#this looks hideous but please bear with me

[xiaolanhua]

ESTHER YU as Yun Wei Shan & ZHANG LING HE as Gong Zi Yu My Journey to You 云之羽 – TRAILER

[lilac-witch]

Aesthete - Azriel x reader

masterlist

Summary: Azriel hates his hands, Y/n loves them. Meaning: "one having or affecting sensitivity to the beautiful, especially art" Word Count: 389 Warnings: None

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"I love your hands."

Azriel's eyes moved from the book in his hands to the female sitting across from him. She wasn't looking at him, her eyes focused solely on her own book.

Moments passed, and Azriel remained silent, unable to find the correct words to say. It was as though the air had been ripped from his lungs.

Y/n lifted her head to find him staring at her, his hazel eyes wide with shock and mouth slightly ajar.

"What's that look for?" Y/n asked with a grin, slowly shutting the book in her hands.

Azriel's jaw bobbed, but no words left his mouth.

"Cat got your tongue Az?"

"You said you loved my hands..."

Azriel felt as though he was a toddler, repeating the words he heard others saying. But the concept that this female could even stand to look at his hands, let alone love them, had him feeling at odds with himself.

He watched as Y/n tilted her head to the side, nose scrunched in confusion.

"Why wouldn't I love your hands?"

"They're hideous. They aren't soft like yours, and the scars..."

"I love your hands, Azriel, because they represent your strength. They represent the male who survived hate and anguish, and overcame all the challenges thrown his way."

Azriel felt water line his eyes, the tears threatening to fall down his cheeks as his mate continued.

"I love your hands because they bring me joy. Your hands hold the flowers you bring me whenever you return home from a mission. It's your hands that wipe away my tears when I'm sad. It's your hands that mine seek underneath the table during family dinners."

Azriel could only attempt to not gape at his mate, at the comforting words that left her perfect mouth.

"I love your hands because there isn't a part of you that I don't love," she finished, pushing herself up from her chair.

Azriel tracked her movements around the table, shifting his sitting position to accommodate her weight as she sat in his lap.

Her hands took his in her own, thumbs rubbing gently over his scars before she lifted his hands to her mouth, placing soft kisses upon the skin.

Her eyes met his, blazing with love and admiration, and in that moment, Azriel had never loved her more.

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Hi everyone! I hope you enjoyed this post. It's the first of many to come. Please feel free to send me requests and post comments :) Also, please bear with me. I'm a full-time student so there may be times where posting isn't so consistent. But anyway, until next time ;)

[getonite]

YOU KNOW I LOOK TOO GOOD TO NOT BE HIDEOUS!

( synop. the voice inside of dazai's head swallows him whole ) contains. 1.8k+ wc — gn!reader ; dazai angst, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers ( hinted ), dazai gets a hug, alcoholism, drunk!dazai, pre-ada but post-pm, mention of vomit, dazai has a panic attack + cries, implied sh scars. ( the author is back on their torturing dazai bit ; this song literally belongs to him, okay. kinda pt2 to my prev dazai fic. )

"Dazai . . . "

"Dazai."

"OSAMU!"

Dazai twitches, awakened by the familiar sound of a yelling voice. "Huh?" his voice slurs as he sits up slowly, his body clearly in pain. You sniff, groaning the thick smell of alcohol stuck in his clothes. "Don't yell, hangover . . . " he grumbles. "Or maybe I'm still drunk."

"Get up," you say firmly, looking down at his slumped body resting against the wall.

He must've been downing drinks last night, though, at least not to the point where he couldn't figure his way home. Though, it seems he couldn't get into the house as his keys are resting in his hand and he's sitting onto the concrete next to the door.

"Huh? Wha—What, I'm getting- huh?"

You sigh and loop your arm underneath his, carefully pulling him inside of the house. You carefully grab the keys and set them on the rack near the door. Dazai let's out a drunken giggle as you pat him down, making sure that everything he left with is still with him.

"You are so fucking irresponsible," you hiss, tugging Oda's coat off of his lanky body. After forcing him to sit down, you walk to the kitchen to get him a much needed glass of water.

"Oh, coooome on," he hiccups, "You love me though.

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips, "Your lucky no one found you black out drunk like that and stole your shit. Or worse, killed you." You emphasize your woods, setting the cup ( you don't trust him with a glass ) of water in front of him. "Or have you forgotten, you just left the Port Mafia?"

Dazai sucks his teeth, rolling his eyes at your statement.

After months of hiding, you'd think he'd get it. Maybe that he'd follow suit of you. Stay low, stay quiet, and say lawful. Apparently not. He can't even stay clean.

There's a thought of wanting to punch him, maybe it'll knock some sense into him you think. Taking a deep breath, you bend down, slipping off his shoes and putting them next to the door. "Drink your water, please," you grunt," I'll run you a bath."

"Mhm~!" Dazai sings. He's been mumbling and humming tunes, kicking his feet as you attempt to clean him up.

After a couple of minutes, you walk down the hallway toward him, "Alright, c'mon!" Dazai giggles, hurriedly getting up from his seat. Though you see the scene happen in slow motion. As if he had low iron ( which he probably does ), the blood rushed down towards his feet and he immediately stumbles, hanging onto the table as he tries to gain his bearings.

"Osam—" you pause when you see his puffed cheeks. You sigh and dash for the small trashcan in the bathroom and hold it below his mouth. And a second later, you hear the gross sound of vomit.

You rub his back, waiting for him to finish before you even attempt to bring him to the bathroom. You almost gag as you bring him carefully to the bathroom and strip his clothes, unraveling his bandages as well.

A wave of both guilt and disappointment passes through you as you see him flop into the filled bathtub. He's thin. New scars have appeared a top the old and ( incorrectly ) healed ones. He's too pale, his hair is back to the state it was when he first appeared, and he reeks of the bar. Even after your efforts, it seems as if you can't get him out of this slump. "Osamu . . . "

Dazai lifts his head, silently responding to your voice. All of the mumbling, sound effects, and humming are stopped as you carefully clean his skin.

"What is going on with you?" There's a deep frown on your face as you inspect his forearm. "No matter how much I try, you only clean yourself up when I make you."

"I work, you sit in a bar, come home and plop yourself on the couch without a fucking word," you hiss. Dazai flinches, though your not sure if it's your voice, or your movements. Regardless, a sense of guilt floods you and you take a deep breath.

"What is it?" You pause and look at him, "I know you're still recovering from Oda, I understand grief. But you refuse to talk about it and then drown yourself in alcohol, no matter what I do."

There's attempt to keep your voice calm and level, though he can hear it. The underlying emotions of annoyance, worry, and disbelief.

His eyes are downcast, focused on the water covering his lower half. They're dazed, pupils dilating as they stay focused on the one spot. "Osamu?" You frown, eyes flickering to study his face. Your face falls when you hear the quiet sound of his breathing.

His chest shakes as he breathing increases, his jaw shaking in an attempt to say words.

"Oh . . . Osamu," you mumble as tears swell in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks and onto the arms resting in his lap. His arm flinches at the sting of the salty tear to the cuts on them.

You carefully get into the bathtub fully clothed behind him. He feels the warmth of your skin touch his as you carefully grab onto him, holding him close with pressure on his chest from your arms. "You're alright, I promise. It's okay," you whisper. His trembling hands touch your arms.

The silent tears continue to fall, the sound of the drops hitting the water, and his ragged breathing fill the air.

"Hey," you whisper, "Can you do something for me? The bathroom is kind of bland, but can you point out 5 things you see?" Dazai gulps, your voice sounding distant despite how you're hugged to him. Nevertheless, his eyes dart around the room, he attempts to find something to grab onto to.

His jaw ticks, "The- The shampoo," he croaks. You nod with a small smile growing on your face, "Good. It's okay, try to breathe," your hand rests against his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat. "Tell me some more . . . "

Dazai sniffs, chest stuttering rapidly, "Your— s-s- sweatpants." His grip tightens on your arm as more tears slide down his face. "That's it, can you give me another one?"

"The," he gulps, "Clock."

"Come on, you got it. Can you give me another one?"

His lips tremble, teeth clacking together in an uncomfortable pace. He sucks in a breath, vision fuzzy as he focuses on your voice. "Uhh, the toilet," he whimpers, glossy tears clouding his view before they spill. You nod, "Good job, one more."

Dazai squeezes his eyes shut before blinking, to search for something else. "Soap, the soap."

You help him attempt to breathe, "Good. Now breath, just feel the way my chest is moving."

For the next few minutes, you talk him through the 5-4-3-2-1 method until he's relaxed in your hold. The water has gone cold, and the uncomfortable feeling of wet clothes cling to your skin. "How about . . . " you start, "I clean you up, then we judge what to do hm? You just— you need a good bath and some food."

Dazai nods silently. He's not entirely in the room. His eyes are unfocused as he feels your careful hands gliding along his skin, though everything feels muffled to him, the room beginning to blur once more before your hand slightly pulls him from his disassociate state.

You pull him from the tub, drying him off, cleaning his arms and legs, wrapping his wounds in bandages, and cutting his hair again. ( Making sure he brushes his teeth )

No matter how many times he attempts to tune in on your voice, he can't do it. Nor can he focus on anything. His hands don't feel like his hands. The table doesn't feel like it's familiar texture. The room doesn't smell right. He doesn't sink into the seat correctly. And the chopsticks send tingles through his hand. None of it feels real.

He feels your warm hand touching the back of his neck. "Breathe," you whisper, "Touch it again. Hold it and breathe, it'll feel right."

His world is fuzzy, except the static quiets when you touch him. He slowly eats, the entire time with you keeping a warm hand on him.

Dazai starts to wake up as you carry him to the bed, pulling him into your embrace. There's silence throughout the room, not a sound unleashed to part the quiet atmosphere. Well, until you speak. "Osamu . . . " you whisper, fingers dancing in his head of curls as you carefully think of what to say. "I love you."

The man's eyes widen at your soft words. "No matter which way you choose to interpret that. I do."

"Which is why I have this urge to take care of you. It's what drives to clean up your empty bottles and canned food. And it drives to wonder what can I do to help you?"

Dazai gulps, his fingers entangled in the fabric of your new shirt.

"Your two years of hiding are almost over," you whisper, "Im selfish, you've known that since we were kids. So please, just promise me something. I don't need your thoughts, your feelings, nothing. Just two words."

"Hm?" Dazai looks up at you, having a feeling as to what you'll say.

"I'll sound cringe," you roll your eyes with a faint smile on your face, "but—promise me you'll tell me when you feel like your falling again. Doesn't matter how much I have to do it, I'll pick you back up. Cut your hair, change your bandages, whatever. I just—I hate seeing you like that. You just have to tell me."

Dazai remains silent, simply laying against you.

"I sorry," he whispers. You sigh, "Don't say sorry, just promise. I said I'd protect you when we were little, I mean that, even if you are older than me ( by a year ). I just need you to promise."

"I promise," he whispers.

You smile and mess with the small hairs on the back of his neck. "Good."

A faint smile appears on Dazai's face, one you can't see of course. "Well, first order of buisness," you speak. Dazai frowns, looking up at you.

"You're banned from all bars."

"Hey!" Dazai shrieks, shooting up to look down at you.

"You throw up on me, I'll kill you," you say firmly.

"Thought you were supposed to protect me," Dazai frowns, with a teasing verse.

"I can knock some sense into you."

"Asshole."

"Mhm," you hum, pulling him back on top of you, making sure he's comfortable beneath the sheets. "Also . . . " He mumbles.

"You love me?"

A couple of months later, you walk with Dazai to the four-story building of your workplace. Before the man can even open his mouth as you walk through the door, "Do not flirt with her."

Dazai whines as you drag him upstairs and to a door that reads 'Armed Detective Agency.'

A hum leaves your lips as you walk in, lugging Dazai along by his collar. Your eyes drift to a grey-haired man in traditional Japanese clothing, a green haori draped over his kimono.

You throw Dazai forward, walking to the side of him.

"President, this is the one I was talking about."

the ending was kind of ass. i think i lost the concept a bit lol. i hope you appreciate this a little. reblogs r appreciated!!

[starryylies]

Simon with reader who’s insecure about her acne

‘ve been insecure about mine lately so :(

Insecure! Reader, lots of self deprecation, angst If you squint, lots of comfort, Simon is the best :)

Me looking at girls with Me getting angry cuz Clear skin: (っ◞‸◟c). it’s not fair: -`д´-

“S not fair ‘S not fair ‘S not fair!!! I’m so tired why do I have to break out again, ‘ve been good and ‘m even taking the meds it’s not fairrrrrr.”

You were yelling at yourself while looking in the bathroom mirror. Having acne was such a pain in the ass.

Every girl around you was gorgeous with perfect skin and even the girls with acne looked so beautiful compared to you but no you didn’t, in your eyes you looked hideous..

you were so tired of the self-deprecation, you just wanted it to stop but your mind took control and you jus’ couldn’t help but let that faucet open leading to your eyes pooling with tears as they dropped down with the weight of your insecurity.

You were already drowning deep inside your own thoughts that you didn’t hear the bathroom door open with your boyfriend Simon riley stepping in with a look of worry and urgency on his face.

Looking at you crying ripped his heart to shreds, he quickly made his way closer to you.

“Love please talk to me what’s happened?”

he is in a panicked state trying to figure out what made you so upset, he cant bear to see you in such a sad state.

“Baby stop crying please”, he pulls you closer wrapping you in his big burly arms as his body heat transfers to you giving you a sense of comfort that nobody can provide better than him.

“Ssi m I ugly? ‘Cuz I feel so icky and gross I hate it I hate it I hate my skin. I fucking hate it I wanna rip it off ‘m feeling so fucking shitty”, you cry out in arms.

Simon is taken aback by your statement, does he not make you feel like the most beautiful woman alive? Why’d you think you’re ugly? Youre the most attractive woman he’s laid eyes on.

Simon wraps you closer now using his left hand to tilt your chin up gently so he can have a good look at you.

“Si don’t!”

You protest trying to stop him from looking at your face, you feel so ashamed and conscious by letting him see you in such a vulnerable and sorry state

plus you don’t want him to see the reddish bumps protruding out on your skin.

“m not letting you hide your beautiful face from me love he mutters.”

“How could ya even think that. Youre the most beautiful fuckin’ woman alive in this entire fuckin planet, How could you think of ‘nythin less than that for yourself.”

“But my damn acne, it’s so gross, how d’you still like me.. ‘m not pretty”

Simon gives out a scoff in disbelief, “ya think acne will make me find you any less beautiful? Is that what ya think of me? Love your acne doesn’t matter.”

“No woman compares to you love how can you fuckin’ say that, you’re the most stunnin’ girl I know love he says in a hushed tone with his right hand rubbing your back.”

“Fuckin’ hell I get it all the time too and you still like me all the same ‘ight?”

You sniffle out, “ofcourse si but it’s different-“

Simon cuts you off, “No it’s not, you’re just thinkin’ a lot with that pretty lil’ head of yours love.”

“Love, stop thinkin’ so much, ‘m not finding ya any less beautiful just because of some stupid pimples” he gruffs out.

“Thank you si, thank you for sayin that”, you whisper out.

“I love you si” you mutter under your breath clinging closer to him, resting your head on his chest.

Simon pulls your head closer to his chest,

“nytime and love ya more sweetheart.”

＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊

(Ps: And sorry if this fic came out bad it’s my first time writing a whole thing, I’m sorry and it was rushed since I wrote it while crying.)

[wondersinwaynemanor]

they really think Damian and Lian were just in Damian's room to color and draw and play with Titus whenever they visit the Manor, but no. i mean sure, yes, at first it was like that.

not until Lian said, "Daddy, JayJay, Dami is helping me to be cool." and then she tried to kick the air, and she extended her arm as if to punch the air.

Roy and Jason exchanged looks.

at the Manor the next weekend, Jason pulls Damian outside his own room and leave Lian to color on the bed.

Damian, crosses his arms: You better not be wasting my time, Todd and Harper. What is this about?

Roy: Damian, what have you been teaching Lian?

Damian:

Jason: Don't give us that look, Brat. It doesn't work on me.

Damian, rolls his eyes: Tt. Nothing too complicated. Plus, she's meant to be trained to protect herself. When will you begin with the basics? When she's in the face of danger? I thought you imbeciles were knowledgeable.

Roy: We will be there to protect her. And we will choose when and how.

Jason: And in case you forgot, Brat, she's still six.

Damian, unimpressed: Oh, please. I was slowly introduced to weapons at her age. And look how skilled I came to be.

Jason, snorts: You mean skilled at being a brat?

Damian: You're a whole nuisance, Todd.

Lian, interrupts their conversation, running to where they are outside the room and shows the drawing she made to the three of them: Look, Daddy, JayJay and Dami, I drew myself as Robin.

Dick, who just pops out of nowhere behind them: Aww. As the first Robin, I say you would look so badass, Pumpkin.

Roy, whispers: Dick, don't encourage her.

Jason starts to push Dick, but that just gives Dick the chance to grab his arm and pull him for a bear hug. Jason wiggles his way out of it.

Roy, smiles and touches one of Lian's pigtails: What a beautiful drawing, Princess.

Jason, smiles softly at her: Good job, Princess.

Lian beams at them before going back inside the room.

Damian: At least she didn't draw herself as the Red Hood with that hideous helmet. She's even smarter than you, Todd.

Jason: Oh, you little sh-

Jason starts to charge for his little brother, but thankfully, Roy and Dick hold him back. Damian gives a light smirk, which reminds them of Bruce's, and follows Lian back inside the room.

Later that day

Jason: I hate to agree to the demon brat, but he's right. We have to teach her some basics at least.

Roy: Let's take one step at a time, kay, Jaybird? She just learned additions and subtractions.

Jason: When the time is right, of course. But for now-

Roy: - we will make sure that your brother doesn't teach anything too-

Jason: - demonic or bratty. I'll make sure of it.

Roy just rolls his eyes fondly at his boyfriend.

[sunshine-for-serotonin]

Forcing musical Erik to watch himself in the mirror as you touch him telling him how pretty he is how much you love him

I feel like the flames of hell are burning my face every time I read this-/pos

Should be noted that Erik uses an absolute abomination of mashup of what perspective he refers to himself in. (Changes from Erik to I, and from me to he, Etc.) Becomes especially noticeable the more he gets fucked out.

In truth, there wasn’t much that Erik could do to set you off, and even then he did his best to avoid performing acts that he thought would even slightly upset you, too obsessed with keeping his place as your good boy to try and perform any underhanded tactics that would earn him punishment. Sure, often occasionally you had to persuade Erik with kisses and soft touches to not kill anyone who glanced your way, (anytime he succeeded lost him all contact with you for a week which was enough for him to never kill unless he deemed it absolutely necessary,) but other than the occasional murder, Erik never truly upset you! Well, actually, there was one thing that never failed to shake you that Erik was quite guilty of, and that was that Erik seemed to constantly say horrendous things about himself, specifically his appearance.

Now, you would be the first to admit that Erik’s face was not unblemished, but you had made it clear to Erik many times how you thought he was handsome in his own right, how no matter what he would always belong to you and be your babydoll. You had also warned Erik two days ago that the next time he said such negative things about himself that you would take matters into your own hands, not necessarily that you would punish him, but you would be giving him a ‘correctional lesson’.

Of course, Erik had only managed to make it to this evening without making scorching comments in regards to his face.

———————————————————————————

Currently Erik was sobbing on top off you into your neck, his white half mask and wig having been knocked off his being as he burrowed himself into the crook of your shoulder.

“Maman, Erik doesn’t deserve your love! This lowly beast and his hideousness doesn’t deserve you! But I need you! You are all Erik needs, my angel, my beautiful, perfect, (Y/N)! And-and yet, I don’t deserve you! My horrid face taints your flawless being! But please, don’t leave your poor beast! Stay with me, maman, please!”

You weren’t really sure what had got Erik to this point, pleading with you as though you planned to leave him that very moment and never return. Thinking back to earlier, the only clue that something was off was before you made your presence known to Erik, he had been positively slamming his organ keys with a fury very few could ever feel. And yet still, as soon as he realized you were there he threw himself at your feet, bawling like a sinner trying to repent before their god. Of course his sudden movement had startled you, throwing you off balance and making you fall to the floor a few feet away from Erik. The disfigured man hadn’t even bothered to pick himself up to carry himself the rest of the way to you, instead opting to drag himself along the cold floor until he could curl up in your embrace and bury his face in your neck, blubbering about how good you were and how hideous he was, how he didn’t deserve you, which brings you to where you are now.

“Now what’s all this about, babydoll?”

Your hands instinctively went to cradle what of Erik’s head you could reach and trace lovingly over his spine, resulting in Erik wailing more and miserably sniffling.

“(Y/N), I love you! I love you so much it hurts! But you are an angel compared to this loathsome carcass of a man! A man who’s face is so twisted, his own mother couldn’t bear to look at or to love him! But Erik can’t let his (Y/N) go! He needs her! He needs her with him and for her to love him eternally! Please, love me, please! I will do anything!”

“Oh, Erik. I do love you! I love you more than anything I have ever loved before! I won’t leave you, you can trust that, and I most certainly will not stop loving you, babydoll.”

With Erik still clinging onto you like a lifeline, you somehow managed to sit up and prop yourself against a wall, Erik immediately scrambling to reposition himself into your lap. Instead of hiding his face away from you once more, Erik shakily grasped your hands with his own and brought them up to cup both of his cheeks, his tears slowly beginning to dry as your thumbs gently brush under his eyes, careful when pressing into the right side of his face.

As though noticing your cautiousness, Erik pressed your hands firmer against himself, craving any deep-pressure touch he could get from you. Slowly, gently, Erik lowered his forehead to yours and allowed himself to relax into your figure, his eyes fluttering shut as his breathing slowly started to even out.

“I love you, (Y/N)! Please, don’t ever leave me!”

It always amazed you how Erik could put such a strong plea infused with emotion into such a small whisper, without any of its tone being lost to you.

“I won’t leave you, babydoll, I promise. I love you too much to even consider it.”

That seemed to be all the go ahead Erik needed to start smothering you with kisses. They were soft and slow at first, Erik seemingly just relishing in the feeling of your lips against his, keeping you two connected for as long as he could before you both needed to breathe and pushing harder on your hands that still cupped his face to try and feel more of you. Erik seemingly could only take the soft kisses for so long before he needed more, pressing his swollen lips to yours with near bruising force, the kisses slowly becoming heated and fast paced.

Still making sure your hands were touching him, Erik removed your palms from his face and dragged them down his neck, over his chest, making sure your fingertips grazed over his ribs as he shuddered with pleasure before stopping at his hips and gently gripping your fingers so they clamped down on his body firmly, removing his digits from yours and wrapping his arms around your neck to bring himself closer to you.

Shifting himself so that his whole front was pressed snug against you, Erik parted his mouth and swiped his tongue against your lips. The instant you parted your own lips, Erik’s tongue went back into his mouth to try to coax yours into following, mentally pleading you to use the wet muscle to completely tangle with his own. The minute you complied with his silent begging, you were met with a moan so needy you almost thought Erik had cum. Tightening his arms around you, Erik let out breathy whines and worked his lips against yours with such a fevered passion you would have thought Erik was trying to merge your two beings into one. You gently pulled yourself away from him when you felt his erection rub against your stomach, chuckling as Erik let out a whimper and tried to reconnect your lips with his once more, only halting as one of your hands came up to cup his cheek again. Nudging his head into your palm like some sort of needy pet, Erik managed to get your thumb into his mouth as he peered down at you with half lidded eyes, already beginning to suck on the digit and still letting out small moans.

“Someone’s awfully eager. But…I did say that the next time my darling Erik talked so negatively about himself, I would have to give him a…little lesson.”

Taking your hand away from Erik’s face made him let out distressed whines, following after your hand until he physically couldn’t and trying to keep your thumb in his mouth for as long as possible.

“Non! Maman, I’m sorry! Erik wants to be your good boy! Don’t stop calling me your good boy! Please!”

Apparently the mere thought of losing his title as your good boy was enough to drive Erik to tears once more, his breathing becoming shallow as he looked at you with panicked eyes.

“Don’t worry babydoll, you’re still my good boy. But sometimes good boys need a little guidance, yeah?”

Slowly, Erik nodded his head in agreement. He always had adored it when you guided him! But…what if he messed up? What if you did end up not calling him a good boy? What if he was unable to pleasure you? What if-

Erik’s train of thought was cut off by your lips on his once more, a feeling of bliss overtaking his anxiety. Ending the kiss and pulling away, you spoke in a low tone.

“Alright babydoll, I’m going to give you two minutes to run to your room, strip down, and wait for me on the bed, alright? I’ll join you once the times up.”

Erik couldn’t help but steal another kiss before excitedly scurrying off to his room. Getting up once Erik was out of sight, you gently picked up his discarded mask and wig and laid them on his organ before making your way to the bathroom. Erik may have been too aroused to think about it, but since you were the one laying on the floor, your hands were probably dirty and needed to be cleaned before you touched Erik so intimately. Drying off your hands, you started to make your way to Erik.

The image that greeted you when you opened the door truly was a sight for sore eyes. Erik was sitting against the bed frame and had one of his hands upon his chest, stimulating his nipple, while the other teased the areas around his cock yet never quite actually touched it.

“Maman, maman please! Please!”

Erik was trying to keep his voice down, and with his eyes closed, you were one hundred percent certain that he was completely oblivious to your presence.

“I take it you’re ready then, sugar?”

Erik nearly jumped out of his skin at your voice suddenly echoing around his chambers, before nodding, climbing off of his bed, and stumbling towards you.

“Maman, may-may I undress you? Please? May maman’s good boy help her undress?”

“Of course, babydoll.”

Immediately Erik began to hastily remove all of the fabric from your figure until you were completely bare before him.

“M-may I t-touch you, maman? Please? Please, let me touch you! Please!”

“Yes, Erik, you can touch me.”

Swallowing nervously, Erik began to trace his fingertips all across your body, skimming over your chest, to your stomach, and over your pelvis and thighs. Pulling you into a desperate embrace, Erik placed heated kisses to your lips and began to shyly trail them down the side of your neck. Quickly getting down on his knees, Erik moved to lick at your clit and tried to nudge your legs apart so that he could actually push his tongue inside you, moaning and fluttering his eyes at both your taste and the relief at having a part of you in his mouth. However, this wasn’t about you, this was about Erik. With that thought in mind, you attempted to move away from Erik, but were halted by his hands shooting up to hold your hips in place and prevent you from moving as his tongue worked all the more feverishly inside you.

“B-babydoll, come on now, that-that’s enough of that!”

Moving your hands down to Erik’s head, you gently urged him away from yourself, careful to not press too hard into the textured skin of his right cheek. You could feel Erik press against your hands, letting out distressed whines the more you tried to take yourself away from his mouth and looking up at you with pleading eyes as he strained to keep his tongue within your vagina. After a few seconds of easing his head towards the ceiling with your hands, Erik was forced to remove his mouth from you.

“Mommy, no! Let Erik keep going! Maman, let me keep going, please!”

You could see the tears beginning to well up in Erik’s eyes as he pled with you to let him taste more of you, but you held firm.

“Not right now, babydoll. Now, I want you to be my good boy and go sit on the bed for me. I have to get something ready for our session.”

Erik reluctantly drew himself away from you and did as you asked, his malformed lips trembling as he forced back a plea for you to change your mind.

For all the time you spent exploring Erik’s underground house, you had only ever managed to find one mirror, and even then it had usually been covered with his black cloak or another material of some kind. It sat atop atop a black vanity directly across from the foot of Erik’s bed, and should you stand in front of it, you would be able to see from your mid thigh to the ceiling behind your head. However, if your calculations were correct, when sitting on the bed you should be able to see your entire body (or bodies in this case) reflected back at you.

Erik watched with a mixture of apprehension, confusion, and longing for you as you made your way over to the vanity and pulled back the velvet fabric. Laying the material across the wood, you turned around and walked back to Erik, sitting against the middle of his head frame. Immediately Erik tried to crawl over to you and sit himself in your lap to resume kissing you, but you put a quick stop to that.

“Okay babydoll, I want you to sit between my legs with your back to me and look towards the mirror. Can you do that for me, sugar?”

“B-but mommy, Erik needs kisses!”

“I’ll give you kisses, baby, but you have to listen to me first.”

Letting out small whines, Erik obeyed, slumping against you and lowering himself until his head was at the same level as yours, if not a little lower. Remembering the second half of your command, Erik looked towards the mirror and gasped at the sight before him, finally grasping what you intended it for. With his cheeks positively burning, Erik stared at his reflection and took in his dilated pupils, the way his normally puffy lips were swollen further from yours, the way his cock twitched against his stomach as your hands grazed over his sides, but the sight that really made Erik blush was the image of you sitting behind him, looking into his mirrored eyes and smirking as you ducked down and began to press kisses to his neck.

Of course, you being you, you knew exactly where where Erik’s sweet spot was; about three inches under his right ear (you’ve figured out that any of the skin close to his birth defects was highly sensitive) and about a fingers width back, and Erik absolutely adored it whenever you would nip and suck on the area. Naturally, you immediately went to attack the erogenous zone, listening to Erik’s whiny moans.

“Mommy! Mommy please! Nghh-Please!”

Pulling away, your lips were immediately captured by Erik’s, his head tilted at an angle and his hands gently gripping your thighs that caged his legs. Agonizingly slow, your hands swept over his fevered skin until you softly gripped his shaft and began to deliberately pump him up and down. Moaning into the kiss, Erik felt his eyes roll into the back of his skull as nothing but pure ecstasy began to flow through his veins and cloud his mind. As you separated your lips from Eriks, he began to pant and swiftly tucked his face into the crook of your neck. Noticing your babydoll wasn’t looking at himself, you stopped stroking him.

“M-maman! Maman, no! Don’t stop, don’t stop mommy! Please!”

“If you want mommy to keep touching you, you have to look in the mirror, baby.”

Whimpering, Erik stole a glance at his duplicate, and was rewarded with you beginning to run your hand up and down his shaft once more.

“There’s my pretty babydoll. So beautiful, just for me. You’re being such a good boy, you are my good boy.”

The fact that you could say such things with so much love and affection with everything Erik was ashamed of, everything he had been denied love because of, spread and glaring at the two of you within the reflective surface, completely wrecked him as he began to sob.

“Mommy! Mommy! Erik, aah- I-I-ngh- Erik n-needs-AAghh! I-I-I-haaAGH-M-M-O-MMY!”

“Breathe, babydoll. You’re so pretty, Erik, so handsome. Absolutely gorgeous. I love you, I wouldn’t have anyone else.”

Stroking Erik faster, you watched in the mirror as pretty little tears fell from his eyes down to his cheeks, and it wasn’t long before Erik began to thrust his hips up into your hand, rutting into your grip like a dog in heat. Erik knew he was close, and out of reflex he took his gaze away from the mirror and burrowed his face into the crook of your neck as he felt himself peak-…you-you stopped moving! Erik wailed as he pulsed and throbbed in your grip, he had been so close!

“M-maman, maman! Please, more! Erik needs-I need-I need more! Please! Erik will be so good for you, he promises, maman!”

“Good boys look in the mirror, babydoll. Are you going to look? Or do you want mommy to stop touching you?”

“I-I’ll look mommy! Erik will look! But please, keep touching me, please!”

“Good boy.”

Fisting Erik’s cock, you felt his body go completely limp against you, save for his hips still thrusting into your hand.

“Look at how pretty you look, baby. That’s it, you’re doing so good for me, babydoll.”

Erik seemingly didn’t even have the mental power to properly respond, only managing small cries of ‘maman’, ‘mommy’, and ‘please’, with the addition of a few French words you couldn’t quite catch. Speeding up, you could feel his wild pulse as he throbbed into your hand, his precum aiding in making sure you weren’t to rough with him (he probably would enjoy it as long as you were still just as loving and semi-gentle). More moans and whimpers trickled past Erik’s malformed lips as you went back to marking up his neck, still looking up often to make sure he was watching himself properly. Suddenly his noises seemed to become more urgent and high pitched, his hips bucking wildly with no pace as Erik heard himself begging for release.

“MAMAN-ngh-I-I-ahhhh! Mommy I’m cumming!”

“That’s it, babydoll, that’s it. Let it all out.”

Erik watched through tears of pleasure as he painted his stomach and chest white, a guttural cry of ecstasy escaping from somewhere deep within him. Slowly, after a few minutes, Erik’s hips stopped twitching and his breathing calmed.

“You did so good for me Erik, I’m so proud of you babydoll.”

“B-but you did not orgasm, mon ange!”

“I don’t need to! I wanted to focus on you tonight, to show you that I love you and that you shouldn’t say such horrible things about yourself! You are mine, Erik, and I will love you no matter what.”

Shakily rising to his knees and turning around, Erik gripped your hips and pulled you down until your head was resting on his pillows before laying himself on top of you, not caring about the feeling of his sperm being pressed between both of your bodies.

“Erik, come on, we’ve gotta get you cleaned up, or your sheets will get dirty.”

“I will simply wash them tomorrow, Erik needs his (Y/N) too much to care at the moment!”

“Fine, fine, fine. You’re lucky you’re so cute, babydoll.”

Blushing, Erik stole a kiss from your lips before settling back down onto your chest and tucking himself under your chin as you ran your fingers over the top of his head.

“Maman?”

“Yes, sugar?”

“Je t’aime!”

“Je t’aime, babydoll. I love you too.”

“…Maman?”

“Yes, babydoll?”

Erik appeared nervous now, unable to look up at you and tracing lines into your chest with shaking fingers.

“Maman, please let me use my mouth on you! I’ve been so good! I’ve been so good for you!”

With a sigh and a small exasperated smile on your lips, you peered down at Erik.

“You really are relentless, huh?”

“S’il vous plaît, maman!”

“Okay, fine, but you really don’t have-”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence before Erik pressed a thankful, yet needy, kiss to your lips and ducked under the covers before he began to desperately mouth at you, happily moaning and peering up at you from between your legs with lovesick eyes.

“Oh babydoll, whatever will I do with you?”

———————————————————————————

@sloppyzengarden

it’s 12:30 in the morning in my time zone, I’m so tired, but if I didn’t post this I was going to commit war crimes.

[mckitterick]

You're not ugly. You just look like you.

full transcript of the post:

I photograph a lot of people. Almost everyone believes they are ugly. Your grandmother. Your child. Your best friend. Most models. Most actors. Maybe even you.

"Oh, don’t take my photo, I’ll break your camera!" laughs the 80-year-old grandfather. When he dies a few months later, his grandkids will treasure this reminder of his "ugly mug."

"Please delete this," says a dear old friend. She looks beautiful. She looks like herself. She’s been captured in a moment in which she is utterly comfortable in her skin. And she hates it.

"Oh God," I said, because I had to get a professional headshot for work. "I have a face like a slapped ham," I told the makeup artist I hired because I’m so hideous that I can’t bear to have photos of me around. The selfie I took of "the best it’s ever going to get" is my husband’s iPhone background.

You will never see yourself with the love that others have for you. That’s what makes a person beautiful, not angles or contours. You will never be objective about your appearance. But fortunately for you, your friends and family are never objective, either: They’re biased to see you through the way they smile when you walk into a room. They want every photo of you they can get their hands on, because each photo is tied to your memory.

You’re the worst judge of your appearance. Trust me. You look fine. The camera loves you. Now take a picture.

source post: X

[kittenfangirl20]

*it had been a couple years since Adam and Eve were thrown out of Eden for tasting the Forbidden Fruit, they recently had a twin boys together, Cain a boy looked so much like Adam and Abel a boy who looked so much like Eve, the pregnancy was a painful event because Eve claimed that she tricked Adam into taking a bite of the fruit even though he made the choice on his own because he didn’t want to lose someone else he loved because she didn’t want him to be punished, he was woken to the boys crying, he got up because Eve needed her sleep and made his way to where the babies slept and to his shock, Lilith was standing over the small bed Adam made for them, she was still beautiful, but in a twisted way, she now had large red horns coming from her head and large red bat like wings, she wore a crown and a deep purple gown*

Adam: What are you doing here Lilith?

Lilith: In order to be Queen of Hell with my beloved Lucifer, I was cursed to not be able to bear children of my own. Lucifer wants to be a father and I think that these beautiful little babies will be the perfect Princes of Hell. If you love Lucifer like you say, you would be willing to sacrifice them to make him happy.

Adam: Fucking stay away from Cain and Abel!!!!!!!!

Lilith: We definitely have to change their names.

*Adam charged at Lilith and she grabbed him by the wrists, now that she was a demon she had super human strength and Adam screamed while the bones in his wrists were cracking, Lilith held him up by the wrists and slammed him into the ground*

Lilith: Why fight when you can just have more children of your own.

*Lilith started to mercilessly beat him, tears started to fall from Adam’s eyes while he wondered why Lucifer could choose her over him, he hated the fact that he couldn’t protect the wife and children he loved dearly, suddenly the beating stopped and Lilith screamed, even though it hurt to move, he moved himself up a little to see Eve standing over a cowering Lilith, in Eve’s trembling hands was the angelic sword of Michael which he had given to the couple after they had been thrown out of Eden to protect them in case something like this happened, Adam was impressed to see that Eve had snuck up behind Lilith and cut off her wings, since it was angelic steel, the wings would never grow back*

Eve: As my husband said, fucking stay away from Cain and Abel. Also if you lay another hand on the man I love, I will end you and you won’t be able to be reunited with your husband.

Lilith: Fine, I will have a child one way or another. Besides I don’t understand how this hideous creature inspires such loyalty in you, I at least have better taste in men and I am not an imitation of who Adam really wants.

Eve: Lucifer chose you over Adam, I have to question his tastes. I know Adam loves Lucifer and if the world had been fair to Adam, Lucifer would have loved him the same way. But I know that Adam loves me the same way as he loves Lucifer and anyone who is loved by Adam is a very lucky person. I feel sorry for Lucifer when all he has is you when he could have had so much better.

*Lilith just spat at Adam and disappeared, Eve ran to Adam and held him in a way that wouldn’t cause him more pain*

Adam: Eve please know that I love you so much.

*it hurt Adam to speak, but he had to say it*

Eve: Don’t speak, I know how much you love me. Someone please come help Adam, I can’t lose him.

*to the surprise of the couple, one of the Archangels, Raphael, who was a healer came to heal Adam’s wounds, Adam thought that he would have been abandoned by God and the other angels like how Lucifer abandoned him, as he was being healed he wondered if Lucifer told Lilith to steal his babies with Eve because they couldn’t have their own and if Lilith had truly poisoned his first love against him*

[wannaeatramyeon]

Lunchbox for Your Boyfriend! Jake Kim, Samuel Seo

Jake Kim x Reader

"What's that, boss?"

Jake grins at Brad as he pulls out his lunch that was specially prepared by you. You had held it out to him this morning, looking exceptionally happy with yourself. Jake's expression then matched yours when he asked "For me?" and you nodded.

"Yeah, looks good!" Jason adds.

After carefully opening the lid, Jake unveils... well. Rather questionable items. At least through anybody else's eyes.

Greying meat (bless whatever poor, indistinguishable creature gave their life up for this) and wilted salad sits on one side. And there was rice - but even that looked oddly wet yet dry at the same time. The ambiguous small lumps of black, whatever the hell that was, were the final cherries on top.

All Jake saw was your love poured into this meal. He couldn't wait to tuck in.

That was not what Jason and Brad saw. They exchanged looks at the frankly inedible meal set out in front of the Head of Big Deal. Sure, you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but if judging meant avoiding chronic food poisoning then it's just good sense, right?

"On second thoughts..." Jason murmurs, leaning away from the 'food' as Brad subtly gags.

"Huh?" Lineman pops out of nowhere, joining them at the table and trying to see what everyone was looking at. Oh... That looked. Unfortunate.

"Who shit in your lunch, boss?"

Samuel Seo x Reader

It dwells on his mind.

That ugly bento box. The bright neon pink hue, the cat pawprints on the lid. Tucked away under his desk, and wrapped in a garish purple fabric with teddy bear faces. Out of sight, but not out of mind.

You had 'tiptoed' out of bed at 5:14am. Samuel knew, because you were not quiet. You couldn't be quiet or discreet to save your life. Your heavy footsteps echoed from the bed all the way to the kitchen, and it was quickly joined by a cacaphony of saucepans or plates or whatever the fuck clashing down.

Somes days Samuel thinks he doesn't deserve you, this morning he wonders what he's done to deserve this. You had stayed up talking about nonsense until 2am, and now - inspired by bento boxes and cute lunches, was intent on making one for him.

Lovingly prepared by your girlfriend, you had said. Samuel thinks about said 'love' as you continue to bang around in the kitchen.

And then an hour later, as he pads out to greet you and ready for the day, you're covered in grease and hair in disarray but looking pleased as punch.

You hold the offending lunch outstretched in your hands. In that hideous box, and even more hideous cloth. He was sure whatever was inside would be infinitely more offensive to his senses, if your past cooking attempts were anything to go by.

With anyone else, Samuel would have scoffed and sneered. With you, he takes it with thanks and a stiff smile.

It really must be love.

[lubotomies]

its really funny how insanely talented paul is in animation but also the end is so hideous like can i just list the issues i have with the end really quick animation wise

their heads are nearly flat.

every shot theyre always cut off in some way and sometimes the very tops of their heads are out of frame. please just move the camera back.

there are no interesting angles or shots whatsoever everything is eye-level medium shot all the time like a wes anderson film if it was bad

this is just a trademark of pauls animation but they always move so fucking slowly its like someone filled the room with marijuana smoke and molasses theyre all in slow motion all the time

transitions are so fucking quick like it borders on johnny test with the way it snaps back and forth with a whiplash sound effect

The colours are so fucking ugly tom is literally a grey yellow in the end it drives me CRAZY

their arms are too short. bear with me. their arms are too short but their fingers are proportionally realistic with all 3 joints but the palms are thin and short so the fingers are too long. typically your fingertips reach just shy of the midway of your thing but pauls style their fingertips literally either reach past their knees or stay right at their waists and its scary.

This is not even getting into the writing because im purely focusing on the art

Despite this the cliff scene devours.

The wind the colours of the sky the angle looking down at the 3 of them and the rubble of the house and his bleeding arm not to mention that in the animatic he had a very prominent limp. The contrast of the mellow yellow and peach pink sky v. the obliterated house and bleeding arm. even the smoke is coloured this relaxing pink

pauls weirdly overly relaxed style actually working to benefit the scene because it makes it ambiguous as to whether tords hand is just hovering, ever so slightly brushing against his scorched arm or if hes gripping it like a lifeline. gritting his teeth, purely in pain or is there emotion behind that too?

the end is SO bad but the ending scene literally carried it to the finish line i have such a love/hate relationship with it this scene lives in my mind from the very moment i saw it to today and it will continue to do so Love it or hate it paul served absolutely DEVASTATING cunt with this 15 second scene.

[eruherdiriel]

Something I've been thinking a lot about lately is how Jon knows what it's like to be burned. With his hand, he doesn't feel it in the moment but that's probably adrenaline more than anything else.

"You do not look well. How is your hand?" "Healing." Jon flexed his bandaged fingers to show him. He had burned himself more badly than he knew throwing the flaming drapes, and his right hand was swathed in silk halfway to the elbow. At the time he'd felt nothing; the agony had come after. His cracked red skin oozed fluid, and fearsome blood blisters rose between his fingers, big as roaches. "The maester says I'll have scars, but otherwise the hand should be as good as it was before." "A scarred hand is nothing. On the Wall, you'll be wearing gloves often as not." It was not the thought of scars that troubled Jon; it was the rest of it. Maester Aemon had given him milk of the poppy, yet even so, the pain had been hideous. At first it had felt as if his hand were still aflame, burning day and night. Only plunging it into basins of snow and shaved ice gave any relief at all. Jon thanked the gods that no one but Ghost saw him writhing on his bed, whimpering from the pain.

-AGOT, Jon VIII

And then there's the scene of his wound getting cauterized. Which, yeah, he's otherwise injured and just escaped the wildlings, experiencing a lot of physical pain and internal turmoil, etc., etc. Still:

Maester Aemon sniffed Jon's wound again. Then he put the bloody cloth back in the basin and said, "Donal, the hot knife, if you please. I shall need you to hold him still." I will not scream, Jon told himself when he saw the blade glowing red hot. But he broke that vow as well. Donal Noye held him down, while Clydas helped guide the maester's hand. Jon did not move, except to pound his fist against the table, again and again and again. The pain was so huge he felt small and weak and helpless inside it, a child whimpering in the dark. Ygritte, he thought, when the stench of burning flesh was in his nose and his own shriek echoing in her ears. Ygritte, I had to. For half a heartbeat the agony started to ebb. But then the iron touched him once again, and he fainted.

-ASOS, Jon VI

This doesn't even touch on how he feels about the R'hollor crew and stories of people intentionally being burned. Whether he's there when King's Landing burns or hears about it, he will be able to empathize with the people of the city. There will be survivors, some with burns like on his hand and some with way worse. There won't be enough milk of the poppy for everyone. There will be men, women, children, soldiers, civilians, and old people burned and screaming in pain. Before KL burns, Jon will have heard about the other places DT has been as well. They're not gonna be pals.

But there will be conflict in his interactions with DT. Jon fiddles with his hands when he's conflicted or distressed:

Jon's breath misted the air. If I lie to him, he'll know. He looked Mance Rayder in the eyes, opened and closed his burned hand. "I wear the cloak you gave me, Your Grace."

-ASOS, Jon II

Lots of examples from AGOT, when his hand is still freshly burned and in more pain:

"Grief and noise," Mormont grumbled. "That's all they're good for, ravens. Why I put up with that pestilential bird … if there was news of Lord Eddard, don't you think I would have sent for you? Bastard or no, you're still his blood. The message concerned Ser Barristan Selmy. It seems he's been removed from the Kingsguard. They gave his place to that black dog Clegane, and now Selmy's wanted for treason. The fools sent some watchmen to seize him, but he slew two of them and escaped." Mormont snorted, leaving no doubt of his view of men who'd send gold cloaks against a knight as renowed as Barristan the Bold. "We have white shadows in the woods and unquiet dead stalking our halls, and a boy sits the Iron Throne," he said in disgust. The raven laughed shrilly. "Boy, boy, boy, boy." Ser Barristan had been the Old Bear's best hope, Jon remembered; if he had fallen, what chance was there that Mormont's letter would be heeded? He curled his hand into a fist. Pain shot through his burned fingers. "What of my sisters?"

-AGOT, Jon VIII

When Jon had been Bran's age, he had dreamed of doing great deeds, as boys always did. The details of his feats changed with every dreaming, but quite often he imagined saving his father's life. Afterward Lord Eddard would declare that Jon had proved himself a true Stark, and place Ice in his hand. Even then he had known it was only a child's folly; no bastard could ever hope to wield a father's sword. Even the memory shamed him. What kind of man stole his own brother's birthright? I have no right to this, he thought, no more than to Ice. He twitched his burned fingers, feeling a throb of pain deep under the skin. "My lord, you honor me, but—"

-AGOT, Jon VIII

Jon raised the hood of his heavy cloak and gave the horse her head. Castle Black was silent and still as he rode out, with Ghost racing at his side. Men watched from the Wall behind him, he knew, but their eyes were turned north, not south. No one would see him go, no one but Sam Tarly, struggling back to his feet in the dust of the old stables. He hoped Sam hadn't hurt himself, falling like that. He was so heavy and so ungainly, it would be just like him to break a wrist or twist his ankle getting out of the way. "I warned him," Jon said aloud. "It was nothing to do with him, anyway." He flexed his burned hand as he rode, opening and closing the scarred fingers. They still pained him, but it felt good to have the wrappings off.

-AGOT, Jon IX

Not until he was well beyond the village did Jon slow again. By then both he and the mare were damp with sweat. He dismounted, shivering, his burned hand aching. A bank of melting snow lay under the trees, bright in the moonlight, water trickling off to form small shallow pools. Jon squatted and brought his hands together, cupping the runoff between his fingers. The snowmelt was icy cold. He drank, and splashed some on his face, until his cheeks tingled. His fingers were throbbing worse than they had in days, and his head was pounding too. I am doing the right thing, he told himself, so why do I feel so bad?

-AGOT, Jon IX

[jadewolf22]

Shoot An Arrow Through My Heart Pt.1

Fem!OC (Adriella Selmy) x Brienne of Tarth 

Series Warnings: Men being disgusting, abusive siblings, gore, death, violence, angst, mentions of murder, mentions of parent deaths, slander towards women, fighting, harsh language, smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, ect... (Let me know if I missed any!!!)

A/n: This fic mixes scene from the show and book but follows the same timeline. Character ages are from the show. I have no clear vision for this story so try to bear with me here. Not sure how long this series will become; might just keep going until I get board of it.

A/n: I started this at like 11 at night and finished it around 6:30 in the morning so I apologize if it's a little shitty and has a lot of mistakes...

Word Count: 2,568

Brienne didn't know what it was that had drawn her to the archery range in the dead of night. Perhaps it was the temptation of solace from the men and their japes and whores, or the offer of peace from her own troubled mind. Whatever it had been was forgotten when she heard the sharp 'twang' of a bowstring snapping back into place and the muffled 'thud' of an arrow finding its mark. She had half a mind to turn around and retreat back to her tent but her curiosity got the better of her, for she had never encountered another person here at this time of night. She came within sight of the targets, fully expecting to be met with the sight of a man, only to be surprised when it was a woman she found holding the bow. The woman was clad in black clothing, with long and rich red hair that spilled down her back like a waterfall of blood. She was taller than the average woman, though not near as tall as Brienne, with a strong and lean physique. Brienne watched in awe as the woman nocked her next arrow and drew back the string, releasing it with a soft 'zip' as the arrow cut through the air, finding its mark in the heart of the target; a perfect shot.

"Impressive," Brienne spoke before she could control her tongue.

The woman jumped a meter off the ground, practically throwing the bow from her as she turned, eyes widening at the sight of Brienne, narrow pools of iron shadowed with fear. This was a look Brienne had come to know quite well. Her large, manly figure was usually met with such gazes of horror from both women and men alike with her broad and coarse features, horse-like teeth that were nearly too big for her plump, chapped lips, and thin hair the color of dirty straw. Compared to the woman across from her, Brienne thought herself hideous. Though they were almost the same age—Brienne being maybe a year or two older—the woman's face looked incredibly young. It was pale and heart-shaped, dotted lightly with freckles and scars. Her body was leaner and much stronger than a normal woman's but still feminine, with curvy hips and breasts the size of apples. Brienne had seen this woman around the camp before, but always dressed in a woman's garb with her hair done up in some sort of intricate braid, never in leather trousers and a hooded tunic adorned with an armored corset around her waist and hair cascading freely down her back.

"I—Lady Brienne... Forgive me, I... I know I should not be here," the woman stampered, her voice silky and meek with worry, "Please, excuse me. I... I'll leave you to it—"

Now this is a curious reaction; Brienne thought. The woman did not appear to be afraid of Brienne herself, but rather the fact that Brienne had caught her. The poor woman acted as if she'd been caught stealing, not shooting an arrow at a target.

"Do not leave on my account." Brienne said, placing a gentle yet nervous hand on the woman's shoulder as she went to leave, "I had no intention of using the range. And please, do call me Brienne. My title has no use here."

The woman nodded gracefully in a way that resembled a half curtsy, muttering, "Thank you." as she went to retrieve the bow she'd thrown.

"I don't recall ever being told your name," Brienne spoke casually, watching the woman nock another arrow. She paused, tucking her lip between her teeth before lowering the bow.

"Adriella, if it please you." she answered softly, turning to face Brienne and looking her dead in the eye, something Brienne was not used to "Adriella Selmy. Niece of Ser Barristan Selmy."

Barristan the Bold?! Brienne couldn't help but be awestruck. She had, somehow, found herself in the presence of the kin of the most famous Lord Commander in all of Westerosi history... 'crack' 'thud' The sound of another arrow finding its mark drew Brienne from her thoughts, awestruck again when she found that the second arrow had split the first in two before sinking even deeper into the target.

"Who taught you to shoot like that?" Brienne questioned, looking back and forth between Adriella and the target.

"My uncle," Adriella answered softly, her voice laden with sadness and longing, "After my parents died my brother and I were put into the care of our uncle. We lived in a house just outside of Kingslanding with a retired wetnurse and he would visit whenever he could. He taught both my brother and I how to fight and wield weapons of our choosing, though my brother always felt it unfair as I was a woman and he a man... Something I believe you and I have in common?"

"Indeed," Brienne agreed, knowing all too well how it felt to be a woman learning a "mans" craft, "Who is your brother?"

"Cain Selmy," Adriella replied, that silky voice suddenly harsh with indignation. Clearly there was little love between her and her brother, "Ser Loras's new squire..."

She scoffed, nocking back another arrow and letting it fly, splitting the second arrow right down the shaft. She had yet to miss by even a fraction of an inch, a fact that both intrigued and rightfully terrified Brienne.

"You should participate in the archery contest tomorrow morning," Brienne declared as Adriella went to nock another arrow, "You skills would be unmatched."

Adriella stiffened as if Brienne has just proposed the most horrendous idea in the world, nibbling on the inside of her lip as she lowered the bow again, staring sadly at the target before her.

"I can't," she whispered, so quiet Brienne almost didn't hear it, "Even if the king and other lords would permit me, my brother—"

"Adriella!!"

Both women jumped as a cold, gritty voice rang out through the otherwise quiet night, turning towards the camp as a man stormed towards the range. He was younger than Brienne by about five years or so and was a good head and a half shorter. His body was square and stocky with a harsh, square face accentuated by a dark stubble, a red button nose and muddy brown eyes that were red around the rims. His dirt brown hair was curly and matted and shone with grease as if he had not bathed in days, and his tunic and trousers were stained with wine and soup. He walked straight to Adriella, ignoring Brienne completely as he tore the bow from his sisters hands, tossing it into the dirt.

"What have I told you about coming out here?!" he growled, grabbing Adriella's forearm in a vice-like grip that was sure to leave bruises if he held on for much longer.

"Please Cain, I'm sorry." she whimpered, trying to wiggle out of her brothers grasp. The earlier fire in her was gone, replaced by a fear that made Brienne's heart clench, "I got board. I'm sorry. It won't happen again—"

"Damn right it won't!" Cain roared, yanking her arm harshly. Adriella cried out in pain, the sound stirring something in Brienne that she had never felt before.

"Release her." Brienne commanded in a voice that she did not recognize as her own.

Cain whipped around, still holding Adriella's arm tightly. His eyes widened at the realization that they were not alone and he quickly released his sister, bowing courteously before Brienne as he muttered out her title as well as a weak apology. But Brienne paid his actions no mind, looking past him towards Adriella and mouthing 'Are you alright?'. She nodded, rubbing her arm where Cain's fingers had dug into her skin which, although it pained Brienne to see, satisfied her for the time.

"Go back to your food and whores," Brienne instructed Cain, looking down on the man like he was nothing but shit on her boot. She had half a mind to correct him for calling her by her title, yet, she almost liked the way he said it with such fear, "Leave your sister be."

"I... Yes, my Lady. Apologies, my Lady." Cain stuttered, hurrying off like a mutt with his tail between his legs.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Brienne asked once Cain was out of earshot.

"You didn't have to do that," was all Adriella said, suddenly refusing to meet Brienne's gaze, an embarrassed flush in her cheeks, "I've been dealing with him on my own for years now. I didn't need your help—"

"Why do you allow him to control you like that?" Brienne couldn't help but ask. To her, Adriella looked more than capable of putting her brother in his place, yet she had made no attempt to do anything of the sort, "He's clearly a spineless craven; why do you let him hold such power over you?"

"Because it's all I've ever known." Adriella sighed, picking the bow up out of the dirt. Brienne could sense the hesitation in Adriella yet, for some reason that Brienne could not fathom, she felt safe enough with her to share this story, "My uncle never saw him do it, and he made he hide the bruises whenever our uncle was home... The only power he has over me is the fear he put there... And I hate him for it..." Adriella smirked suddenly, and it was a cold and murderous thing, "That's part of the reason my aim is so true. I picture it's him that I'm putting my arrow through. The image gives me the motivation to not miss."

Brienne shivered at the confession, her earlier bravery gone as suddenly as it came. Adriella was clearly ruthless, dangerous even, yet something about her intrigued Brienne. Perhaps it was the fact that they were both female warriors, or because she was Ser Barristan's niece, or maybe something else entirely; Brienne did not know. All she knew is that she found herself being drawn to Adriella, wanting to know what lie behind those eyes of iron and that prominent wall she'd built but was struggling to maintain.

The two ended up talking for most of the night, finding a solace in each other's company that neither of them had felt in a long time. It continued on into the next day, and the day after that and suddenly—having only known each other not even three days—the two felt close as sisters. They were inseparable, save for when Brienne needed to attend to Renly, but hen she had finished she could always find Adriella waiting at the archery range.

That's where Adriella was now, working on her off-handed shooting while she waited for Brienne to finish acting squire to Renly, a task that was well beneath the blonde woman, in Adriella's opinion. She had just let lose another arrow when all hell seemed to break lose. Shouts and screams radiated from the camp and Adriella took off, bow still in hand and sheath at her back, fearing an attack was upon them. She rushed into the chose only to be met with shouts that the king and two other had been slaughtered. Brienne; Adriella thought in a panic. Brienne had been with the king... She ran towards the kings tent as if her own life was on the line, rushing inside to be met with a gruesome sight. The floor of the tent was red with blood. King Renly lay on his back, staring up blankly, blood oozing from a wound through his heart. Around him lay two of his Kingsguard, Emmon Cuy with his yellow cloak dyed a deep crimson and Robar Royce, the red of his cloak matching the blood coating his armor and the floor around him. There was no sign of Brienne, a fact that both eased and petrified Adriella. Where was she if not with Renly?

Adriella spent the remainder of the night searching the camp for her, to no avail. She refused to think that Brienne had been taken or worse, killed, and when morning came she dragged herself away from her search to join the others in breaking their fast. Adriella stumbled into the mess tent, her eyes red-rimmed and weary, and grabbed a piece of bread and some weak ale, her stomach too knotted with worry to eat much more. She found a seat in the corner of the tent, away from the noise and the whispers, and tried to gather her thoughts. Where had Brienne gone? Surely she would not have left if she had heard that Renly had been killed...

"Well, well, look who's finally up," a mocking voice drawled. Adriella looked up to see Cain sauntering towards her, a cruel smirk on his face.

"Go away, Cain," she muttered, tearing off a piece of bread and forcing herself to chew.

"Can't a brother have breakfast with his dear sister?" he questioned, sitting down across from her without waiting for an invitation. "Especially on such an interesting morning."

"I'm in no mood for your games," she warned, glaring at him. Ever since that first night with Brienne, Adriella had begun to push back against her brother, taking back that power he'd stolen so long ago.

"Oh, this isn't a game, Adriella," Cain assured, leaning in closer and dropping his voice down to a whisper. "Haven't you heard the news about last night?"

Adriella's heart skipped a beat. "What are you talking about?"

Cain's grin widened. "It seems your dear friend, Brienne, was the one who killed Renly. Stabbed him in the back, they say. Quite literally."

"That's a lie!!" Adriella snapped, her voice trembling with anger. "Brienne would never—!"

"Believe what you want," Cain interrupted, his tone mocking. "But everyone is saying it. Apparently, she fled with Lady Stark after the murder. Some say Lady Stark paid Brienne to do it. No one's seen her since."

Adriella shook her head, refusing to accept it. "You're wrong. Brienne didn't kill Renly. She wouldn't—Not for money—"

Cain laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better. But it won't change the fact that Brienne is gone, and everyone thinks she's a murderer."

Adriella glared at him, her hands clenched tightly. "Get away from me, Cain."

With a final sneer, Cain stood up and sauntered off, leaving Adriella alone with her thoughts. It's wasn't just the fact that Brienne wouldn't kill Renly, Adriella truly didn't think Brienne could kill Renly; she loved the man too much. There had to be another explanation... Someone else must have done it—maybe one of his own Kingsguard... Yes. They killed Renly and then... and then they killed her too, to cover it up and make it look like she was the traitor

No, Adriella thought, I will not jump to such conclusions. If they say she is ridding with Lady Stark I must see for myself. They cannot be too far ahead.

So she rose abruptly, marching to her tent and packing her rucksack. Swiping a bow and sheath of arrows from the armory as well as several small knives before pocketing what money she and her brother had brought with her, mounting her horse, and ridding off towards Riverrun, praying to the old gods and the new that the allegations and her own terrified thoughts where false, and Brienne was innocent and safely in Riverrun.

[tautowrites]

Captive: a Zoro x Sanji fanfic!

When Sanji is captured and used by bait by a distanced rival (I made an OC for this please bear with me here), Zoro comes swiftly to the rescue. Inspired by That Scene From Dr. Who and also this tiktok (WITH GORGEOUS ART YOU SHOULD GO SEND YOUR LOVE TO) where I commented I would write an inspired fic and then over 80 people gave me the encouragement to keep writing it!!

Warnings: some talks of food deprivation / sedating so he cant fight so drugging / being held prisoner of course

Long so I will put it under here!! pls let me know if you like it

Cell walls can start to feel like an islet if you close your eyes for long enough, the only thing that was missing for Sanji was the sound of waves and the occasional mist in the face. It was hard not to think about then in the now, when he couldn’t tell for his own life how many days it had been. Trapped on the other side of a dense door, what an unbreakable beast it had been when he tried first to kick it down, surrounded by equally infuriating walls.

When footsteps finally echoed in the hall, something inside him had the nerve to hope it was someone, anyone. Every moment of the door opening etched into his skull, turning of locks and clicking of mechanisms that kept the door set in frame. He had half the mind to tackle whoever opened the door, potential of it being crew or not, but he found no energy to move. Of course, it couldn’t be as simple as a savior, Sanji had to be faced with the unpleasant uniform of the guards.

Each and every one of them with elegant armor and a gorgeous helmet to tie everything together. The one that opened the door had an annoyingly heavy gait, Sanji felt something in his stomach churn at the sound of the figures clanking boots.

“Still above talking to your prisoners, les flics,” Sanji spit at the guard in front of him, the newest one he spotted behind the first. He watched the doorway clear as the first guard stepped aside, letting the other in.

The rough agent of Sanji’s mistreatment wasted no time binding his legs and arms, making sure he would be useless on the off chance that he mustered up the strength to fight. Ruthless bastards hadn't fed him in days, why were they rubbing it in his face that he should have some kick in him still? Did they think that he could still hold through it? Had anyone cared to listen last time he was here anyway, to remember how much it would hurt him in the first place, or were they just being assholes for the sake of it?

Sanji truthfully didn’t know exactly who had captured him, assuming it was his family that kidnapped him just gave him something to hate, which gave him something to stay awake and think about, which… well, he was alive, it worked, that was what mattered, right? Not the ever-looming possibility that it could be one of his brothers or sisters under those helms, that his father had redecorated the palace, brought him back in another attempt to reunite the family. Again.

The guards wouldn’t give a response, dragging him down the hallway past empty cell after empty cell, each the same as the one he’d been in. When his mind started wondering about why no prisoners seemed left alive, the floor seemed much more interesting than anything else. It didn’t look like something his father would have installed, which was only partially a relief.

It was a delicate pattern of stones, multicolored, hideous really. Shortly after the doorway it turned into steps, which had wooden flooring at the top of it. He hadn’t paid any attention to it before, being dragged in entirely unconscious of course, but now he could tell it certainly wasn't anything that his family would stand living in.

Too small, too cramped in, which meant almost worse- a bounty hunter.

“Well, if it isn’t Black Leg,” A voice called up ahead, shadowy and eerie, coated in utter mischief, “Sanji, such a pleasure to host you here.”

He didn’t recognize the sound, or the face that emitted the noise, Sanji wasn’t in charge of keeping up with faces. Just recipes, taking care of the kitchen, he couldn’t stop thinking about a skillet and a smoke.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” The stranger spoke again, rising from a seat adorned with what looked like a bunch of sticks, different colors and patterns on each of them, with strips of fabric or rope on some.

“Why should I talk to you,” He hated when his voice sounded this hoarse. Sanji had to bargain to take care of it, despite his deepest desires to avoid the conversation, “What’s in it for me?”

“An invitation to a bit of a celebration. One of my very own,” That sounded like an easy solution. He wondered what else was in store, “You’ll have to get cleaned up and dressed, of course. I’ll provide you clothing to suit the occasion.”

If Sanji hated rich idiots, he hated people who pretended to be rich idiots even more. This place was nothing more than a massive house bordering on the idea of a mansion, with eclectic decorations and copy-paste guards lining the walls, holding him by the arms still.

“Fine,” Sanji caved at the very idea of food and drink, not even the promise or direct implication of it. Only the hope it would be something, anything. “Whatever the hell you want.”

-----

After being brought to a side room, Sanji was briefly released by the guards and untied so he could struggle to get in a suit that had been prepared for him. The thing was scratchy, he could hardly stand it, but his nose could not mistake the distant smell of searing meat and vegetables, it was all that got him to stay on his feet.

The guards soon tugged him along to a dining room, a bit more to Sanji’s standards- surprisingly- than the rest of the place. He was glad to be left free, if only for a moment. Soon enough the guards were back at it, tying just his legs this time to the chair itself. Fair enough, he supposed.

“Food’s almost out,” The man across the table spoke, Sanji could see him a little more clearly, in a dapper suit much like the one Sanji was wearing. Behind him were rows of… swords. Strange enough, but Sanji had seen stranger collections among pirates.

As if upon cue, the same fucking guards again came out with massive plate after plate of food. Sanji would’ve died if he wasn’t so determined to live to taste some of it. He immediately began to eat when his plate landed in front of him, prompting a guard to pull his hands back.

“Wait- wait,” The man with the grating voice spoke, Sanji had already swallowed a few cooked baby carrots, chewed haphazardly enough they were a bit sharp to swallow, but his stomach thanked him. Sanji glared, the man began again, “You need to at least wait for our guest to arrive! But you have been hungry, haven’t you?”

“What’s your problem?” The guards let go of Sanji’s hands at a signal, just as he had spoken. He immediately went back to his food, not giving this man an ounce of table manners, “You pick me up, you lock me in a room, what the hell did I do to you?”

Laughter pierced the air, and Sanji almost dropped his mutton, but he was better than that. Every ounce of food he got into him was a relief like no other, even if freedom felt ultimately useless to hope for at this point. The man spoke, “Not to me, not exactly, but to your dear dear Red-Leg.”

That was enough to get him to drop his food. He’d shoveled enough into his stomach fast enough anyway, a well-developed skill. He stared daggers, the seat wouldn't budge as much as he tried, “Don’t bring him up, you don’t even know-”

“Do I?” He slammed into the table with his hands, fury, unimaginable, “Do I not know Zeff, Sanji, working on his crew and trying to be his favorite next to you-”

A silence fell upon the room. Sanji looked closer, blinking, looking down at the food and recalling a million offhand comments to the cycles of people that came to work at Zeff’s. But to be this personal, it had to be early, right?

It clicked, Sanji screamed out, “Pareil!”

“Took you look enough,” There was venom in the phrase, no warmth at the recognition, “You steal his favor from me, you steal my future, you destroyed him.”

Pareil had been close to Zeff as a captain, not a ship chef. The food he made always came out the same every time no matter how much criticism he received. He always talked about how much he wanted to go back to sailing around, not sitting in the same spot and cooking, offered to be captain since he was one of the few old crew that stuck around. Sanji always felt the resentment, but never thought on it, never thought it would lead here.

The words had settled too close with Sanji as well, hurt too truthfully. He went on and off feeling Zeff’s retirement to be his fault. Now was certainly one of those ‘on’ moments, if it hadn’t already been. Faced with a former crew member of the man himself, Sanji could only find comfort in that common ground.

“He’d be disappointed in you for this,” He hummed, unable to keep himself from disturbing the peaceful air. Sanji wasn’t the civil sort, not for suckers like this. “You’d be getting a kick in the head.”

“Shut the hell up,” Pareil snapped, not seeming insulted as much as he was just completely fed up with Sanji’s presence, so why would he still be keeping this charade going? He kept speaking, Sanji hoped for answers, “You leaving The Baratie was the best thing you did, I thought you would finally be out of my head, Sanji, you know that?”

He stayed quiet. For all it mattered, he felt like it would bring those answers.

“I stayed, I thought you being gone would make Zeff snap out of it and stop playing papa,” Pareil was making Sanji’s blood simmer, “But he just kept up with the cooking, named a menu item after you- that's around when I left at least.”

Sanji wanted to rip out of the chair, but those bindings, whatever they were made of held him steady, or maybe the food had been compromised to weaken him. It didn’t matter, did it?

“You’re my new target, Sanji,” It didn’t feel hard to assume, but the solidification of the fact made the air feel so cold. Pareil sounded even more frigid somehow, “I want to ruin you like you ruined me, simple as that. Won’t even kill you!”

“What the fuck,” Sanji couldn’t manage much more, really. His head hurt, his brain was spinning in a million directions, and everything inside of him wanted to scream for help that wouldn’t hear him.

Pareil stood up, the wall’s decorative swords and the sticks adorning the chair in the main room- not sticks, sheaths- Sanji wouldn’t have taken pride in putting the dots together even if he had, “I can’t believe I have to spell it out for you. Roronoa Zoro, the acclaimed swordsman you tote around. Are you not the one that Zoro would risk life and limb for?”

Sanji had to scoff, something that covered him from recognizing a shuffling in the background, somewhere behind him. He stared at his own captor, dumbfounded, “You’re using me as bait, for Zoro? You would’ve had a better chance laying out a good meal and sake, thinking Zoro has any interest in saving my ass, idiot you are-”

“Are you not the man that loves him?” The nerve to interrupt, Sanji was fuming and yet nothing could fully free him from his seat, he obviously wasn’t supposed to be able to leave this. Pareil truly thought it would work, and he sounded like it too, the strange smile he wore tainting his voice, “Surely-”

“Me love him? Sure as that smug look on your fucking face,” He wished he could shut up, but it was a problem of who knows how long of pouring a lot of love into every meal of Zoro’s. He always seemed to enjoy it more, or maybe Sanji learned to enjoy him. He scoffed, half affectionate, rest stubborn as ever, “You’ll have to get rid of whoever told you he loved me back, though, he’s gonna be the greatest swordsman in the world, and you think you can beat him, you think you can even get him here using me?”

It was Pareil’s turn to fall silent, looking through Sanji like glass. He still seemed to be hearing everything. Even if he wasn’t, Sanji needed to say everything that was pouring from him.

“Zoro doesn’t waste time being in love with nobody, you think he’d get distracted with the shipcook you fucking idiot? Sure you’re right, if you could kill him you would take the stars from my goddamn night sky,” His face was red from yelling, he could feel it, but there was still more bubbling out of his chest, “You don’t love a man grander than all the seas and expect him to give you the time of the day, but if you think someone as petty as you- if you think he’s so fucking small to love me back?”

One of the guards had come to restrain his hands again, something in Sanji didn’t feel the need to fight them, to listen to what the normally speechless guards said, just to keep yelling.

“He’d never get that lost about me, the crew would drag him into it and he’d destroy every one of you, but he would never love me back and that’s fine-” There was a metal clank, the guard's hands were gone, he’d been tugged out the chair’s bindings- now sliced expertly. He recognized the cutwork.

The sight of Zoro’s face hit the nail on the head, Sanji had been spun around- best so he wouldn’t see Pareil’s look of utter self-satisfaction- and it was Zoro gripping each of his arms. “Sanji.. Hey lovecook.”

“You,” He could’ve cried. Could have. But he didn’t want Zoro to see. Or Pareil for that matter. “Why are you here! You stupid mossball-”

“I think you know,” Zoro put Sanji aside, preparing a sword in each hand, the man had become so lightning fast with drawing and redrawing those swords. Sanji couldn’t help but appreciate it.

It seemed the food had something in it, given that Sanji felt powerless to fight alongside Zoro, forced to sit back and watch the whole fight unfold without contributing a single second. It bothered him in too many ways, all sorts of unfair prodding at his inadequacies on top of watching Zoro prove him right and perform excellently in a battle of blades. Pareil was, as Sanji expected, short work, and his guards stood much of the same level of difficulty. Soon enough Zoro was back in front of him, offering a hand to help him up, unable to look him directly in the eye.

Sanji took the hand, stood, and spoke, “You could’ve let me handle it. I would have gotten myself out of that eventually.”

“You’re lucky you can stand, I tried to get you not to eat any of that shit,” Zoro mumbled, pulling a satchel from his bag that smelled distinctly like rice and fish. Sanji was handed one of Zoro’s very own hand made onigiri. A bite of it revealed leftover fish that Sanji had prepared roughly a week ago, a day before capture.

Having a bit of a time frame and a snack he could trust, Sanji still couldn’t shut up, “You need to forget everything you heard, by the way. All of it was probably because of the poisoned food or something.”

Zoro didn’t seem able to respond for a moment, looking at Sanji dumbfounded. “It was stupid of you to trust the food. You could’ve been killed. You’re lucky it wasn’t poison; it was a sedative.”

“Sedative? I don’t feel sedated,” Maybe not enough to stop bickering about, but Sanji had begun slouching against his companion, in denial as he ever would remain in any situation of weakness. “I feel ready to start preparing dinner for the crew, what is Luffy craving?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Zoro sighed, tossing Sanji over his shoulder with a surprising lack of protest, stepping over body by unconscious body. “Back to the boat, a nap, and then we’ll talk.”

A nap sounded good, too good. Maybe Sanji could let his worries of appearance fall away for a moment, just to be at rest in Zoro’s arm, even if it meant dangling uncomfortably over his shoulder. There was something nice about it.

-----

Soft linen on a mattress can remind a man of the inside of his suits, the way that he sewed them together himself and brought them to his fellow cooks, proud smiles and youthful eyes. He would repair every cook’s jacket from that point on, not because he asked to, but because they would ask him. Truth is, Sanji loved mending things, just as much as he loved cooking.

He’d woken up with the sun, found Zoro’s pants from the previous day, and begun sewing small rips in the fabric throughout the morning. The swordsman was asleep on a chair, no surprise, Sanji knew well not to bicker about when and where the man could catch rest.

It was sweet to realize Zoro gave him the space of the bed, that he stayed by Sanji’s side overnight. How could he not feel some way about it? Every stitch tied up his heart with it, Zoro’s pants just needed to be mended, that was all, right? Nothing else, never anything else.

Sanji’s mind burned as the other slept next to him. He needed answers, he’d fallen asleep propped over the man’s shoulder, he could only remember how well the scuffle went, brutal but quick, admirable. He was so focused on finishing up the last stitch that he didn’t notice Zoro rise from slumber to observe the room.

“Sanji,” It was particularly forward, Zoro saying his name, it always sounded so much different than the little nicknames they’d created for one another. Sanji’s head snapped to look over, Zoro kept speaking, “How did you sleep?”

“Good,” Sanji was a few moments from being convinced Zoro was ignoring what had happened, everything said.

The silence hung.

Zoro spoke again, “Did you mean everything?”

Sanji felt stiff, creaking wood alongside the seat he perched on, “I- I did, yes.”

“You made it sound like I’d be a failure if I loved you back.”

He hadn’t thought of it that way, he just didn’t think Zoro would get distracted by love.

“Do you think I’m that shoddy at what I do, that you would distract me?”

Sanji felt his chest cave in. Just for a moment. Just until a hand was on his face, calloused but so gentle.

“You may have caught me up here and there, but Sanji,” Zoro wouldn’t let their eye contact break now that he’d made the connection. He looked like he was holding one of his precious things, worth keeping from getting scathed, worried over Sanji’s exhausted features from capture, “Ever since I fell in love with you, I have found something more than pride to fight for, I will never give up my goal, but that must not mean giving up you.”

He couldn’t get a single word out, not for any lack of space to speak but the sheer inability to muster a sound. Sanji could feel his voice grappling with his tongue, his mouth refusing to move, his eyes watering, pouring, he was crying. In front of Zoro, too, how awful. How sweet the hands that wiped away the tears, patient the man they belonged to, waiting for Sanji to come back to reality.

“You mean it?” Finally, words came from the cook, feeling more useless than ever in such a strange way.

Zoro laughed, smiled, and pressed a kiss to his forehead, his tearstained cheeks, kissed him with the fire of a man who didn’t know how to get I love you to dance off his lips, just how to wrangle a hand into someone’s hair and breathe them in. How long had passed? A minute? An hour? Sanji could’ve gone for days, weeks, but Zoro had to break away to breathe, “That a good answer?”

Again, useless, red-faced, Sanji was lost in adoration, dripped into his voice with a sweet and simple, “That- That works, yeah.”

[blackrosesandwhump]

June of Doom Day 13

“Wait!” | Sacrifice | Adrenaline | Cornered

CW: magic whump, self-sacrifice, poison, suicide, royal whumpee

Locked in his own chamber, whumpee drags himself to his bed and collapses, adrenaline coursing through his veins despite his terrible weakness.

The last sign before the change, he whispers to himself. Weakness. The final stage.

His body is failing. His human body. Soon—within the hour—that body will cease to exist, and in its place will be a hideous monster. A monster that will destroy everyone who crosses its path. Already whumpee’s hands are starting to change, the flesh shrinking and greying, dark webs of blood vessels stretching across them. He can’t bear to look at them as he attempts to pull himself upward.

The hands that once served a kingdom. The body that was meant to be king.

With a cry of anguish and pain, he gives up and collapses against the bedframe, unable to continue. He’s too weak. The floor is a fitting resting place for a monster, he thinks, reaching a shaking hand into his vest.

This poison will only work on a human. It has to be now. Now, before it’s too late—

“Your highness!” The door rattles. Someone pounds frantically, desperate to get in. “Please, open the door!”

“You can’t…help me now,” the prince rasps, clutching the vial tight in his cursed fingers. “I must…I have to…” Pain sears up from his chest, obliterating his words. Now. It has to be now.

“Your highness, wait! Please wait!” The pounding starts again, echoing in the prince’s skull. “There has to be another way—please stop—”

It’s the only way, the prince whispers. With the last of his strength, he uncorks the vial. Salvation for his kingdom. Salvation from the monster that will destroy them if it survives.

“Wait!”

As his transformation begins in earnest, as the curse does its work, the prince drinks. The poison is swift and potent.

Death for the monster.

Salvation for his kingdom.

[jerzwriter]

A Sparkling Holiday

It's their first Christmas together, and Trystan and Carolina are bringing in traditions from their past, and starting some new ones of their own.

Book: Crimes of Passion (post Book 2) Pairing: Trystan Thorne x F!MC (Carolina Rose) Rating: Teen Words: 945 A/N: Participating in @choicesficwriterscreations Holidays 2023, @choicesholidays it sort of fits "But it's tradition..." @choicesdecember2023 Christmas Thank you for the prompt @inlocusmads. I just loved writing this! I hope you enjoy it, too!

Full Masterlist | CoP Masterlist | Holiday Fics Masterlist

With the workday behind her, Carolina sat back on her couch with a cup of coquito in hand and numerous cardboard boxes surrounding her. Her sweater was covered with bits of silver tinsel, and her smile radiated just as brightly with each ornament she removed. Christmastime. She had a love/hate relationship with the season ever since her father was killed. But she promised that she’d focus on the positive long ago. Not only would he have wanted that, but despite her sometimes hardened exterior, there was light inside of Carolina Rose that fought to shine no matter what life threw her way. If asked, she’d deny its existence, but those who knew her best saw it as clear as day... and one of those people just entered the room.

Having Trystan in her life made finding the magic in the holiday season much easier. A year ago, she would have chastised herself for the stupid grin she wore as she watched him placing his box of decorations beside her. They decided to let the pros decorate his big, fancy apartment, but Carolina’s place was another story.   They'd decorate it together, with items from each of their pasts and a few new things they had chosen.

“What have you got there?” Trystan smiled as he sat next to her.

“It’s a Teddy bear that doubles as a Christmas tree ornament. I bought it for my father at the school bazaar when I was in third grade.”

Trystan took the weathered pale blue bear with a loose button eye from her hands and looked it over carefully.

“I know he’s seen better days,” Carolina apologized. “But he means so much to me.”

Trystan tugged at the string on the button, pulling the eye back into place.

“If you can get me a needle, I’d be happy to fix it. Not that he needs fixing. He's perfect as is.”

“He is?” she queried skeptically.

“Of course! Things that are loved are always beautiful. Take you, for example; you’re simply exquisite... because you’re so loved.”

She threw her arms around his neck with a boisterous laugh. “Trystan Thorne! Are you saying I’m beautiful because you love me?”

“Was my name mentioned anywhere in that sentence? While I love you immensely, you were already well-loved when I came into your life. I can’t take full credit.”

She ran her hand through his hair, mindlessly twirling a long lock around her finger. “And what about you? Are you this gorgeous due to how much I love you?”

“Of course,” he teased. “I was a hideous beast until you came into my life.”

“Not quite,” she grinned. Leaning forward, she took his lips into a soft, lingering kiss, and when she broke free, she decided she must have another. Trystan was too happy to oblige, but she pulled away with a smile when he went in for a third.

“That’s enough, your highness! If we keep this up, there won’t be any decorating this evening... and I, for one, am quite anxious to see what you’ve brought.”

“Well, nothing will compare to this adorable little bear....”

“That goes without saying,” she teased, “but what do you have in your box of Drakovian Christmas magic? Barbed wire? A venomous snake or two?”

“You peeked!” He clutched his chest in mock horror.

“Nope. It’s just a given!”

If Carolina had any thoughts she could be wrong, they were dismissed when Trystan opened his macabre assortment. She was speechless but gasped at one item in particular.

“Is that...please tell me that’s not a skull!”

“It’s not a skull,” he deadpaned. “At least not a real one, just a quality replica. Using the real thing was banned in the early 20th Century.”

“What? Why do you have a skull amongst your Christmas decorations?”

“Because it is a decoration. Every home in Drakovia has one.”

The look of horror in her eyes told him further explanation was necessary.

“It’s a replica of one of my ancestor’s skulls. King Yorick.”

“Please tell me that’s a joke... you did not have a King Yorkick!”

“Nah,” Trystan laughed. “It was King Vyacheslav. I just nicknamed him Yorick because... you know... Hamlet.”

“Yes. I may not have had the best education, but we did cover Hamlet. But why does his skull adorn every Christmas tree in Drakovia?”

“Because unlike most of our monarchs, he was known for his kindness and good deeds. At the holidays, he ensured every child in the kingdom had a gift under their tree.”

“And to commemorate his kindhearted nature... you put a replica of his skull on your trees each year.”

“Precisely.”

She shook her head with a sigh. “Trystan, I will never understand your people.”

“That’s all right,” he agreed. “Neither will I.”

They sifted through the box, through the black feathers, miniature swords, and a few items Carolina was afraid to ask about, and then Trysten suddenly shut the lid.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

“Putting this away. We can start a new tradition... using my childhood Christmas decorations for Halloween. I much prefer the items we purchased this year.”

He pulled two ornaments out of a paper shopping bag. “See! Barbie and Ken, in all their pink majesty. This is more fitting for our tree!”

“I have to agree with you there,” she nodded. “And they’ll make great playmates for my little bear!”

They removed all the new ornaments one by one... each more sparkly and glittery than the last... then they took out one last thing... their bright, golden star purchased on a walk through the Union Square Holiday Market.

“Do you want to put it on, or shall I?” Trystan asked.

“New tradition. I say we always do it together."

"I can agree to that," he said, holding her hand as she rose on her tiptoes to place the star on the tallest branch of the tree.

Carolina stood before the tree, her face aglow with childlike wonder.

"It's beautiful," she cooed.

Trystan reached out, brushed his hand along her chin, and turned her face toward him. "It is," he smiled. "Absolutely beautiful."

~~~~

That got much more schmaltzy and gooey than I anticipated, but they deserve it! (And I deserve the coquito! lol)

Thank you for reading!

Tagging separately.

[vrmxlho]

"you look unwell."

"do i?" your tone betrayed your disinterest. it was very evident to those around you that you were bored. so utterly bored, you couldn't bear being in that place; but your conversing partner did not seem bright enough to pick that up.

"yes, worse than usual."

"than usual?" you didn't care for what others had to say about you. you had grown quite desensitised to the endless talks and endless gossip that encircled you, but there was a limit to your patience. you were no saint. however, the unusual circumstance you were in proved helpful, in the sense that, it was allowing you to leave the conversation justifiably.

"forgive me, i did not mean..." he trailed off, he had finally caught on, he had overstepped.

"you did not mean to speak your mind?" you let out a false laugh, hoping it would give you enough leeway to escape the horrible situation you were engaged in. "it is all well. but i must take my leave. my lord." you thanked the heavens he did not stop you or try to apologise. maybe you ought to thank him for his ‘services’.

making your way closer to the entrance you heard the sound of carriage wheels clattering against the cobblestone streets as guests said their goodbyes and farewells. the night was coming to a close; the warm glow of the chandeliers reflected off the gilded mirrors and the polished floors of the ballroom, while the soft strains of the orchestra's instruments filled the air; it was all hideous and horrible, you could not think of anything but how to get away from it all.

"young lady, where are you going?" turning around you half expected to see a mouse with how squeaky the voice speaking to you was, but there stood a boy standing (half-confidently) in the doorway. why was he calling you young? if anything, you looked older than him.

"just a quick promenade in the garden." you hoped that would’ve been enough to leave you alone, but he seemed displeased with your answer, so you added, "would you like to join me?"

"unchaperoned?!" he looked offended to have even been asked to join you. maybe you should've been offended too?

"it shall not be unchaperoned cousin!" now this was a confident voice. a young man (really, this time) walked up to the boy from behind and placed his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"re—"

"pleasure to meet you lady..." he interrupted. his pitch rose at the end of the sentence; it was a question.

"y/n, l/n. and you are?"

"lady y/n l/n, it is lovely to meet you. great people, the l/n's, lovely family, lovely people—"

the empty chatter was beginning to bother you.

"i would like to know who i will be walking with.". 

"aren't you demanding? my lady." he teased. his hand still on the boy’s shoulder, pulling them both towards you.

"forget it." you turned on your heel aggressively and headed towards the looming dark green garden, lit up solely with the flickering fireflies. it almost perfectly reflected the starry night overhead, the turbulent purple clouds and shooting stars falling gently behind them. it was a shame the night was being missed by all the people wasting their time indoors. at least you had been left alone for once—

the young man ran up in front of you and bowed, before giving you his hand. a gleaming smile graced his lips and he seemed quite pleased with himself, like a child figuring out how to do something mundane (to others that is, children often find the silliest things extraordinary) on their own.

"i shall not accept it until you tell me your name."

he sighed in defeat, but he never wiped the stupid smile off his face. again he nodded in a half-bow. "am i allowed to follow you?"

"you can do as you please." you weren't just pretending to be indifferent, you truly didn't care what he did. the idea that you might be trapped into a marriage with the young man if you were caught with him alone had crossed your mind at some point but wouldn't that just mean you could step away from the 'marriage mart’. he seemed smart enough to hold a conversation, and he did seem to possess some aesthetic qualities. all wasn't bad.

"coz! join us!" he yelled as he trailed behind you, like an excited puppy. and the boy obliged. he looked scared, as if his cousin would hurt him if he did not follow through.

"so, my lady, how are you enjoying the night?" he once again offered his hand as you both stood awaiting his cousin to join you.

pushing past his gloved hand and raising your skirt ever so slightly (so as not to ruin it in the garden) you replied, "i have participated in better balls."

"it saddens me to hear that." holding his hands behind his back he stepped closer to you. faking a hurt frown. you raised a brow inquisitively. why was this man so invested in a ball he had not organised? and why was he not telling you his name?

"this is the prince's ball, why should it bother you?"

"you're quite correct. it should not bother me." he chuckled. "coz, what did you think of the ball?"

"you—" a stern look from the mysterious, nameless, young man and the boy corrected himself all too quickly, "the prince must have worked painstakingly for days, it was very well organised, the orchestra was lovely and—"

"enough about the ball!" you said, far too angrily.

"was it really that tiresome?" this time the enigma sounded genuine.

"please, do ask me why i left the ball." you said through gritted teeth.

"why did you leave the ball so early, my lady?" he leaned forward casually and looked you in the eyes, as if deeply interested in what you had to say. you were taken aback– this was a first. you had supposed that he, too, was just as disinterested as you were, and that all the conversing was just a formality. perhaps you were mistaken.

"to be left alone, to get away from the incessant questions about my marriage, about a courtship. is that really all a lady is worth? i truly believe that women are much more interesting than men shall ever be; so why should we withstand the boring, meaningless questions?"

"i don't—"

"please, my lord, do not say a word."

the rest of the walk was quiet. you could almost hear the grass snapping under your weight from how silent everyone was. this was what you had wanted, yet it felt claustrophobic and uncomfortable. by the time you had done the round of the garden and seen all that it offered, the cool air had started prickling your skin. you were sure the man had noticed the goosebump on your exposed arms, neck and back but he seemed to be trying not to invade your personal space again.

a second time approaching the excessive abode you watched a mass of people emerge from the front door and head towards their horse-drawn carriages, with footmen, drivers, and all. that was who you were, the daughter of a duke, rich and privileged. your duty was to secure as advantageous a match as possible, but everything related to that prospect infuriated you. it was a strange feeling, being so aware of who you were supposed to be, yet not wanting to be them. it was a constant battle, and neither side felt truly right.

a man wearing a very tall hat had approached, distracting you from your thoughts. he bowed grandly, taking his hat off before turning sideways and stretching his arm out to point to the buildings, “your royal highness, the archduchess requested your presence.”

the mysterious man nodded his head once and started towards the indicated location.

"you're prince reo mikage?" you called after him. suddenly it all made a bit more sense. not that it wasn’t still a confusing situation. but all the interruptions and stern looks could now be pieced together. your exasperated voice made him turn around at once. it seemed he had found a reason to stay.

"i suppose." he chucked, "but please, call me reo."

"no..." you weren't sure where this crazy sense of daring was coming from. you hadn't even bowed and apologised for your rudeness yet, in fact, here you were denying a simple request. a prince was not the sort of person with whom one ought to trifle.

"no?"

"it would be rude to call a prince by their name without also using their title." you noted primly, he seemed to take this into account for a second before replying, eyes sparkling with bold intent.

"would it be rude to use my name if we were, say, courting?"

"we are not courting."

"but it remains a possibility, my lady?"

you caught an audacious gleam in his eyes and you felt a final breath leave your mouth. you parted your lips ready to say something, but not a single word was spoken. there was nothing but air, and even that seemed in short supply.

“the archduchess does not like to wait, your royal highness.”

“yes, i must be on my way, my lady.” he muttered distractedly, turning back to bid you farewell, “i shall call on you soon.” he nodded again and left.

and there you stood, foolishly, under the moonlight, listening once more to the carriage wheels clattering against the cobblestone streets as guests said their goodbyes and farewells, the night had finally come to a close, truly this time.

you walked aimlessly towards the carriage your mother was standing beside. she looked distraught and anxious, betraying her worry at your absence. you weren’t completely sure what had happened that night and you were dreading seeing reo again, (prince reo, you corrected yourself), unsure of his intentions towards you. deep down you knew you weren’t special enough to capture the interest of a prince in just one night, so was he coming to reprimand your rudeness? you shouldn’t have spoken as much as you did...

however, as the morning drew in, it permeated the night and conquered all the fear and trepidation you had harboured as you slept. you were ready to face all the consequences of your actions and you were ready to protect your family. as you read in the sitting room this fearlessness only heightened. there was no way you would let a young man such as himself, prince or not, shame you and your family. you were prepared to do whatever it took.

“why are you up so early?” the voice of your mother interrupted your thoughts, “after all the sighing and eyerolls from last night, you must be exhausted!”

“i find myself full of energy all of a sudden...” and before she could reply or register what you had just said you quickly added, “i would like to meet the prince.”

“sorry darling, what was that?”

“mother, i would like to meet the prince.” you repeated, this time with more conviction, “to thank him for such an eventful evening, truly one of the best soirees i have ever attended.”

“although i’m sure the prince would appreciate such a sentiment,” she said hesitantly, “i doubt the daughter of a duke could simply call upon a grand prince. there are certain rules one must follow, especially regarding royalty.”

“then, what must i do to secure a meeting?”

she looked around, confused, before prodding you with, “i’m not quite sure myself dear, but may i ask why you wish to meet the prince?”

“i want to give him my thanks.”

she sighed deeply before plotting herself next to you on the sofa. “this is so unlike you dearest. what is it really?”

uncrossing your legs, you swung round to face her fully, “mother, truly, i simply want to–”

before you could finish, the door to the sitting room blasted open, and your butler rushed in, his face burning red and his breaths coming in ragged gasps. “your grace, the prince’s carriage has arrived.”

“so soon?” you murmured, feeling a sudden wave of nerves wash over you. it had hardly been a day and he was here already. all that confidence you had been building up seemed to have vanished as soon as the news of his arrival reached you.

“has this anything to do with your request earlier, darling?” your mother whispered, shooting you a worried glance.

“i don’t think so...” you feigned innocence as she looked at you dubiously raising a brow. nevertheless, she had no time to waste on the matter, immediately taking the now sweating butler to the foyer to greet the royal guest.

you suddenly became very aware of just how unprepared you were for a visit from royalty. you weren’t wearing anything spectacular, and you hadn’t even done your hair yet. you weren’t a mess per se, but were far from ready to attend a royal meeting. but you really had no time to think as your mother entered the room once again, her disposition now distracted and anxious.

“y/n, the prince wishes to meet you in the garden.”

“in the garden?”

“yes. if you know anything about this, please tell me now. i am worried for you.”

“i shall tell you everything soon.”

“y/n!” your mother exclaimed, but you had already ran out of the sitting room, flinging your book onto a nearby sofa and pulling on the gloves she had just taken off.

upon opening the doors to the garden, you saw the same figure you had walked with the previous night. as he turned he flashed you a charming smile, you felt a flutter in your stomach and a warmth build up in your cheeks. part of you was pleased to see him there, but only a part.

“we should marry.” he walked up to you, offering a hand. had he not grown tired of your refusals? you couldn’t help but pity his persistence, and that was the only reason you accepted it. it was warm and sturdy; he must be an adept dancer, you thought to yourself; of course, he was a prince.

“is this how you greet every lady you call on?”

he chuckled while placing your hand on his elbow and guiding you towards the fountain that stood in the centre of the garden. “only the ones i wish to marry, my—”

there you were, interrupting him again. was this your punishment? and if it were, why were you digging a greater grave for yourself rather than just accepting defeat? wouldn’t this be easier on your family?

“i barely know you, your highness.” you protested.

“does my reputation not precede me?”

“i have no interest in gossip, so i know nothing of your reputation, your highness.”

“you shall if we marry.” he continued, as if all your concerns meant nothing to him. they probably didn’t. princes are not accustomed to the word ‘no’.

“you are quite literally the last person i intend to marry, your highness.”

his mouth fell open mockingly as he gave you a rueful look, “you would rather marry my cousin?”

“your high—" you began, but he interrupted. it would be a miracle if the two of you could ever finish your sentences in each other's presence.

“if you are so keen on calling me by my title perhaps ‘my prince’ would be better suited.”

“it would be inappropriate, methinks.”

“and methinks, the lady doth protest too much.” he quipped.

“reciting hamlet shall not woo me, sir.” you retorted, trying your hardest to appear displeased and disinterested.

“then what must i do to secure your heart, my royal highness?”

“i am no princess.”

“you will be if you answer my question, my lady.” he stopped abruptly to look at your face fully. you noticed things about him you had not seen before. his strong yet gentle eyes, the way his hair fluttered slightly in the light zephyr like feathers of doves, and how he always seemed to be charmed.

he was vaguely amusing, vaguely annoying, vaguely vexing, but you couldn’t quite help but admire his wit. what you didn’t admire so much was his persistence and his refusal to take ‘no’ for an answer.

“why me?” you asked finally after what felt like a century of just staring at each other.

“because you fascinate me.” he replied simply, as if that were the most obvious fact in the universe.

you suddenly felt very annoyed, and you didn’t shy away from showing it. you scoffed loudly before replying. “anything can be fascinating, if one is curious enough.”

“you truly are wise beyond your years.” you were wrong. he wasn’t always charmed, in fact in this very instant his smile dropped, and he gave you a grave gaze.

you looked at him for a long moment, feeling unaccountably stung. he seemed to notice the discomfort but said nothing and the two of you stood there staring into each other’s eyes.

“i should take my leave.” he bowed slightly; it was different from the sorts of bows you had received from him. they felt hurt in a way. “your presence has truly brightened my morning, my lady.” his tone did not indicate anything of the sort, it had turned monotonous and distant, and you found yourself longing for his animated self once more.

“so, are we to marry, your highness?” you tried asking. you hated how you sounded so desperate, you hated how you had admitted defeat and you hated how he was leaving, again. why were you calling for him as he left, again? could there ever be a time where he wouldn’t leave.

“not yet.” he said modestly before departing.

days turned into what felt like an eternity as you struggled to despise him with every fibre of your being. and you really did struggle. he was dragging your chastisement for far too long; how cruel it was for him to toy with you like this. you were not his prey to play with before he devoured you. but as much as you tried to resist him, you couldn’t help the way your heart ached when he was gone. it was foolish; you had known each other for barely enough time for him to have such an impact on you. but there was no doubt, you missed him terribly.

your mother, too, had grown tired of asking you about his abrupt visit after more than a week had passed. but your attachment to him only grew stronger.. it was absurd to miss someone who tormented and vexed you. but you supposed you had always been a rather peculiar person.

“dearest, another ball? are you positive?”

a whole month had passed since the incident. very well, it was probably no more than four days, but it felt like months. every second felt like eternity without him. you had attended every ball there was to attend in the past days, days, and nights. yet any time you tried to approach him, you felt like a fool. why willinging walk into a trap of a marriage? what was wrong with your head? no, your heart, what was wrong with your heart?

you were sure this ball would be like every other. some schubert, or mozart if you were lucky, assaulting your ears. women flocking around your prince and him not even sparing you a glance. you wished to be alone in the garden again, just with him this time. you weren’t certain what you wanted to do, you weren’t certain how you would even reach such a circumstance and, you weren’t certain you wanted to listen to your heart at that exact moment. 

“no, i’m not, mother.” 

“what is it dear?” you could barely make out her voice anymore, the darkness of the night outside was pressing in around you and you felt yourself begin to cry. 

your lower lip quivered as you chose your next words very carefully, you did not wish to speak your feelings into existence, and you surely didn’t wish to let your mother know about your affections. “my head hurts, i think the scratchy music from last night has taken a toll on me.” you coveted the energy to add a fake chuckle to that, but you did not have any left. so you looked at her, eyes dead and mouth smiling. it seemed to have worked, she gave you a sad, pitiful look, said some sweet words and left. 

you soon heard your tears begin to drip from your eyes. it was a soft, gentle sound, like the fluttering of a bird’s wings, but it echoed through the silence of the room like a thunderclap. you missed him so much it hurt, it was a dull ache that settled deep within your chest and refused to be ignored. 

you stopped. you had to. you heard a loud crash echo through the room as it came from the balcony. you spun around, heart pounding, only to see a flower pot had toppled over and shattered on the ground. just great, you couldn’t simply be left to cry, you had to be killed as well. 

your nerves on edge, you cautiously treaded towards the balcony, sensing the chill of the night air on your skin, and the hairs on the nape of your neck standing on end. peering over the stone guardrail you saw a familiar man frantically pacing in a circle. why was he here?

“my lady—” he yelled. when the moonbeams lit up his face you saw the state he was in. he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. his cravat was almost entirely undone and his eyes were wild. 

as soon as you heard him you charged off, without a second thought. your fingers grasped onto the walls as you ran down flights of stairs, your mind growing dizzier and lighter with every step. as you reached the bottom, you caught sight of him through a nearby window, approaching with a frenzied haste.

with a burst of energy, you pushed open the massive doors and stepped into the crisp night air, coming face to face with the prince. both of you were out of breath, your faces flushed and minds blanking in the presence of each other. 

“my—”

“what do you think you’re doing here?” you asked sharply. in truth you didn’t want to know at all, you were just glad, grateful, honoured, to see him again. and so close. 

he took a deep breath, steeling himself for the vulnerability of the moment, “can we walk?”

you nodded, feeling your hand enveloped by his warm, slightly rough, ungloved skin, as if he had been out without his gloves. you felt yourself melting into him, and dear god, it was just his hand, but you could feel yourself moulding into him so easily.

“what is it, reo?” you asked softly, turning to face him. the concern etched on his face did not go unnoticed. 

in a voice tinged with worry he said, “you look unwell.” 

“i am unwell.” 

“i’m sorry.” he replied quietly. and he really was sorry. he wished he could be there for you, but he had grown hyper aware of how uncomfortable he made you feel. 

“if you were really sorry you wouldn’t have stayed away for so long.” your usual unreadable expression had contorted into a pained and depressed one. 

“i cannot stand to be away from you, you are my very life, and every separation gives such endless heartache...yet, i cannot force someone who doesn’t wish to see me to feel what i feel.” he admitted, his voice heavy and hoarse with sorrow. 

“i do not wish to see you?” you repeated, heart murky with confusion.

“do you not, not wish to see me?” he asked, his gaze intense as he searched your face for any sign of affirmation. you opened your mouth to offer the prince a scathing retort–why was he being so secretive? you hated him. but then, just when you were ready to sharpen your wit, something else popped out of your mouth instead.

“i want nobody but you for my lover, and my friend; and to nobody but you shall i be faithful.” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could even think to stop them. the air around you seemed to crackle with energy as you met his gaze, your heart struck in your chest. you felt strange, queer, almost as if you were somehow suspended in time, ready to lift off your toes and float away. 

you weren’t sure when it happened. it hadn’t been sudden and clear in an instant. you weren’t even aware you loved this man until it had crept up on you and your own words professing your love for him divulged the information. 

for a moment, he just stood there, staring at you, as if trying to process the weight of your words. but then he smiled; most annoyingly, most beautifully. and without warning, he stepped forward, his hand finding its way to the back of your neck pulling you closer to him. his lips found yours, and he was none of the things one should be the first time. he wasn’t gentle, and he wasn’t sweet. he just kissed you, intently. with everything he had, with every ounce of desperation coursing through his veins.

as he pulled away, his lips found your ear, and you felt more than you heard, “i missed you.” 

you wanted to say that you’d missed him, too, but he was too close, and you were too warm, and your voice escaped you. good heavens, did every woman have this much trouble breathing when standing so close to a handsome man? it was no matter though, he was soon kissing you again; you had no space left in your mind to think of something so silly as breathing.