting fuckin’ Ronnie feed her cake and paw at her, then she’ll be on her way, securely locked into her future of privilege. He’s got nothing against Connie, uh, Sandra, -oh hell what was her name? he consults the gold embossed invitation at his elbow,- He’s got nothing against the newly minted Mrs. Kemp, nothing in particular, except that she’s a woman. And Elvis has a bone to pick and a point to prove with the whole, whorish lot of them.

Elvis opens the limo door for the bride himself, gallantly ushering in the happy couple before joining them as arranged, the whole merry band of his boys piling in after.

The new Mrs. Kemp, unlike some of his boys wives, had had the good grace not to whine about the lack of privacy and alone time to be found in and around Graceland’s inner circle. As a result Elvis allowed her to choose the more expensive flowers and gold embossed invites and french vintages, even if he knew why knew she’d been disgustingly eager for any chance of her intended husband being distracted from her. Elvis is certain, thanks to first hand accounts from fuckin’ Ronnie himslef, that the groom has sampled the bride already. It’s the way of things in this decadent decade, and she’s no fresh outta the nest baby chick. The fact Ronnie could give no further details about his encounters with his betrothed beyond the mechanics of thrusting above her till he blew his load, made Elvis despair of humanity and suspect Mrs. Kemp had a serpentine pragmatism about this entire arrangement.

Oh my buddy my pal, he thinks to himself as the limo flies through the never dark streets of Las Vegas towards the airstrip, I gave my wife everything and that wasn’t enough, how can you compete? God gave Eve the whole of Eden ‘cept for one measly apple tree -and what did the mother of all mankind do? She took, she ate, she damned them all with her disloyalty.

Ronnie is a damn fool, and while Elvis’ warnings were not needed during the engagement and this marriage has progressed to a limo ride and honeymoon, Elvis is not to be thwarted in his determination to save Ronnie the slow disillusionment, the slow death of any pretense of love in his wife’s eyes, the crumbling of all faith in anything such as Elvis has endured. Better to rip the bandage off now, five years is a long crucifixion.

As the limo parks on the tarmac and the gleaming hulk of the private jet looms over them in the night sky, no doubt Ronnie harbors some pathetic hope Elvis has forgotten his promise.

Elvis proceeds his guests up the jet bridge, cane thumping and carefully harnessed excitement radiating through him as he enters the opulent space, watching with benign magnanimity as the newlyweds board his jet, the boys providing a rollicking group to ferry the new couple to their honeymoon destination.

This was Elvis’ treat, he had insisted the jet drop them off before he heads back to wherever it is he’s supposed to be tomorrow. He’s not lost his appetite for spoiling folks. Only this time, he is gonna get repaid in currency a little more tangible than ephemeral, transient, fleeting loyalty. And Ronnie, kiss-ass, weak-spined fuckin’ Ronnie wasn’t man enough to hold out more than a few minutes when Elvis told him his new bride was the price for being inducted into the inner circle, the intitiation to prove his loyalty to The King.

Predictably, after some pathetic and scandalized objections, some monetary threats by Elvis and some judgmental snickers by the guys, fuckin’ Ronnie had caved and betrayed his loyalty to his own wife before he’d even walked down the aisle to marry her.

“B-b-but d-did the rest of t-the g-guys h-h-have to do this?” Ronnie had protested while they were shootin some pool, leaving the gals the other rooms to wedding plan, “Is it a-a-always this w-way?”

It hasn’t always been, no. Because Elvis hadn’t always been so astute. He had allowed his taste for pleasure and innocence and childish notions of fidelity to cloud his perception of women and the men they married. Elvis once was blind, now he saw, and now there was a currency of wedding nights established in the jungle.

“No one’s forcin’ ya to stay in this group.” Elvis had pointed out while lining up his pool cue with the ball, “you’re mighty welcome to go right on out that door, never receive another check from me or a glimpse of Vegas again, you’ll lose that girl, too, cause she sure as hell won’t be stickin around when all your bells and whistles fall off and it’s just you she’s left with. She don’t want ya Ronnie, she wants what I give ya, which makes me her provider, don’t it?” he reasoned before making his shot, the clatter of the balls deafening against the green felt as the older members of the mafia held their breaths in sick fascination with this new form of hazing. “And now, if I’m her provider,” Elvis had straightened up his posture to watch Sonny mark the score on the board, “that makes me a husband of sorts, an authority, a protector. A sugar daddy. Don’t it? You gonna tell me I should throw you guys a damn weddin’ and honeymoon, buy ya the house you live in and the cars you drive, the clothes she wears and the food you eat cause you hang around me an’ promise to protect me if the time comes? Bodyguard my ass, I could turn anyone to chopsticks before you even woke up long enough to realize a threat. Face it Ronnie, there’s a totem pole in this here life, and no one blames ya for bein’ a few notches down than most in the scale of things, but it don’t give ya much leverage bein’ down there. I give you that leverage. And I’d like to compensate myself for my generosity with a lil marital privilege. Jus’ once, just first night rights.” he took a swing of his coke and watched Ronnie closely, licking the sugar off his lips with deliberate swipes of his tongue, “Or would ya prefer I just wait and fuck her in six monthes when she comes knockin’ on my door sayin’ she just got lost in this big ole place?”

Fuckin’ Ronnie was a coward and a cad and he essentially agreed that he’d rather Elvis fuck his wife on the wedding night and be done with it than always be watching his back, suspecting her of carrying on an affair. Ronnie was a little bitch, Elvis surmised. Gone was any protest that he couldn’t do that to her, that she was a good gal, that Elvis wouldn’t do that to a friend.

Kings had no friends. And tonight Ronnie was oh so close to being officially inducted into the Memphis Mafia, he’d do nothing to jeopardize that . Elvis figured he’d wait until the plane took off to sample the goods, make her husband squirm guiltily over it while his new bride puzzled over why he was so tense.

Out of consideration for her downer of a groom, Elvis handed her a drink, playing the gracious host and taking her mind off her husband's stiff bearing and sweaty pallor.

“Don’t mind him, honey,” Elvis whispered hot and wet in her ear as he handed the drink off, “Ronnie boy here’s just scared of flyin’. You’re not scared are ya, honey?”

Honey….he couldn’t recall her name, Mrs. Kemp’s name, his fatigue and apathy too strong. He stood straight and dug in his pocket for a pick-me-up as he watched her smile and blush under his attentions,

“No sir, Mr. Presley, I’m not scared.” she smiled, “One could think we’re sat in a living room, it's so spacious here.” she added a compliment.

“I’d like to show ya the rest.” he says sitting down next to her, his arm heavy and warm around her shoulders and his gaze intent on her, knowing the effect this has on an ignored woman.

He recalls using that same line on his young bride during their honeymoon, eager to show his own new wife everything he had to offer. Beauty and luxury and care and a damn good fuck in front of the mirror back there. And it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough.

He can feel Ronnie tense further against the back of his hand where he clasps the bride’s shoulder, knowing that the “rest” of the plane beyond this lounge is a conference table, a toilet and a bedroom. Ronnie has had the privileges of being part of the TCB and now he’s about to pay his admission fee, and Elvis smirks at the thought that the man will never ride aboard this jet again without thinking of getting cuckolded by his boss.

The Bride is trying to make sense of Elvis' sudden shift of mood along with her husband’s. Both of them seeming to have swapped bearings, changing from the reception as if the jet’s air pressure had doused Ronnie’s merriment and finally revitalized Mr. Presley from the rather sullen attendee he had been. Elvis can feel her hesitancy to agree in her body language and the way she keeps looking over to Ronnie, as if to figure out his nervous ignoring of her and the way Elvis makes up for it in touches and attention. Beneath them the jet rumbles and takes flight, her little gasp at the heart swooping feeling of take-off a taste of what’s to come, of what he’ll pull from her body, willing or not . He’d rather lure her, try that first, the other can always be resorted to.

There’s an unspoken agreement to wait on this lil tour till the jet reaches cruising altitude, and Elvis spends the wait rubbing her arm and watching her try to make conversation with her groom who finds discussing the latest baseball stats with Red far more interesting than recalling the beauteous memories of the last few hours with his now introspective and mildly panicked bride. It’s funny to hold a woman whose mind is racing, Elvis can almost feel the frantic thoughts and conflicting emotions battering her frame from the inside out like a caged bird against its bars.

Elvis allows the minutes to trickle by and work for him, the soothing sweep of his hand slowly melting her rigidity, the continued abandonment of her husband's attention going from hurtful to frustrating, the innocuous chatter of the fellas talking and laughing around them, the cool air of the jet’s cooling system kicking on, and his warm and broad chest already pressed against her, now beckoning like a little haven for her to cower inside until the confusion passes. He clocks all these developments as the minutes go by, fully aware the boys are making small talk with their minds as preoccupied as Ronnie’s about when Elvis will make his move, their anticipation mounting while her guard drops, finally accepting his closeness without question. The jet rumbles and her drink kicks in and with the wedding fever abated it leaves her drowsy, unmoored.

Elvis waits for the perfect moment to pounce and is rewarded for his patience. The cool blast of the AC has made her begin to curl towards him and he’s met her halfway and it’s not till her head almost nods weakly to lay on his shoulder that her sensibilities prick her and she jerks it back up, another little gasp. It makes his repeated,

“Lemme show ya round, honey, got all sorts of remarkable stuff up here”

sound like a gallant cover for her lapse of decorum. Predictably, she shakes herself upright and gives him a polite nod of thanks, their first mutual, unspoken communication acknowledging something the rest of the room isn’t privy to. Her loyalty is slipping and all it took was a few minutes of heating her up with his embrace, a few whispered teases and buying her a whole damn lifestyle. To her credit she looks to Ronnie as she rises, asking him to come along in a coaxing voice Elvis knows is her trying to get her new husband to even look at her.

Elvis watches her try and fail at this from the curtained doorway leading to the back of the jet, thinking it makes a striking picture. A bride still dressed in white, bending over to try to catch her husband's eyes as he watches TV in his rumpled tux, the entire plane’s worth of masculine attention directed on her, except for the man who swore to worship her. Perhaps the disillusion will go both ways tonight, maybe women aren’t all merley bitches in heat, maybe some start out intending to be faithful and good and content.

Elvis has yet to meet a woman faithful and good and content once he puts his mark on them, they spend the rest of their lives day dreaming and closing their eyes when their husbands are in them and clogging his phone lines, kidding themselves that they’re special. He’s saving her the sin of coming to his room in a couple of months or years and saying she got lost while dropping her silk nightwear down her frame, an old and familiar expression of invitation on her face. She might not know that’s in her future otherwise, but he does. And he’s gonna save her the wait. When she wants something she’ll come to him now, not her husband, and he will have the discipline to make the right choices for her.

Elvis holds the curtain aside and beckons her with his fingers, and she would be angrier that he has the nerve to summon her away from her husband if she weren’t so humiliated at being ignored by the man. Frustration at their man makes women very susceptible to comfort, Elvis knows this intimately, and in their strong desire to be understood and soothed, they’ll spread their legs for the first person who tells them they deserve that attention.

She ducks under his arm, into the shade of the conference room with an attitude written on her face. Elvis drops the curtain behind them, the prey corralled. Nothin so easy as a woman scorned, nothin’ quite so hungry and quite so fierce. He hopes she’ll take out some of that miffed little ‘tude out on his back with those fancy nails his money bought her. It makes him smirk in anticipation and he can tell she finds that unsettling, her huffy bearing faltering once she notices him just watching her move round the glossy table top, suddenly aware of their seclusion and the fact she left her groom behind for a tour of the jet. She’s beginning to doubt her choice, doubt her loyalties.

Honeymoon off to a damn good start, she thinks sourly.

It’s innocuous, standing at opposite ends of a conference table with a man who is your husband's closest friend and at whose house you’ve eaten multiple dinners. There’s nothing wrong with it, but she feels her skin prickle none the less like she’s in danger, like those eyes observing her through shaded lenses are not fully human, not fully beneficent. She curses Ronnie for humiliating her, for his weird mood these past weeks making her feel isolated, for her past making her paranoid of this assessing male gaze.

She’d met a panther in the woods on an Appalachian bike ride once. They’d stared each other down as he had crouched and observed, his eyes fathomless and intent, the muscles of its body undulating in readiness beneath sleek black fur. Her mouth had dried out exactly the same as it does now when her shy smiles aren’t met with anything besides those assessing eyes and that crooked smirk that holds no fondness for her, no pride in his jet, no amusement at her awe of his wealth. A smirk of pure and smug knowingness.

Then he calls to her and the warmth of his voice melts her fear. “Check out this icebox, honey”

Her face lights up like a kids in the yellow glow of the refrigerator light as she bends over to look inside, white stain skirt hugging her perfectly and he gathers that all that athleticism has done her good, she could probably ride a man for hours without tiring, judging by the firm curve of that ass.

“See anyhtin ya’d like?” he asks her casually, laying a light hand between her shoulder blades as she reads rows and rows of labeled refreshments.

“Oh, uh, no, no, the drink was enough for now. Thank you Mr. Presley.”

He used to correct folks when they called him that, and used to punt the honorary title to his father. But nowadays he finds “Mr. Presley” might be closer to “your majesty” than mere “Elvis” -in which case he’s stopped putting little floozies at ease by asking them to call him by the name his mama gave him. That’s a name used by a wife back when he was happy and respected and alive.

“C’mere, I wanna show ya this television back here.” he beckons again, removing the heat of his hand from her back and she breathes easier with him taking the lead, she’s able to watch his imposing figure unobserved as he leads her past the conference table and into a small hallway with a large, showbiz style mirror.

Elvis swaggers right on by the marvelous monstrosity with its low counter and doused bare bulbs, but she can’t help herself. A flicker of childish glee taking over as she flips the switch on the wall and makes the bulbs buzz to life, brilliant as a spotlight in the inky gloom, illuminating them from the knees to the ceiling in a gaudy reflection. The sudden blast of light makes him pause on his trek to the bedroom and he joins her in looking at their reflection.

“Hell, honey,” he drawls amused as he takes in her fresh little wedding set and his decadent black suit, “we look like cake toppers.”

She laughs at that, a sweet unaffected thing that is music to his ears, and no doubt a screech to Ronnie’s. Elvis finds his grin growing at that thought and she mistakes it for joy. She laughs again, aborted little chuckles tapering out.

“There’s a tv back here, too?” she asks, embarrassingly at ease with entering a bedroom in the company of Elvis Presley.

Interestingly she doesn’t even glance at the bed when he ushers her in, she’s peering at the walls and the built in furniture for a peek of a screen.

“Mhmm, keep lookin, it’s hidden.” Elvis follows her and shuts the door behind him, a quiet click she doesn’t hear as she’s got her back to him, busily creaking open dresser doors and clapping in commendation upon finding the tastefully camouflaged TV set.

“How wonderful!” She praises and his heart does something funny and nostalgic over unpretentious enjoyment of what he has to give her.

One day it’ll be old hat to her and she’ll be like all the other wives, naggin’ and bitchin’ over keeping up with each other, forgetting about what it was they ever wanted, consumed with one upping each other and dominating the pecking order, spending Elvis’ money not for pleasure but for bragging rights. For now he watches this young woman bounce in her heels over a hidden TV set and makes a pact with himself to be nice, to gentle her into this ruination.

Then he recalls she married Fuckin Ronnie, and that twists his gut in reminder she’s a practical gold digger like all the rest. And he doesn’t mind that about her, he just hates the dishonesty of pretending she’s in it for more, and her ignoring him for a tv irks him as disingenuine.

“Wanna kick back and watch somethin, doll?” he asks her and sees the exact minute his words make her back and shoulders stiffen beneath white silk.

“Uh, on this one?” she’s scared to ask, scared to sound like she’s accusing him of suggesting it, scared to suggest it and give him ideas.

“They got the damn game on the other.” he answers her smoothly, coming up behind her and reaching round her to power it up.

“Elvis.” she dares to sound reprimanding when all he’s done is stand behind her and punch a button, she’s the one who walked into a bedroom with a man who isn’t her husband.

“Gonna be a long flight, three more hours I reckon.” he is patient with her.

“Y-yes.” she hesitantly agrees, watching the screen flicker to life, “And I wanna spend it with Ronnie, exc-“

Liar! He doesn’t let her turn around, he puts his hands on her shoulders and keeps her facing the TV, keeps her away from the closed door she’s not yet noticed, he nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck telling himself, gently, gently, tempt her, tempt her. “Doesn’t seem like Ronnie is eager to spend it with ya.” he mourns low and sympathetic in her ear and she gasps at his brutal honesty, at the fact he’d have no tact to pretend he didn’t notice.

“Elvis, t-this isn’t right.” she parrots her mother or her favorite tv show or some rote set of rules she doesn’t really embrace.

“What ain’t right, honey?” he rumbles, keeping his hands on her, moving them from her shoulders down her arms, then swooping them up again and fingering at the sides of her neck, delighting in the shiver her body yields up to him.

If he hadn’t been so aloof before, she figures she might not feel so electrified by his sudden, all consuming touch. But it’s not just that, he’s kept his distance from her since she started dating Ronnie and in her star struck insecurity she’d made no move to become friendly with him.

Now this, this intentional hovering and the petting that tastes like something she’s only ever heard about. It’s Elvis, Elvis petting her in her wedding dress on the way to her honeymoon destination and that’s simultaneously about as predictable and uncredible as can be. Elvis, who’s been the ephemeral host for countless of lovely parties, Elvis who’s been the presiding specter over all their schedules since she became part of the group, Elvis who has been the magical name on the credit card used for everything she ever wanted. Elvis Presley, the man who achieved all there was in life by 21, and has been bored by it ever since. What did she expect him to be, a fatherly figure?

“Did you like your weddin’ honey?” he asks her after her raging thoughts consume the time she should have spent answering and protesting him.

The hands descending to her hips and squeezing there hint a warning prompt even as his gentle tone reminds her of all he has done for her, his inexhaustible benevolence -which it seems something has finally exhausted. She begins to panic, no need to see those panther eyes when the heat is radiating off of him, sexual intent potent from his aura alone, no need to feel a crude gesture or have it spoken out in clunky declarations of desire. Ingrained self doubt takes hold of her for one brief moment before the scratch of his sideburn rubs against her cheeks and the hot press of his lips against her neck tells her it is not vanity making her project on him, Elvis Presley really is trying to seduce her mere hours after her vows, a few yards away from her new husband and his friends.

“Mr. Presley!” she resolutely stiffens in his embrace and tries to turn and leave his hold of her and he lets her so far as she’s spun round and facing him, her stern tone wobbling out when she’s met with the hypnosis of his expectant stare, “Y-yes it was lovely, thank you.” she stammers out, fear and primal instinct kicking in and guiding her to cower and simper her way out of this, her boldness having bounced off him like shotgun shells off cement. Nothing but damaging to her. “T-thank you for all you did.” she tries again, her tone unsure as his face remains unreadable, his eyes burning and unblinking behind his shades, lit with white hot something in the glow of the tv screen. “You’re very generous.” she admits, tacking on every obeisance she can think of while resolutely ignoring the feel of being held to his chest, near eye level with the gap of his shirt and the chains glittering on his skin. “I need to rejoin my husband, sir.” she begs, begs that she doesn’t want this, denies she’s ever hoped for this.

Idly he wonders if she’s being honest, then he watches her swallow thickly as she catches a whiff of his scent.

Suddenly he crushes her to him, her mouth smashed to the metallic, skin warmed nest of his chains, pinning her there with a hand to the back of her head as his other reaches for the hem of her skirt and drags it up and over her ass, palming it even as she shrieks in shock, “Tell me, Mrs. Kemp,” he growls in her ear, “did you go after Ronnie cause he was near me, or did ya come for the money and stay in the hopes I’d pay attention to your little self? Was you countin’ on me gettin lonely some night an’ sendin’ your husband on an errand so I could get my fill of his wife? Is that what keeps ya from gaggin when he’s on top of ya? Is that the hope?”

Elvis’ fingers find the band of her lacy panties -honeymoon lingerie his money bought her- and he snakes his hand in, down the warm curve of her ass and along her crack, dipping between clenched thighs to rake through predictably sopping wet folds. She gave the whole resistance act a good try, but her womanly body responds to dominance, and Elvis is dominance incarnate. It’s in her weak nature to drip for him, plain and simple, and so he swipes and dips and drags his fingers through her as she fights against his chest, pounding her fists impotently against the velvet of his coat.

“Shhh, shhh honey, I know, it ain’t your fault.” he is magnanimous, gracious as King Solomon. “This, honey, this is what hope tastes like.” he brings his glistening fingers to her snarling mouth and shoves them in against her tongue, savoring the way her choke distracts her from the obvious defense of biting him, “Taste that? That’s how hope tastes, and there ain’t anyhtin’ more harmful than hope. Makes a purgatory of your life. Doesn’t let ya be satisfied with what ya got, won’t let ya get dissatisfied enough to wanna change anythin. You just hope and hope and your life goes by, while you’re hopin.”

She whimpers around his fingers, wilted white silk in his arms, dress bunched up obscenely in the screen-lit room. He strokes her cheek with his spit wet hand, the ring faces of rubies and diamonds and priceless gems caressing her tears away, lulling the creature back to her basic instincts, hypocrisy and futility purged away beneath Elvis’ healing hands. “I ain’t gonna let you go on hopin for years and years,” he enchants her with whispers, rocking her now as she whimpers in catatonic fascination, “I’m gonna gift ya with knowledge.”

Everything she’s given up while fighting to get herself on a jet like this, married to a man of means, with a house and a steady future and a predictable timeline stretching out before her -security at last! -all of it crowds her mind, the devil and the angel on her shoulders whisper in a traitorous debate. Of course life isn’t how she wanted at eighteen when she expected to marry for love, yet of course her mature self is pleased with this match. Those can both exist, and she planned for them to exist in a tidy world where Elvis Presley wasn’t an option, because he’s not. He’s not offering himself, doesn't even have enough dreams of his own to bother with lying about it to buy them both a minute of reprieve from the disillusioned hellscape that is life in one’s thirties when you comforted your starry eyed twenties by telling yourself it gets better. Then to no one’s surprise -it didn’t. The one last insupportable piece of this maturing puzzle that would cement her growing up forever is tasting this then going back to Ronnie. It’s out of the question and she doesn’t give a shit what he’s going through right now, or what Ronnie thinks about her angering his boss, what she needs is the peace of mind that comes with not knowing.

“You can take your knowledge and shove it.” she snaps out of the pliant heatstroke his embrace caused her and shoves him away, only succeeding at making room between them because he’s so surprised by her sudden surfacing out of the trance.

One final thrash of the prey and he watches with amusement as she stumbles in haste across the flickering room, yanking open the closed door and steadfastly booking it to the front of the jet. Headed to the shelter of a man who promised to protect and defend her and cherish her and swore it all while counting his bonus for selling her out.

Elvis watches her till she and her crumpled white dress fly past the brightly mirrored hallway and disappear from his vantage point through the doorway. He picks at his nose and thinks about what he might like to take on this little experiment, and having procured a few items of use saunters after her at a leisurely pace. He sets them on the conference room and table and watches as she pulls back the curtain and steps into the lounge, her whole being vibrating in a way that is not subtle or discreet about what just occurred between them.

It’s warmer in the lounge, just pulling the curtain back wafts warmth into the ice box chilled areas of the plane that Elvis frequents, it makes her tremble with relief. She’s back in public, back where he won’t try anything. Ronnie, to her angry bewilderment, is still glued to watching the TV like he didn’t even register her absence. But his mere existence will still work for what she needs. She needs to belong to someone and sit beside that person for three hours while his boss cools off.

She is not prepared for the way everyone in the lounge spins round to look at her once registering her presence, looking with absolute surprise as if her reemergence was the surprise, not the lengthy plane tour to the back bedroom. It makes her seethe inside, they thought she’d go through with it, damn animals that they are, all “what happens on the road stays on the road” and carefree chauvinism inherited from their boss. She has to remind herself why she wanted this life in the first place, has to recall the perks and the wages and lavish reception.

Red and Joe now flank Ronnie and her seat beside him is taken up by those two manspreading oaf’s. Desperate, she decides to play at being cute and makes to sit on her husband’s lap, spinning round to find Elvis watching hehe from the curtained doorway as she tries to lower herself down to perch.

“Babe, I can’t see the damn screen with you like that.” Ronnie has the churlishness to complain and she wants to scream at his denseness, the way pushes at her lower back to tip her out of his lap.

To save herself the humiliation of face planting on the plane floor she chooses to stand of her own accord and catch herself from the shove. She sees Elvis’ lush mouth frown behind the cigar he’s lighting up.

“Don’t be an ass to her Ronnie, she’s your wife.” he reprimands and she gets a funny feeling of appreciation for being defended in all this. Her loyalty teeters towards the man she has to remind herself she needs to escape from. “Or have ya forgotten, ya unchivalrous bastard?”

That’s a little harsh but the memory of Ronnie not giving a damn about the fact she was almost assaulted -that’s harsh word for that too, her traitorous mind supplies- reminds her that she isn’t happy with him at all. But in fact, come to think of it, she isn’t pleased with any one them, and there’s no where to go on this damned plane. It starts to make her skin crawl, the realization that she’s surrounded by men who would either not believe or else not care if Elvis went through with the forceful attentions he was showing her back there. Who would believe her if she said he forced her?

“Ronnie I’m tired and my seat’s been taken!” she argues with him, “I just wanna sit down. Lay down, even!” she begs, thinking of how best to clear the couch of anyone but him so that no one takes liberties and sits down beside her.

“Then go lay down in back where there’s a fuckin’ bed? Why’d you come out?” he snaps.

“Cause-“ because Elvis Presley tried to take liberties, that’s why, but she feels strangled watching how all the men await her answer with a little too much investment, the way Elvis is still watching her behind tinted shades and a haze of cigar smoke.

“You get all bitchy when you’re tired, go lay down and take a nap, honey. I’m watching the game.” Ronnie suggests her worst fear and it infuriates her how he’s changed just since he slipped a ring on her finger.

“Ronnie please-“ She whimpers and would give anything to know why Joe is leering up at her with a sly grin. There’s no time to think on it as Elvis’ ringed fingers close around her elbow and tug her back towards the curtain.

“C’mon honey, ya heard your husband, let’s get ya situated.” he coos and her fingers turn to ice from the shock of it all.

“I don’t wanna!” she protests, “Ronnie!” she tries one more time while being backed away from her husband by his boss.

“Oh for fucks sake just do what he wants!” Ronnie begs with something akin to frustration but the red hot blush sweating up his neck suggests he’s humiliated to be caught saying it.

“Beg your pardon?” she hisses in disbelief, feeling Elvis’ hand clamp on her arm just a little more, maybe to keep her from marching up to Ronnie and smacking him.

“Just, just give him what he wants. Just tonight.” Ronnie spills the beans far sooner than needed and Elvis wants to roll his eyes at how fast they went from taking her for a nap to admitting to something far more sinister.

The bride’s head swivels from viewing her husband to Elvis and back to her husband and the room full of men who’s thrumming interest in her makes her wanna bolt straight out of the plane now she knows why. It’s sickening yet so strongly in character for them she doesn’t waste many moments in disbelief, it all makes sense in a horribly predictable way. Every one of these fella’s grinning at her discomfort are pathetic in her eyes, as pathetic as men who’d prefer to watch naughty movies than better themselves as lovers. Somehow in the mess of it all, Elvis alone stands out as something a little less deplorable. Even if it’s just his brash and demented honesty she admires.

“Y’all planned this?” she asks dully, scanning each lip licking face, ending with her husband’s sullen one, “This was all planned out? You offered me up? You goddamn, two faced bastard-“

Elvis loops his arm around her waist to prevent her from launching at Ronnie and clawing him to shreds. His chest is searing her through the silk on her back and his hands grab at her more than they need to in order to restrain her. It makes her pulse pound and fury swirls inside her, battling with the cold dread of weakness and helplessness.

“Ronnie made a little deal with me.” Elvis is drawling in her ear in so soothing a way it almost counteracts the nauseating confirmation, “And now, we can watch you runnin’ round this plane for hours to get away from me like a Junebug in a bottle but that ain’t gonna change how this night ends. How bout ya just be sensible, hmm? Just cause he’s a lyin’, no good sunnuvabitch don’t mean you gotta turn bad yourself, ya know? He gave ya instructions, ya can still be a good lil wifey and honor and obey him, can’t ya?”

“Why?” she persists, but feebly this time, not knowing if she’s asking her husband who keeps his face averted towards the screen or the man whose hands are mapping out her body in full view of his friends. “Why y’all gotta do this?”

“I told ya honey,” Elvis murmurs, rucking the hem of her skirt up passed her knees, “hope’s a dangerous thing. I don’t allow it in my house. An’ you’re part of my house now, ain’t ya?” he pets at the damp plushness of her inner thighs as the men stare and she struggles to find a way to empower herself while caught in such a feeble position. Hurting Ronnie, twisting the knife a little more like he’s done her is all she can think of at the time. “Don’t you belong to me, sweetie?” Elvis is prodding once more and his cheek is clammy and hot against hers, the cigar smoke pungent around them.

“Yes sir.” she agrees while sneering at Ronnie’s reddened face.

“That’s more like it.” Elvis’ voice gentles to something a little less frightening than before but all the more terrifying for how sure and smug it sounds. His hands grab at her breasts and she can’t help the whimper she lets out from the presumption, no doubt it’ll only get worse. “Since you’re so eager to stick close to ole Ronnie and include e’rbody in our private business, I reckon it’s only fair we conduct this lil interview on the conference table, hmm?”

When she cranes her neck to look behind him and past the curtain, she can see the shiny table top littered with items it didn’t hold when she made her hasty exit passed it; scarves and a strange sort of plastic wand, that stupid police flashlight and a box of cigars are clumped at its foot in an ominous hodgepodge.

Admitting to being frightened by it would strip away her last bit of autonomy in this and so in a bid to act unbothered she slips out of Elvis’ hold and walks on her own two feet into the room, turning her back to Ronnie before shifting herself to sit on the cold, hard surface of the table.

“Is this what you had in mind, Mr. Presley?” she asks him meekly and makes sure to let her legs fall apart just so. She thinks she’s going to have some control in all this, the silly little thing, thinking he’s a man with regular tastes and base preoccupations, easily distracted from the purpose of this like any other. And the purpose is not pleasure -though he intends to draw it from her till she is broken from it- but purity of intention and nature. A lie dressed in white no more, but a wanton woman giving in to her true nature. Only he has the power to bring this out in every one he meets, and to purge it all the same.

Elvis Presley eyes her, as do all the men in the lounge just past him, until with an approving little hum and smile that is almost pleased, he steps towards her, yanking the curtain closed behind him and leaving them (somewhat) alone together in the dimly lit room, full of anticipation.

And maybe dread.

[blindmagdalena]

I’ve been reading King Lear the play by Shakespeare and King Lear is lowkey so Homelander coded.

Lear makes his daughters talk about how much they love him for them to get their parts of his land and when his youngest daughter (his favorite daughter) is essentially like “I’m not doing that and they’re fake for doing that” King Lear gets offended and cuts her off because he only sees that she wouldn’t say how much she loves him and not that she’s trying to help.

Also Lear has like a “fool” or jester that he gets mad at a lot but still keeps around and he kind of panics when the fool isn’t around. Another part of his stipulations for his daughters are that he is still called “king” but without the responsibility.

I feel like those are all Homelander moves, I may just be making unrealistic connections tho😭

no way i totally see your vision here!!! Homelander is surrounded by people that he terrorizes and bribes into endless sycophantry in order to vie for his approval and the privileges he can offer them. Ashley is very much his jester, someone he keeps around to torment but also who regulate his affairs. he, too, wishes to be king without the actual weight of the crown.

i think you could also argue some parallels with Starlight and Cordelia, with both of them refusing to partake in corruption/insincere worship, which is the only kind of love Homelander has ever known.

but ultimately i think that role is gonna go to Ryan, which has a lot of potential in season 4! hopefully not entirely, given Cordelia's fate... but i can see Ryan as being someone Homelander similarly seeks to have love him entirely, but like Cordelia, Ryan knows that kind of love is empty/unrealistic. Ryan, who did know the true love of his mother. You have begot me, bred me, loved me.  I return those duties back as are right fit: Obey you, love you, and most honor you.  Why have my sisters husbands if they say They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,  That lord whose hand must take my plight shall  carry  Half my love with him, half my care and duty.  Sure I shall never marry like my sisters, ⟨To love my father all.⟩

the themes of betrayal and the exploration of love in all its forms suit what we see in Homelander's story, which i fear will also inevitably end in tragedy. while i don't see him ever casting Ryan out, i do think there will be major contention in their relationship when it becomes clear that Ryan will not play the role of Homelander's perfectly doting surrogate self/son.

[boo-trekking]

Romulan Wedding Traditions: a headcanon ramble

I’m back again with a half baked Romulan take. I think they’re weddings probably still has some similarities to the Koon-ut-kal-if-fee. Except instead of duking it out on the hot sands of a dessert planet with the champion picked by your fiancé, it’s a little more complicated.

First off Romulus is described to be “a lush, humid world abundant with vegetation and large bodies of water”

So I’m thinking swamps and jungles (a Romulan on a fan boat makes my brain go brrrrrrr), where it’s easy to hide and challenging to hunt.

So on your wedding day no matter what your fiancé will present you with a challenge and that challenge is to hunt someone that they’ve picked but you don’t know who, and you bring them back to the specifications of your fiancé. So if they want them alive, you might just tie them up, but if they want them dead you might have to bring back their head or something. A real challenge is when they say dead or alive.

And then the trick of it is that the person they choose is someone you could really want dead, but you know your fiancé wants alive, like for example the fiancé’s ex. Do you show your fiancé how brutal you are by bringing back the head of the one who may have stood in your way, or do you hog tie the son of a bitch and pout about it? Either way it sets the tone for the marriage.

Also it’s not really guaranteed that you’d bring them back alive if asked, because traditionally you are meant to kill the one your fiancée picks, but more modern sentiments have made way for change.

So if your fiancé sends you after her father and asks that he not die, you only really have to bring him back. If you’re polite, you’ll say that he slipped and drowned and you weren’t able to revive him and everyone will look the other way at the strangulation marks on his neck. Or if you really are cruel you will bring him back and shoot him dead in front of your fiancé. And either way you are getting married.

The only way to get out of a marriage is to not bring back the one the fiancé picked. So let’s say you have the entire 25 hour cycle of the day to get this person. You could decide just to camp out, or miss your shot and if you can avoid finding the person and comeback empty handed then no marriage.

Or on the fiancé’s end they could request someone too hard to get/someone that doesn’t exist. I like to think it used to be in fashion to request someone who was dead. Until some dude who was really in love with his fiancé decided to say fuck it and broke in the family crypt and carefully exhumed and carried his fiancé great grandmother to the ceremony. Everyone’s horrified and a little grossed out (because the ggma had been dead long enough for decomposition to start), but the fiancé is laughing so hard.

Because she actually did want her great grandmother there, they were very close. She didn’t want to marry this guy cause she just didn’t want to get married yet, she was nervous. But here’s this guy who is lovingly cradling her ggma in his arms. He literally brought the only person who would’ve soothed her into this. And she gladly married him, and they immediately bring the ggma back, and then the trend falls out of fashion cause ew wtf.

It’s also a big deal to be the one the fiancé picks. I would call it an honor but you could possibly die so. It’s considered a big social faux pas to refuse to be the one hunted out right but there are ways to get out of it if you feel like you might die. Some people take on an extra stint of military service (not that it’s voluntary, but maybe they’ll be taking on a tour they could’ve sat out of idk), some others claim they are trying for a child (this is really popular among single women who are suspected to be a lover to the one who hunts, real tongue and cheek shit), but sometimes the only thing that will work is to change your name.

The way picking works is you have to present the persons name. Because there is so much secrecy in Romulan culture, names are really tricky, so maybe the name given is just your common name and you decide to be a stickler and insist on the full four names in order for you to be the hunted. Or maybe you go to your family and ask to change your name there as to throw off the picker.

But it is a little awkward if the picker is your brother and you know he wants you dead so that when your father dies he will be head of the house instead of you, the oldest. And you know his fiancé would kill you even if your brother said they didn’t have to, because the fiancé is the youngest in their family and they have twelve siblings to get through before it’s their turn. So helping their fiancé become head of their family is just a smart move. Lucky for you your dad saw this years ago and already changed your family name, but waited until your brother already picked your full old name so now he has to pick someone else. He’ll pick the father out of spite, but the fiancé won’t kill him. After all, your dad used to be his commanding officer, it wouldn’t feel right.

It’s the hunted’s duty to make the hunt difficult, even if they know they’ll live at the end of it. So they’ll set traps and sneak around. I like to think that Romulan’s have houses similar to Klingons, and those houses have their own variations on the traditional ceremony. So maybe the hunted must hide in a particular place based on their house tradition, or they must throw the hunter off with a certain system.

I can imagine a house who often picks children to be hunted, that way it doubles as a test for the child’s skills. So maybe the fiancé very sweetly gives her little sister a present and asks her to be the hunted. And this 13 year old kid is absolutely STOKED to give her brother in law hell. So not only does she hide, but she starts counter hunting him. And he DIDN’T PLAN FOR THAT. So right when he’s looking at the barrel of a Romulan cross bow, beaten and bloodied by a kid who still sleeps with a night light, he’s fully accepted he’ll be the first in history to be killed and brought back. She looks at him and says something like “When you marry my sister…may I live in your house? I…don’t want to be without her.” And he says yes without hesitation because his fiancé already asked if it was okay, and he’s grown up knowing the little sister too and knows that it’s not the best for her at home (without much detail, Romulan secrets you know), and this kid just drops the crossbow and starts crying because she was really worried she was gonna lose her sister! And so he lightly bounds her hands, they make it back to the ceremony. Folks are congratulating her for giving him hell but snickering at the number this tween did to that guys face! All in all it works out, they are married and the sister moves in with them, and when it’s her turn to marry she kindly asks her niece…who has been trained from birth to return the favor.

Overall I feel that Romulans are just so complex and secretive, that a freaky (affectionate) marriage challenge feels right up their alley. They aren’t governed by logic, but by secrecy and deadly hide and seek feels right.

[thenightdance-if]

What are their thoughts about marriage and kids?

alistair grew up in a big household with their parents and three siblings, so they’re not unfamiliar with the intricacies of familial relationships. they see marriage as a pact of love and trust between two people, something important that should be honored as long as it lasts. marriage isn’t a recurring thought for them, but they can see themselves in matrimony if they find someone they love too much to let go, because they’d want to bind themselves to them forever.

they are very good with kids—another perk of growing up in a household full of them and teaching young squires and interacting with starry-eyed children as a knight. being a parent crosses their mind, sometimes; alistair’s a leader, after all, and guiding someone through life and nurturing them does sound fascinating. but after leaving knighthood, these thoughts have been smothered. what good could they ever give after losing everything?

cianan has yet to see a happy marriage in their life. the silverlands don’t offer much to see, actually. the lordlings (or underlordlings, since they’ve been banished here) that populate the place marry out of necessity, forming alliances that can help their survival in such an inhospitable place. “i didn’t marry your father,” they heard time and time again from their mother. “he had nothing to give me.” therefore, marriage out of love is something quite foreign to them.

they think they’re a disaster dealing with kids, but give them a crying baby and the infant will immediatly calm down—even if they didn’t do anything to soothe it. kids are drawn to their calm and solitary aura, as if they are the one in need of nurturing.

[gaysindistress]

Here’s another list of thing that I think are canon for our lover boy Bucky and no one can convince me of otherwise.

list one

1. Bucky has complicated feelings about wanting a family.

In the 40s, he would’ve said yes in a heartbeat because that’s what was expected of him and look at him. Who wouldn’t want him as the dutiful husband and involved father of your children?

But then the war and HYDRA happened and he told himself no. Never would he have a relationship, a marriage, or a family. He had Steve and Sam (even if he didn’t want to admit the last one). He would be fine without any of that.

Things became even more complicated when Steve fucked off back to the 40s and chose Peggy. Bucky always had feelings he knew weren’t normal for his best friend but he couldn’t address them. He had more pressing matters than to figure out if he loved his best friend or loved his best friend. Deep down he wanted Steve to be more than just his family. He wanted Steve to build their family with him but when he left without so much as a good explanation, it crushed him.

Sam stepped up and showed him what found family meant, showing Bucky that family didn’t have to be born. We can choose who we love and call our family. Being so quickly accepted by Sam’s family meant the world to him because it meant that they wanted to be around him. They wanted to get to know him and to care for him. It wasn’t out of duty, honor, pride, or any of that other bullshit. It was out a desire to care for and love Bucky as he was.

Finding his family in Sam felt like that one Hozier song:

I got some colour back, she thinks so too

I laugh like me again, she laughs like you

Except Bucky knows that Sam cannot replace Steve not does he want that. He wants a fresh start and that’s what he got.

Now…. when he meets you?

All bets are off. This man sees you hanging out and bonding with Sam’s nephews as if they’re your own, and he’s weak in the knees. You help Sarah with something in the kitchen? Bucky needs a minute to recalibrate his brain. You flick shit at Sam? Bucky is smiling but also dying on the inside because his heart is beating so fast and he can’t get it under control.

But the moment he sees you gently rocking a baby to sleep, he’s about to drop onto one knee and ask you to marry him. You’re talking to Sarah and someone had passed off this crying child to you so you zip them into your coat and start swaying to get them to calm down. You’re patting their back in slow rhythmic motions, much the same way you do to Bucky when he’s feeling anxious or has a nightmare. Sarah doesn’t bat an eye because she has two kids of her own and you two carry on your conversation. When Sam and him walk over, he literally stops dead in his tracks and gasps. Sam goes to give him shit but he follows his eye-line to you and makes a point to get your attention. You turn around ever so slightly and that’s it. Bucky is a puddle on the ground at the sight of you with a fast asleep baby wrapped in your coat.

2. He is actually a diva when it comes to the closet and your clothes.

He has a system okay? Shirts, jackets, sweaters, and sweatshirts all get hung up. Undershirts and pants are folded while his underwear and socks are rolled into neat little sausages so they can be put into a drawer. His shoes go under where his clothes are hung up and whenever he hangs up his clothes, they all get turned right side out so he can see what they are when he’s flipping through them.

You on the other hand are a savage and shove whatever fits into the drawer. Yes of course, socks and underthings go in one, shirts in another with bottoms in the last drawer but there’s no order. It’s all chaos and on more than one occasion, he has made you sit down and reorganize everything. Your clothes are going to look the way his do and he will do your laundry for you if that means it stays that way.

Although when you move in together, it’s gets significantly better because he’s the one doing laundry so he has complete control over it.

3. Mexican food is his shit.

Mexican food didn’t become mainstream outside of South Western America until after he was taken by HYDRA so it’s unlikely that he’s ever had it prior to TFATWS.

He and Sam needed to go to San Diego for some Captain America thing and you went with them. You were craving some legit tacos after being on the East Coast for too long. There are obviously good taquerias and even Mexican restaurants in general in Washington D.C. but those places don’t compare to California’s Mexican food.

(This part is based entirely on my own experiences) Once you’ve had food from the taquerias that sit in parking lots, nothing can compare to the thrill of ordering and being able to taste how fresh it is. The pickled carrots and jalapeños are so crisp. The radishes taste like the pico de gallo because they used the same knife to cut it and your sauce levels are white people, normal, and abuelita.

Anyways you drag them along and Bucky is making comments about how you’ve lost your mind because “this is parking lot to an empty store. There’s not going to be food here.” Sam is snickering in the back seat because he knows what’s up and he helped pick the place.

Bucky doesn’t want to get out of the car at first but when you hop out, he’s swinging that door open and trailing after you. There ain’t no way in hell he’s letting you walk up to this food truck but yourself. He’s also completely taken aback by the fact that you order what he thinks is enough food for ten people and not three. You send a quick smile to him over your shoulder and thank the people as you start passing food off to him and Sam. When you all sit down at the wooden picnic table that’s sitting off to the side of the taqueria, you explain what everything is and even tell Bucky what order he should eat.

After that, he’s practically begging you to take him back so you can get some of the “best damn food he’s had in a long time.”

[shiorihyugawrites]

Diamond Of The First Water

In the aftermath of war, Paradis finds itself in need of powerful alliances. When Emperor Armand of Valoria offers his military aid in exchange for the hand of his daughter, Princess Solina, in marriage, Captain Levi Ackerman is thrust into an engagement that begins as a political strategy but soon becomes something much deeper.

Princess Solina, sheltered from the world and unaware of the realities of love and war, finds herself drawn to Levi—the man known as Humanity’s Strongest Soldier. As they navigate royal customs, public expectations, and the growing threat of Marley, the bond between them deepens into a genuine connection.

But neither Solina nor Levi are prepared for the challenges of a political marriage, the weight of intimacy, and the secrets that lie beneath the surface. As Solina enters a new life with Levi, her naivety is tested, and Levi faces a battle unlike any he’s fought before—the fight to protect his heart.

Can their love flourish in the midst of war, duty, and danger? Or will the forces conspiring against them tear them apart before they can find peace? (Levi x OC)

Chapter Twenty Seven

It’s been ten days since Levi and Solina left the lush rainforests of Montessa. They’ve visited two other stunning countries since then and are en route to the final destination on their honeymoon. 

The Valorian royal ship cut smoothly through the serene waters, leaving the vibrant shores of Androsia behind as the horizon revealed the unmistakable architecture of Hizuru. Delicate pagodas framed against snow-capped peaks grew closer with every passing moment. Solina stood on the deck, her emerald gown catching the ocean breeze, the sunlight glinting off the fine embroidery of golden roses adorning the fabric. Her hair, pinned back into a simple yet elegant style, shone in the light, and Levi couldn’t help but glance at her from the corner of his eye. She had been glowing the entire honeymoon, but something about seeing her against this backdrop of adventure made his chest swell with quiet pride.

Levi, as ever, was composed, though his sharp eyes scanned the dock ahead for any potential threats. Even on his honeymoon, his instincts as Humanity's Strongest Soldier remained sharp. He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored jacket, which bore subtle nods to his status as both a Valorian royal consort and a Paradis captain. Solina noticed his focused expression and gently touched his arm.

“You’re tense again,” she said softly, smiling up at him. “We’re arriving at Hizuru, not entering a battlefield.”

Levi’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Force of habit. And I’d argue, being married into your family sometimes is a battlefield.”

Solina chuckled lightly, shaking her head as the ship began its slow approach to the dock. The bustling port came into full view—a hive of activity with workers unloading cargo, merchants calling out their wares, and soldiers in pristine uniforms lining the pier. A line of officials dressed in traditional Hizuru attire stood waiting, their expressions calm yet expectant. At the forefront was the Shogun, his ceremonial robes flowing, flanked by Kiyomi Azumabito, who wore her usual reserved smile.

“Looks like they rolled out the red carpet for us,” Levi murmured dryly, his sharp eyes narrowing at the gathering.

“They’re friends of my father,” Solina replied, her voice calm but tinged with nerves. “He and the Shogun have worked together for years.”

Levi nodded, though his gaze lingered on Kiyomi. He hadn’t forgotten her how much helps she had been to the beginning of his engagement to Solina. 

As the ship docked and the gangplank lowered, Solina gracefully stepped forward, her hand lightly resting on Levi’s arm. The Shogun approached first, his smile wide and warm as he inclined his head toward Solina.

“Princess Solina, it is an honor to welcome you to Hizuru,” he said, his voice deep and resonant. “Your presence graces our lands.”

“Thank you, Lord Shogun,” Solina replied, her tone formal yet warm. “It is a privilege to be here. My father speaks highly of you.”

The Shogun then turned his attention to Levi, his gaze appraising. “And Captain Levi Ackerman. Your reputation precedes you. It is said you are the strongest soldier alive.”

Levi inclined his head slightly. “I just do what’s necessary.”

Kiyomi stepped forward next, her smile faint but amused. “Captain Levi, it’s wonderful to see you again, and an honor to meet you, Princess Solina. It’s been some time since I’ve seen such a... memorable pairing.”

Levi narrowed his eyes slightly, but Kiyomi turned her focus to Solina, who greeted her warmly. The older woman studied the couple for a moment before leaning closer to Solina, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“You must be some kind of magician, Your Highness,” Kiyomi teased, her eyes twinkling. “To have gotten the captain to fall for you. I never thought I’d see the day.”

Solina’s cheeks flushed a soft pink, and she glanced at Levi, who arched a brow at Kiyomi, unimpressed by her teasing. However, he didn’t refute her words, which only made Kiyomi chuckle quietly.

“Welcome to Hizuru,” Kiyomi added, her tone now more serious. “We hope your stay will be restful and rewarding.”

The formalities concluded, Levi and Solina were led through the port and into a waiting carriage adorned with Hizuru’s crest. The streets of the capital city bustled with life, but the couple’s itinerary was designed to give them as much privacy as possible. As the carriage moved through the city, Solina marveled at the architecture and intricate gardens, her face lighting up with childlike wonder.

Levi noticed, as he always did, how her excitement seemed to radiate outward, infecting those around her. He leaned back in his seat, allowing himself a moment of quiet contentment as he watched her take in the sights.

“You seem happy,” he remarked, his tone softer than usual.

“I am,” she admitted, turning to face him. “Everywhere we’ve been has been so beautiful, but something about Hizuru feels special. It’s hard to explain.”

Levi hummed thoughtfully, his hand resting on the hilt of the short blade he carried at his side. He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he was also looking forward to their time in Hizuru. Though he was still adjusting to the role of husband—and Valorian consort—the idea of exploring a place so rich in history with Solina was strangely appealing.

The Shogun had arranged for them to stay in a secluded estate surrounded by cherry blossoms and bamboo groves. When they arrived, the air was fragrant with blooming flowers, and the gentle sound of a koi pond added to the tranquil atmosphere. Solina stepped out of the carriage first, her emerald gown catching the sunlight, and Levi followed closely behind.

“This place is stunning,” Solina breathed, her eyes wide as she took in the beauty of the estate.

Levi nodded in agreement, though his attention was drawn to the staff who approached with their luggage. He made a mental note to check the perimeter later, ensuring their security was tight.

As they were shown to their quarters, Kiyomi lingered behind for a moment, her gaze following the couple. She couldn’t help but smile faintly, shaking her head at the sight of Levi subtly holding Solina’s hand as they walked.

“Maybe there’s hope for him yet,” she murmured to herself before turning to leave.

In their private quarters, Levi and Solina found a quiet moment to relax. Solina ran her fingers over the intricate carvings of the wooden screens, while Levi unpacked a few essentials, including the cleaning supplies he always carried.

“I think I’m going to love it here,” Solina said, her voice soft but filled with certainty.

Levi glanced at her, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “As long as there aren’t any snakes.”

Solina laughed, the sound light and musical, and Levi felt something in his chest tighten. Everything just felt... right.

…

Later on at diiner time, the quiet hum of conversation and the subtle clink of porcelain against wood filled the traditional dining room as Levi and Solina sat cross-legged on mats before a polished, low wooden table. The room was intimate, with sliding shoji doors framing a serene garden illuminated by lanterns. A master chef knelt behind a small counter, meticulously preparing the evening's meal. The setup was elegant, a perfect blend of culinary artistry and cultural tradition, yet Levi felt more uneasy than he had during his battles against titans.

Solina, on the other hand, was already immersed in the experience. Her emerald eyes sparkled as she watched the chef’s skilled hands glide over the fish, slicing thin, translucent pieces of sashimi. She adjusted her posture gracefully on the mat, her delicate hands clasped in her lap.

“This is incredible,” she murmured, leaning closer to Levi. “I’ve had Hizuru’s cuisine before, but never prepared so personally. Isn’t this amazing?”

Levi glanced at the pristine, gleaming knife the chef wielded, then at the counter. His sharp eyes noted the spotless workspace, the perfectly arranged fish, and the fresh, shining vegetables. At least it’s clean, he thought.

“Sure,” he replied dryly, though his eyes flicked skeptically to the plate of raw fish being arranged before them. “But... is it really safe to eat something that hasn’t been cooked?”

Solina turned to him, her lips curving into a gentle smile. “Of course it is. The fish is incredibly fresh, and this chef is a master. Trust me, you’ll love it.”

Levi wasn’t convinced. The notion of eating something raw didn’t sit well with him. For someone who was particular about cleanliness and hygiene, the slimy texture of uncooked fish was... unappealing, to say the least.

The chef slid their first course onto the table: an assortment of sashimi delicately fanned out on a lacquered plate, accompanied by pickled ginger, wasabi, and a small bowl of soy sauce. The colors were stunning—pale pink salmon, creamy white tuna, and translucent slices of sea bass arranged like a blooming flower.

Levi’s sharp blue eyes studied the plate, his lips pressed into a thin line. He noticed Solina pick up her chopsticks effortlessly and take a small piece of salmon, dipping it lightly into the soy sauce before popping it into her mouth. Her expression softened with delight, and she hummed softly.

“It’s perfect,” she said, turning to him with excitement. “You should try it.”

Levi, who was still trying to figure out how to properly hold the chopsticks in his hand, mumbled, “I’m fine.”

Solina tilted her head, watching him with mild amusement. “You’re not sure how to use those, are you?” she teased gently.

“I know how,” Levi retorted, his ears tinging slightly pink. He quickly observed her fingers, mimicking her hold with subtle precision. To his relief, the chopsticks didn’t slip from his grasp, and he picked up a piece of sashimi.

But he didn’t eat it.

Solina laughed lightly. “You’re inspecting it like it’s a bomb.”

“Raw fish,” he replied, his tone flat. “It might as well be.”

Solina rolled her eyes playfully and took another bite. “You’re being dramatic. Here, let me help.”

Before Levi could protest, she picked up a piece of sashimi with her own chopsticks, dipped it in soy sauce, and held it out to him. “Open up,” she said with a soft laugh.

Levi scowled, leaning back slightly. “I can feed myself.”

“Levi,” she said, her voice softening as her green eyes sparkled with amusement, “please? Just try it.”

Levi hesitated, his gaze flickering between her earnest expression and the piece of fish hovering inches from his mouth. He sighed in defeat. “Fine.”

He leaned forward and bit the sashimi off her chopsticks, his jaw tightening slightly as he chewed. The texture was just as he feared—soft and slippery—but to his surprise, the taste wasn’t terrible. The soy sauce and fresh flavor worked well together, though he’d never admit it aloud.

“Well?” Solina asked, her voice laced with anticipation.

Levi swallowed and shrugged. “Not as bad as I thought.”

Her face lit up with a triumphant smile. “See? I told you.”

He didn’t respond, instead reaching for his tea to wash down the unfamiliar texture. When he set the cup back down, Solina was holding another piece of sashimi toward him.

“You’re joking,” he said, his expression flat.

“Come on,” she urged, her tone teasing. “You liked the first one.”

Levi pinched the bridge of his nose but relented, leaning forward once again to let her feed him. As he chewed, he found himself less focused on the fish and more on Solina’s radiant smile, the soft curve of her lips, and the way her joy seemed to illuminate the room.

After finishing a third piece—again fed by Solina—Levi leaned back slightly, shaking his head. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Guilty,” she admitted with a laugh. “But you’re doing so well.”

He smirked faintly, his sharp gaze softening. “If you weren’t my wife, I’d say you were torturing me.”

“And if you weren’t my husband, I’d say you were the pickiest eater I’ve ever met,” she shot back, her voice light and teasing.

The chef, who had remained silent but attentive throughout their banter, presented the next course: nigiri sushi. Solina beamed and clapped her hands softly, clearly delighted. Levi, meanwhile, resigned himself to enduring another round of her encouragement.

By the end of the meal, Levi had managed to eat more raw fish than he thought possible, and though he wouldn’t admit it, he found the experience more enjoyable than he’d anticipated—mostly because of Solina. As they prepared to leave the restaurant, Levi glanced at her, watching as she thanked the chef with genuine warmth and grace.

“You’re something else,” he murmured as they stepped outside into the crisp night air.

“What do you mean?” she asked, tilting her head.

He shook his head slightly, a faint smirk on his lips. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

Though he didn’t elaborate, Levi knew what he meant. She had a way of making even the most mundane—or in this case, uncomfortable—experiences feel worthwhile. And for that, he couldn’t help but feel grateful.

Their traditional Hizuru home was breathtaking, the kind of place that seemed plucked out of a dream. Situated on a hillside, it overlooked a serene valley blanketed by lush greenery. The home was crafted with expert precision, its polished wooden floors, paper-thin shoji doors, and intricately painted screens a testament to Hizuru’s craftsmanship. A gentle breeze swept through the open corridors, carrying the faint scent of cherry blossoms from a nearby grove.

After dinner, as Levi and Solina were shown to their quarters, Solina marveled at the koi pond visible through the sliding doors. “This place is gorgeous,” she said softly, her voice filled with awe.

Levi nodded, though his sharp eyes were scanning every corner. “It’s clean,” he murmured, as if that were the only compliment that mattered. He’d been on edge all day, uncomfortable with the lingering sweat from their journey and eager for the opportunity to properly wash.

Finally, their attendant bowed politely and motioned toward a pathway leading outside. “This way to your bath,” he said, sliding open another door.

Levi stepped forward, curious, but froze as they reached the destination. There, nestled among natural stones and surrounded by lush foliage, was an onsen—a private hot spring bath. The steam rose gently from the crystalline water, the scene illuminated by soft lantern light. The peaceful bubbling of the spring was accompanied by the occasional chirping of crickets.

“This is… for us?” Solina asked, her voice tinged with nervousness. She was already starting to blush.

“Indeed,” the attendant replied with a bow. “The onsen is yours to enjoy. It is customary for couples to share the experience.” With another bow, he retreated, leaving them standing there in awkward silence.

Solina’s face turned bright red as the reality of the situation sank in. Levi’s stoic expression didn’t give much away, but the way the tops of his ears flushed pink betrayed his discomfort.

“A shared bath,” Levi said flatly, his tone a mix of disbelief and resignation. His mind immediately flashed back to the night in Montessa when Solina had slept topless next to him. He’d barely survived that, and now this? He cleared his throat sharply and gestured toward the bath. “You go first. I’ll wait.”

Solina hesitated, gripping the hem of her sleeve. Her face was still burning, but something inside her was urging her to be bold. After all, they were married now, weren’t they? It wasn’t inappropriate. “No,” she said softly, yet firmly. “I want to go in… with you.”

Levi blinked, sure he’d misheard. “What?” His usual monotone cracked just slightly, betraying his shock.

“I mean—” Solina’s blush deepened as she tried to steady herself. “We don’t have to… do anything. But I want to experience this with you. It’s… something intimate we can share.”

Levi stared at her, his gray eyes wide and unblinking. His brain scrambled to process what she was asking. The idea of sharing a bath—naked—with Solina, the woman who had been driving him mad for weeks now, was enough to make his throat dry. He swallowed hard, glancing toward the onsen and then back at her. She wasn’t teasing him or testing him; her earnest green eyes were filled with sincerity.

Finally, he nodded. “Alright,” he said quietly. “But I’ll turn around so you can get in first.”

Solina smiled shyly, relieved by his agreement, and turned to unfasten her obi. Levi spun around immediately, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he focused hard on the dark foliage beyond the bath. He could hear the soft rustle of her clothing being removed, and it was taking all his willpower not to glance over his shoulder. When he finally heard the gentle splash of water, he dared to look.

Solina was seated in the water, her arms resting delicately along the edge of the stone bath. Her cheeks were flushed from both the heat and embarrassment, but her gaze was steady as she looked at him. “Your turn,” she said softly.

Levi nodded and began removing his clothes, his movements methodical. He hesitated slightly as he unbuttoned his shirt, aware of Solina’s eyes on him. When he finally removed it, exposing his toned chest and scarred abdomen, he glanced toward her and noticed the way she quickly averted her gaze.

He quickly finished removing his clothing before climbing into the onsen slowly, the hot water enveloping him like a second skin. It was oddly relaxing, though his nerves were still on high alert as he took a seat across from Solina. The bath was large enough to give them some space, but the intimacy of the situation was impossible to ignore.

“This… isn’t so bad,” Levi muttered, breaking the silence.

Solina giggled softly. “No, it’s not.”

They sat in silence for a while, the gentle bubbling of the spring filling the air. The tension began to ease, and Levi found himself relaxing, the heat of the water soothing his muscles.

“Thank you,” Solina said suddenly, her voice soft.

Levi looked up at her, confused. “For what?”

“For agreeing to this,” she said, her gaze meeting his. “I know it’s… a lot. But I wanted to share something like this with you. I wanted us to be vulnerable together.”

Levi’s expression softened, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. Vulnerability wasn’t something he was accustomed to, but with Solina, it didn’t feel like a weakness. It felt… natural.

“You’re braver than I am,” he admitted quietly. “But I’m glad we’re here.”

Solina’s heart fluttered at his words, and she smiled warmly at him. The heat from the onsen was palpable, wrapping around Levi and Solina as they soaked in the mineral-rich water. Steam rose in delicate wisps, curling into the night air. The atmosphere was quiet save for the bubbling of the spring and the occasional rustle of leaves in the surrounding foliage. It felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of them.

Solina, seated a little closer now, had her arms wrapped over her chest. Her posture was one of modesty, but the movement inadvertently pushed her breasts higher, accentuating her already delicate form. Levi, trying his hardest to be a gentleman, was fixated on the lantern’s glow reflecting off the water. The muscles in his jaw clenched as he kept his eyes deliberately averted.

He couldn’t help himself, though. His gaze flickered for just a moment, and when he saw how her arms framed her chest, he gulped audibly, feeling the sweat bead on his brow. The heat of the water was nothing compared to the fire steadily building inside him. His throat felt dry, and the tips of his ears were practically burning.

“Levi,” Solina’s soft voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. “Are you okay?”

Her genuine concern only made things worse. Levi stiffened and turned his head sharply, his voice coming out too fast and an octave higher than usual. “Y-yeah! I’m fine!”

Solina blinked, tilting her head as she studied him. She wasn’t convinced. “You don’t look fine…” she murmured. Her tone was soft and uncertain. “Am I… making you uncomfortable?”

The question struck Levi like a thunderclap. His gray eyes widened, and he turned to face her fully. “No! No, not at all,” he said quickly, his tone carrying a hint of desperation.

Solina’s expression was hesitant, her green eyes flickering with doubt. “If you’d like, I can leave,” she offered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Levi froze. The thought of her leaving made something twist in his chest. He reached out instinctively, his fingers brushing against her wrist. “Don’t,” he said, his voice softer now, more grounded. “I don’t want you to go.”

Solina’s breath caught at his earnestness. Her lips parted slightly as she searched his face, the raw emotion in his gaze causing her cheeks to flush. “Are you sure?” she asked.

Levi exhaled sharply and nodded. “Yeah… I just…” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling uncharacteristically flustered. Words weren’t his strong suit, but he had to say something. “You’re… very distracting.”

Solina blinked, her confusion evident. “Distracting?”

Levi cleared his throat, willing himself to continue. “You’re beautiful,” he admitted, his voice rough and low. “It’s hard to think straight when you’re sitting there looking like that.” His eyes flickered briefly, unable to help themselves. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t want to be here with you. I do.”

Solina’s face turned crimson, the heat from the onsen nothing compared to the warmth blooming in her chest. She looked down shyly, her curls falling around her face. “You find me distracting?” she asked softly.

Levi nodded, his expression more vulnerable than she’d ever seen it. “Yeah. A lot.”

A small smile curved her lips. “I find you distracting too,” she admitted, her gaze flickering to his chiseled chest and the faint scars that told stories of battles fought and survived. His pale skin glistened with water and sweat, the lean muscles of his torso shifting subtly with every breath he took.

Levi raised an eyebrow, surprised by her confession. “You do?”

Solina nodded, her cheeks still pink. “You’re… well, you’re very handsome,” she said, her voice soft but genuine. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who looks quite like you.”

Her words had an unexpected effect on Levi. For a moment, he forgot his nerves. The knowledge that she found him just as distracting as he found her made him feel… at ease, somehow. He chuckled quietly, the sound low and warm. “Guess we’re both in trouble then,” he said, his tone lighter now.

Solina giggled, and the sound was like music to Levi’s ears. Encouraged by their shared vulnerability, she shifted closer, closing the remaining distance between them. Their bare shoulders brushed against each other, the contact sending a jolt through both of them.

Levi’s breath hitched as he felt the warmth of her skin against his. His eyes were drawn to the bead of sweat rolling down her temple, tracing a slow, tantalizing path down to the curve of her collarbone before disappearing between the swell of her chest. He swallowed hard, his gaze snapping back to her face before he betrayed himself further.

Solina glanced at him through her lashes, noticing the way his throat bobbed with a swallow. Her confidence wavered for a moment, but then she felt a boldness spark within her. She wanted to kiss him. The thought had been lingering at the back of her mind all evening, and now, with the intimacy of the onsen surrounding them, it felt like the right moment.

“Levi…” she murmured, her voice carrying a hesitant longing.

Levi turned to her, his gray eyes locking with her green ones. The steam from the onsen curled around them, the world narrowing to just the two of them. “Yeah?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with curiosity and something deeper.

“I…” Solina’s courage faltered slightly, but the sincerity in Levi’s gaze steadied her. “Can I… kiss you?”

Levi’s breath caught, his heart hammering in his chest. For a moment, he couldn’t speak, his mind racing. But then he nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Solina leaned in slowly, her heart pounding in her ears. Levi met her halfway, his hand instinctively reaching up to cup her cheek. Their lips met softly, the kiss gentle but full of emotion. The warmth of the onsen seemed to fade as the world melted away, leaving only the two of them and the unspoken promise that they were in this together.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, their breaths mingling. Solina’s smile was radiant, and Levi’s eyes softened in a way they rarely did.

“Distracting,” Levi murmured, his voice tinged with amusement and affection.

Solina giggled, her cheeks still flushed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” Levi assured her, his tone sincere. He leaned back slightly, his hand still resting on her shoulder. “A big one.”

The night air was thick with steam and the quiet hum of cicadas, but neither of them noticed. Levi and Solina felt truly connected, the barriers between them dissolving like mist in the warm onsen.

But just a few minutes later, Levi didn’t know how it happened. One kiss turned into another, then another, and before he realized it, Solina’s soft lips were moving against his with a fervor that made his mind go blank. Every lingering peck, every subtle shift of her lips against his, sent sparks racing through his body, leaving him struggling to maintain control.

Solina’s arms uncrossed, her hesitation melting away as she wrapped them around his neck, pulling herself closer. The warmth of her body pressed against his bare chest, and Levi sucked in a sharp breath, a shiver coursing through him. Her soft breasts pressed against his toned chest, and it took every ounce of his discipline to keep from groaning aloud.

His hands moved on instinct, sliding around her waist and resting on her bare skin. The sensation of her soft, smooth body beneath his calloused fingers made his head spin. He wasn’t used to touching someone like this, let alone his wife, and the intimate closeness sent his carefully cultivated self-control spiraling. Tentatively, he began rubbing slow, careful circles along her waist, testing her reaction.

Solina shivered in response, her breath catching. Her half-lidded eyes gazed into his before fluttering shut as Levi's lips left hers to trail a line of heated kisses down her jaw and neck. She tilted her head to give him better access, and the soft sighs escaping her lips only fueled the fire steadily building inside him.

“Levi,” she whispered breathlessly, her hands threading into his dark hair. The way she said his name sent a thrill through him, and he kissed her neck with more intent, letting his lips linger. He could feel her pulse beneath his lips, fast and unsteady, mirroring his own.

Solina’s body felt strange—warm and alive in ways she had never experienced before. The bubbling sensation deep in her belly made her heart race and her breaths shallow. Whatever this was, it felt good—better than good. She clung to Levi, her fingers curling into his hair as her own lips trailed down the side of his neck.

Levi let out a low, unintentional moan, his lips pausing against her skin as a flush of embarrassment crept up his neck. But Solina didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t care. Her kisses became bolder, and he couldn’t stop the soft groan that escaped his lips when her teeth grazed his skin.

“Solina…” His voice was hoarse, his control slipping further as her lips continued their exploration.

Encouraged by the way Levi was reacting, Solina shifted her position. Before she fully thought it through, she straddled his lap, her knees resting on either side of his hips. The sudden shift made Levi freeze for a moment, his hands tightening on her waist.

Solina gasped, her cheeks turning a deep crimson as she felt something firm pressing against her thigh. Her wide eyes darted down briefly before snapping back up to meet Levi’s, her expression mortified. Lady Madeline had explained this to her, but experiencing it firsthand was far different than hearing a lecture.

Levi’s face flushed a deep red, his brows furrowing in embarrassment. “Solina,” he started, his voice gruff and uneven. “I—”

But before he could finish, Solina leaned forward again, silencing him with a kiss. Her hands cupped his face as her lips moved against his, pouring every ounce of her growing desire into the kiss. Levi groaned softly, his hands roaming up her back as his body betrayed his intentions to stop.

God, he wanted her. He wanted her more than anything. Her warmth, her scent, the feel of her soft body against his—it was intoxicating, and he was quickly losing the battle with himself.

Solina shifted in his lap, her core brushing against him, and Levi hissed, his head falling back slightly as a wave of pleasure coursed through him.

Solina pulled back, alarmed. “Levi! Did I hurt you?”

He shook his head quickly, his grip on her waist tightening. “No,” he rasped, his voice heavy with barely restrained desire. “It’s… It’s fine. I promise.”

Her worried expression softened, and she leaned in again, pressing kisses along his neck and shoulder. Levi’s breath hitched, his eyes fluttering shut as his hands slid lower, tracing the curve of her hips. He wanted this. He wanted her so badly it hurt, but a small, rational part of his mind whispered that this wasn’t the right time.

“Solina,” he murmured, his voice low and strained. “We… We should stop. Before this goes too far.”

But Solina wasn’t listening. Her lips found the sensitive spot just below his ear, and she kissed it softly, sending another shiver down his spine. Levi’s hands flexed against her hips, his breath coming out in uneven pants.

“Solina…” His tone was weaker now, his resolve crumbling under her touch.

Her kisses trailed lower, and Levi’s mind raced. He knew they should stop, but with her body pressed so intimately against his and her lips doing things to him he hadn’t thought possible, stopping felt like the hardest thing he’d ever have to do.

The heat of the onsen wrapped around them like a blanket, but Solina barely noticed it now. Her mind was hazy, clouded by the overwhelming pull of her desire for Levi. She knew she should be shy, modest even, but all she could think about was him—his lips, his hands, and the way his stormy grey eyes had darkened with barely concealed want.

Her hands rested on his shoulders, her fingers tracing the scars that littered his pale skin as she kissed him with a fervor that left them both breathless. “Levi,” she whispered, her voice shaky and filled with longing. “I don’t want to stop.”

Levi’s hands gripped her waist tightly, his nails digging slightly into her soft skin. His breath came out in shallow pants as he fought to keep himself grounded. She was making it nearly impossible. “Solina,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “I—God, I want you too. So much.”

He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers as he tried to steady himself. “But… this is our first time. I don’t want to rush it.”

Solina blinked up at him, her cheeks flushed and her lips slightly parted. She could see the conflict in his expression, the tension in his jaw, and the way his hands trembled slightly against her hips. It made her heart ache with both love and desire. “Levi,” she whispered, her voice soft but insistent. “I trust you. I… I just want to feel close to you.”

Her words shattered the last of Levi’s restraint. He exhaled deeply, his eyes searching hers as he made a decision. If this wasn’t the right time for everything, he could still give her something—something intimate and meaningful. He wanted to show her how much she meant to him, how much he cared for her.

“Okay,” he murmured, his voice low and steady now. His lips brushed hers briefly before pulling back. “Let me take care of you.”

Solina’s eyes widened slightly, and her breath caught as Levi’s hand slid from her waist, tracing a slow, deliberate path down her body. She shivered, her skin hypersensitive to his touch. When his fingers reached her core, her entire body jolted, and she gasped, clinging to him.

“Levi!” she cried softly, burying her face into his neck. The unfamiliar sensation sent a rush of warmth through her, leaving her trembling in his arms.

Levi tightened his hold around her waist with one hand, keeping her steady as he gently explored her with the other. His calloused fingers moved with an unexpected gentleness, circling her clit with slow, deliberate strokes. “You’re okay,” he murmured into her ear, his voice low and soothing. “Just let me know if it’s too much.”

But it wasn’t too much—it was everything. Solina’s breath came in uneven gasps as pleasure blossomed inside her, building with each careful movement of his fingers. “Levi,” she whispered, her voice shaky and filled with awe. “It feels… so good.”

Her words sent a jolt through Levi, and he swallowed hard, his own restraint slipping further. He kissed her temple, letting his lips linger there as he carefully slipped one finger inside her hot core. Solina cried out softly, her fingers curling into his shoulders as her body tightened instinctively around him.

“You’re so beautiful,” Levi murmured against her skin, his voice thick with emotion and desire. “I can’t get enough of you.”

Solina moaned softly, her lips brushing against his neck as her body began to move instinctively as she rode his fingers. The sound of her voice, the way she said his name like a prayer, sent a wave of heat through him. He could feel himself growing harder beneath her, but he forced himself to focus on her needs.

Levi’s thumb found her sensitive bud again, massaging it in slow, firm circles as his fingers moved inside her, exploring her warmth. Solina’s breathing grew ragged, and her moans became louder, more desperate. “Levi,” she whimpered, her voice trembling with raw need. “I… I can’t…”

“You’re doing so well,” Levi murmured, his tone soft yet commanding. “Just let go. I’ve got you.”

His fingers moved faster now, his thumb applying just the right amount of pressure as he felt her body tighten around him. The sound of her gasps and moans was intoxicating, pushing him closer to his own edge. Unable to hold back, he bit down gently on her shoulder to muffle the groan that threatened to escape.

Solina’s body tensed suddenly, and she cried out his name, her head falling back as waves of pleasure washed over her. Levi held her tightly as she reached her peak, his fingers slowing their movements to help her ride out the intense sensations. Her nails dug into his back, and her soft cries echoed in his ears, leaving him utterly captivated.

When she finally stilled, her body trembling slightly, Solina rested her forehead against his, her breaths coming in short, uneven bursts. She looked at him, her green eyes wide and filled with wonder. “Levi,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

Levi’s chest swelled with pride and affection as he gazed at her, his own breathing unsteady. “You’re amazing,” he said simply, his voice full of sincerity.

Solina didn’t reply with words. Instead, she leaned in and kissed him, pouring every ounce of her love and gratitude into the kiss. Levi kissed her back with equal fervor, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her closer.

As Solina rested against Levi’s chest, her breathing finally beginning to steady, she became more acutely aware of him. The warm water lapped softly around them, but the heat between them was undeniable. Her cheeks flushed as she realized that Levi’s hardness was still pressing firmly against her thigh, a stark reminder of just how affected he was. The thought made her heart race, and a spark of courage flared inside her.

“Levi…” she murmured, her voice soft yet filled with intention. She shifted slightly in his lap, her hands resting gently on his chest. “You… you made me feel so good. I want to do the same for you.”

Levi’s breath hitched at her words, and his hands instinctively tightened around her waist before quickly loosening. He looked at her, his grey eyes wide with surprise, a faint pink dusting his cheeks. “Solina,” he said softly, his voice tinged with both tenderness and restraint. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” she replied earnestly, her gaze steady despite the flush on her cheeks. Her fingers lightly traced the lines of his chest, her touch featherlight but enough to make his pulse quicken. “I want to make you feel good too.”

Levi let out a shaky breath, his lips pressing into a thin line as he fought to stay composed. Her innocence, her eagerness—it was all too much, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to give in. Not yet. He reached up, cupping her face gently with one hand as his thumb brushed over her cheek.

“You don’t have to,” he said again, his tone firmer but still gentle. He leaned in and kissed her forehead, lingering there for a moment before pulling back to look into her eyes. “It’s okay, Solina. I’ll be fine.”

Solina’s brows furrowed, her expression conflicted. “But Levi, you’re…” Her voice trailed off, her gaze flicking down for a brief moment before returning to his face. Her cheeks burned, but her determination didn’t waver. “You’ve been holding back this whole time, haven’t you?”

Levi gave a faint smile, though it was laced with restraint. “Maybe,” he admitted, his voice soft. “But that’s not what matters right now. This is all new for you, Solina. I don’t want to rush you or overwhelm you. It’s… It’s enough just to be here with you.”

His words made her heart ache in the best way. The tenderness in his tone, the way he looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world—it left her speechless. She bit her lip, unsure how to respond.

“Levi,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “You always think about me first… but I want to think about you too.”

Levi chuckled softly, a low, warm sound that sent shivers down her spine. He leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a fleeting, tender kiss. “And you do,” he murmured, his forehead resting against hers. “More than you know.”

Solina’s hands rested on his shoulders, her fingers curling slightly as she tried to process the overwhelming mix of emotions inside her. She wanted to argue, to insist, but the look in Levi’s eyes stopped her. There was no frustration, no disappointment—only love and patience.

“But you’re…” she began, her voice faltering as her cheeks turned a deeper shade of red.

Levi’s faint smirk returned, and he tilted his head slightly, his thumb brushing against her jaw. “I can handle it,” he said, his voice low but reassuring. “Trust me, Solina. I’ve been through worse.”

Her lips parted in surprise before she broke into a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re something else,” she muttered, though her tone was warm.

“And you’re stubborn,” Levi countered, his smirk softening into a small, genuine smile.

The playful exchange lightened the tension between them, and Solina found herself relaxing slightly. She leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder as her arms wrapped around his neck. “You really are too good to me,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his skin.

Levi’s hand moved to her back, tracing soothing circles there as he held her close. “It’s because I care about you,” he said simply, the words falling from his lips with ease.

Solina’s heart skipped a beat, and she lifted her head to look at him, her eyes wide. 

Levi met her gaze, his expression calm but earnest. “I mean it,” he said, his voice steady. “I care about you, Solina. More than anything/”

The sincerity in his voice made her eyes sting with unshed tears, and she smiled, her lips trembling slightly. “I care about you too,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Levi’s hand moved to cup her face again, and he leaned in to kiss her—slowly, deeply, lovingly. It wasn’t rushed or heated this time; it was tender, a reflection of everything he felt for her. Solina melted into the kiss, her fingers tangling in his hair as the warmth between them shifted from passionate to comforting.

When they finally pulled back, both of them breathing softly, Levi rested his forehead against hers once more. “You’re everything to me,” he murmured, his voice low but full of conviction.

Solina smiled, her cheeks still flushed but her heart full. “And you’re everything to me,” she replied, her voice steady and sure.

In that moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, the steam from the onsen swirling around them, they felt more connected than ever. 

Levi leaned back against the smooth stone edge of the onsen, his arms still loosely draped around Solina. The water rippled gently around them, the steam rising in ethereal swirls into the night sky. Solina's fingers lightly traced circles on his chest as her head rested against him, both of them basking in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

However, Levi glanced at her hands and then down at the water. "We're getting pruny," he said bluntly, his gruff voice breaking the silence. Solina giggled softly, lifting her own hand to see the faint wrinkles on her fingertips.

"I suppose you're right," she murmured, but she made no effort to move. She was too comfortable, too content.

Levi, however, was decisive. Without warning, he stood up in one fluid motion, scooping Solina into his arms as water cascaded off their bodies. Solina yelped in surprise, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck as she clung to him.

"Levi!" she exclaimed, her voice breathless and tinged with laughter. "You could have warned me!"

He glanced down at her, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You were too relaxed. We’d be in there all night if I didn’t move us."

Solina flushed but buried her face in his neck, hiding her shy smile. The heat from the onsen had nothing on the warmth blooming in her chest as Levi carried her with such ease and care.

He stepped out of the water carefully, the cool night air brushing against their damp skin. Solina shivered slightly, and Levi immediately set her down on a smooth, flat rock near the edge. Grabbing a nearby towel, he began drying her off with careful precision.

"Hold still," he instructed, his voice gentle yet firm as he knelt before her, the towel brushing over her arms and shoulders. His eyes betrayed nothing but concentration, but inside, Levi’s heart was pounding. He was finally taking in her nude form, and it was impossible not to marvel at how perfect she was. Every curve, every detail of her skin under the moonlight—she was breathtaking. He quickly averted his gaze, focusing on the task at hand, but his mind raced.

Solina, for her part, was equally flustered. Her eyes couldn’t help but drift over Levi as he dried her. It was the first time she was really seeing him in all his glory, and oh, how glorious he was. The lean muscle of his arms, the scars that told countless stories, the strength in his posture—he was magnificent. Her cheeks turned a brilliant shade of red, but she didn’t look away, despite herself.

Levi, noticing her wide-eyed gaze, cleared his throat, snapping her out of her reverie. “You’re staring,” he muttered, his ears tinged pink.

“I-I wasn’t!” she stammered, though the lie was weak. Levi glanced up at her with a raised brow but let it slide, a small smirk appearing.

Once she was dry, Levi wrapped the towel around her gently before grabbing another for himself. As he quickly dried off, Solina couldn’t help but peek again. She thought she was being subtle, but Levi caught her this time, and their eyes met.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The vulnerability and trust between them were palpable, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt natural—like an unspoken understanding that this intimacy was part of their journey together.

Finally, Levi broke the silence with a low chuckle. “You’re not as sneaky as you think.”

Solina’s face turned crimson, and she looked down at her hands, fumbling with the edge of her towel. “I didn’t mean to—” she began, but Levi interrupted her by brushing a finger under her chin, gently lifting her gaze back to his.

“It’s okay,” he said simply, his voice steady and sincere. The way he looked at her, his stormy eyes soft, made her heart skip a beat.

Once they both had their robes on, they made their way back inside. The traditional Hizuru bedroom was simple yet elegant, with soft lantern light casting a warm glow over the space. The futon on the floor was inviting, layered with plush blankets and pillows.

They slipped into bed together, and without hesitation, Solina cuddled into Levi’s side, resting her head on his chest. Levi stiffened momentarily, still adjusting to the unfamiliar closeness, but he soon relaxed, his arm wrapping around her shoulders to pull her closer.

“Thank you,” Solina whispered after a moment of quiet.

Levi looked down at her, his brows furrowed slightly. “For what?”

“For being you,” she said softly, her voice filled with gratitude. She tilted her head up to meet his eyes, her emerald gaze shining with sincerity.

Levi’s chest tightened at her words, and he felt an unfamiliar warmth spread through him. He didn’t know how to respond, so he simply pressed a kiss to the top of her head, letting the action speak for itself.

As the night deepened, the newlyweds lay side by side, their breathing in sync, the trust and affection between them growing stronger with every passing moment. Levi felt at peace, and Solina felt safe in a way she hadn’t imagined possible. The future was still uncertain, but together, they were ready to face it.

~

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[ageofmarie]

Royalty!Reader x Commoner!Josh (Part 1)(Gender-neutral reader)

Hello! This is my first writing I've done, and I wanted to post a part 1 to see if this was a story idea even worth pursuing! Just as a heads up before you start reading, English is not my first language so I apologize for any errors or grammar mistakes, and please feel free to point them out for me to correct! I hope you enjoy!

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I stand amongst the subjects of Ednan, my kingdom. My father, King Adelio, addresses those before us as I stir in my rather uncomfortable attire.

“For my eldest child’s 18th birthday, it is with great pleasure that I announce the kingdom of Ednan shall open it’s palace gates tonight to all as we host a most royal of parties to honor them.” My father concludes his declaration and the kingdom erupts into cheers.

What my father failed to mention was that this would be a dinner party full of competition and casualties. As his eldest and only child, I stood to inherit the kingdom. As his successor, he believes only the most worthy man deserved to marry me and become king. So tonight, five subjects will be randomly chosen to compete for my courtship. The grand prize is my hand in marriage, and their life.

I had begged him not to, that we could do it the traditional way of just choosing the richest kingdom for me to marry into, but he insisted. He says that my future spouse must be willing to die for the kingdom. I knew there was no use in fighting him, so I just look out amongst the cheering subjects with a sad look on my face, knowing they are oblivious of what is to come.

The commotion dies down and the gathered kingdom disperses. I’m quickly whisked away by palace assistants to make myself presentable for tonight. I shouldn’t even call themselves assistants. They were treated more like servants, and they were about as happy as them. They grip my arms tightly as they usher me to my wardrobe and I can only imagine they’re pretending my arm is my father’s neck. I can’t blame them, my father is more of a dictator than a king.

But there was one servant who actually treated me like a separate entity from the king. And that angelic woman was waiting for me as I entered my room wrapped in nothing but a towel after I had just been forced into the bathroom. She’s sat on my bed, hairbrush in hand, and ushers me to sit next to her.

“Hello, Maxine.” My smile is impossible to hide as she smiles back at me, beginning to run the bristles through my hair as I’m sat on the bed with her.

“Hello, dear. Are you ready for tonight?” Her gentle voice slightly soothed my nerves as she carefully runs the brush through my hair.

“I had always hoped to marry for love.” I’ve known my whole life never to get help up on the foolish notion of love. I wasn’t even conceived with love. My father found the prettiest woman in the kingdom to make him the perfect heir. There was no love between the king and queen, and I fear this will be my fate as well.

“Who’s to say you won’t find love within your new suitor?”

“I don’t know. I won’t be the one to have chosen him. And he won’t have chosen me.”

“I think if you spend long enough with a person, you can find something to love about anyone.”

Her words lingered in my ears as she worked through the tangles in my hair.

Maybe there was a slim chance that despite this twisted game my father created, there was a chance that I could still form a connection with the winner. As I consider her words further, she gets off of my bed and makes her way over to my closet, selecting an extravagant outfit for me to wear for the party tonight. 

“I’ll leave you to get dressed, dear.” She gently lays the outfit down beside me and exits my room, leaving me alone with my own thoughts and dread. 

Eventually, I force myself to stand up, staring at the elaborate outfit laid before me. The expensive silk glimmering in the dimness of my room. As I slipped into the outfit, I felt the weight of my devastating fate suddenly settle on my shoulders, making the light silk garments feel as though they weighed ten tons. As I make my way out of my room and toward the royal hall,  I hear the sound of trumpets, signaling that it was time for me to make my grand entrance. Closing my eyes and bracing myself, I push open the door and stand before my assembled kingdom, opening my eyes to see all of their faces filled with anticipation and excitement. My heart drops at their naive faces as I make my way over to my father’s side, sitting down as he stands to address his subjects. 

My father’s voice boomed across the room, quickly grabbing everyone’s attention. 

"As we gather tonight to celebrate my child’s coming of age, we shall also witness the determination and bravery of five chosen subjects who seek to win not just a kingdom, but the heart of my beloved heir," King Adelio declared, his eyes scanning the room with authority and a sinful smirk on his face. 

I forced a smile on my face, concealing the dread churning inside me as the five men were brought forward. With Maxine’s words echoing in my mind, I begin to study each man, attempting to find something, anything, to love about them.

The first man, tall and broad with a stern expression, stood with unwavering confidence. His eyes met mine, dark and intense, as if he were already claiming victory. The second man was of a slighter build, with quick, darting eyes that seemed to be calculating every move in the room, a cocky grin pasted on his face. The third man exuded charm and charisma, his smile dazzling as he greeted the onlookers with easy grace. The fourth man stood with a fierce determination, his jaw set and eyes blazing, his gaze glued to the crown on my head rather than my face. The further down the line I went, the more disinterested in the men I became. That was, until my eyes landed on the fifth man. 

The fifth man was quiet and contemplative, his outfit much less regal than his opponents. His gaze was thoughtful and distant, as if he was lost in his own world. As my gaze met his, it was like time had stopped. He was the human embodiment of the Sun, his brilliance lighting up the entire hall. When he smiled at me, I suddenly believed in Heaven. His hazel eyes had melted me, his curls entangling me and refusing to let me go. But I didn’t mind. I didn’t want to be let go. I wanted to fall into his eyes and drown, lost in them forever.

My father takes notice of my lingering sight on the fight suitor and chuckles as he nudges me slightly. “That runt at the end was chosen for entertainment,” he lets out a cackle that rattles my bones, causing many to stare at him.