#-merely its messenger

[natsmagi]

#so when theres an emphasis on a body part? or hes doing a new expression? when hes showing just a teensy bit of shoulder? <--- Flashing straight back to that Mayoi scout where everyone went fully rabid about figuring out Mugi's outfit under the robes. Sir, this much skin?

ITS CRAZYYYYYYYYYYYYY ITS SO CRAZY!!!!!!!!!!!!! tsumugi is just so. modestly clad 95% of the time. so when he shows skin i cant help but gasp. But even then in his summer outfit its like

he has both his ankles and wrists exposed. This is like pornography to a victorian

and FOR SOME REASON we keep getting shit like THIS

(honorable mention:)

and then we also have shit like this

like how am i supposed to react. What do they want me to say. why are they doing this. why HIM of all people

#btw not to sound like an actual crazy person but in his fs2 u can make out the general size of his ass if u try. incase u were wondering #i didnt wanna put a diagram on here bc i alr look like a lunatic but like. its doable #ANYWAY DONT SHOOT THE MESSENGER. #I AM MERELY RELAYING FACTUAL INFORMATION FOR YOUR CONSUMPTION #ask

[bluefuckboy]

Chapter 4 is here and it’s a ride 👀

#this fic has already taken on a mind of its own #I’m merely the messenger #thtfy #kv #kw #kwv #Trigun #Trigun fic #tridog stambreed

[aria0fgold]

Too tired to draw Lulu's other hand so I'm gonna start talking bout him instead and truth be told, I got... barely anything... (im sorry lulu i... i have a favourite. its alec and ray.) But I got ideas bout his species though so that's something!

Lucifer is a Seraph! In my original universe, Gods are assigned at least 1 Seraphim. The first God that Lucifer served was a God of Humanity (i think... its been a looong while since i last thought bout my og universe), he worked alongside Metatron and was tasked with the passage of souls, Metatron was tasked with the lists of souls, like a book containing names with life expentacies and stuff. Basically Lucifer handled fieldwork and Metatron handled paperwork.

And then shit happened, Lucifer was about to be demoted from Seraph to Angel cuz of gestures vaguely Stuff. But instead got a different punishment in that he'll still be a Seraph, but gets assigned to Satan, which got turned into a God of Hell cuz of the same Stuff. And... I think I got horribly derailed here in what I was supposed to talk bout initially...

ANYWAY SERAPHIM!!! The Seraphim in my og universe have their Actual Form (which is very creechurr of em) and a humanoid form they can change however they like. That same humanoid form also gets changed once they're assigned to a god in that, they change form based on what the god's perception of em are. It could be close to how they chose to look, or far from it and most seraphim chooses to stay in that form as a sign of loyalty. Their Actual Forms can't be changed though, and it also can't be brought into the human realm cuz it'll be dangerous to practically anyone close by who won't be able to handle the pressure of it. It's also really huge.

So my Seraphim's Actual Forms are in a special pocket dimension called an Ephraim (i think..? i forgor... its written in my notes smwhr tho) in which they and the god they're assigned to are the only ones that can enter it. (am drawing lulu's humanoid form. ill try to draw his actual one someday. i got ideas for it. is a monstrosity, affectionately). Annnddd... I think that's all I got rn.

#aria rants #a small piece of info is that lulu's humanoid form practically have barely any changes to it #after being assigned to satan. except for the dress and the hairstyle. thats the same form #lulu chose for himself after all the Stuff that happened which endangered his seraph rank #technically the seraphim in my og universe arent rlly changed through demotion #they still keep their actual forms. its just that most of their powers are sealed to mimic #the status and power level of an angel. theyre fine either way! just uncomfortably weak #also yea back to lulu's form. yea satan perceived lulu as he is but in a wedding dress #yes im... shamelessly (and shamefully) practically shippin lucifer and satan but its only in #my og universe! i dont know what happened with em rlly. i have lil control on what #and who my ocs decides to have chemistry with. im merely the messenger here

[luciddownloading]

12th House Placements and Backlash

Part of why people can be so hesitant to express their 12th House energy is that, in its most direct or purest form, it often attracts negative energy. On some conscious or subconscious level, we know that and can seriously fear it. These reactions are part of the whole "hidden enemy" thing with the 12th House, in that it's a part of you that people can judge, reject, criticize or project on without you understanding why. It should be stated that you're NOT doing anything wrong by expressing your 12th House. And since 12th House people are so sensitive, this can cause you to overinflate the negativity you do receive. You are still definitely loved and valued. However, if you want to avoid unnecessary pain and suffering (another 12th House concept), it's easier to find other ways to go about expressing it. This grants us that transcendence this part of the birth chart promises; a deliverance from confusion and sorrow to acceptance and peace.

SUN IN THE 12TH HOUSE

Those with a 12th House Sun get backlash for, unfortunately, just being themselves. It's like they breathe and people have something critical to say. For some, they may be way "too much" and, for others, they are seen as holding back or not giving enough. It feels as if the approval of others is only earned by jumping through rings of fire and even that may not be satisfactory. 12th House Sun people eventually learn to cope with this by creating some sort of persona to protect themselves, much more than the average person. VERY few people will get a glimpse at the "real them" behind the character they've created. As a result, these people are either super-private and shy or deceptively big personalities who others don't know nearly as well as they believe they do. Though this can be isolating, it can eventually allow them to understand the profound importance of real intimacy and how special it is to let that rare, deeply trusted person truly see you.

MOON IN THE 12TH HOUSE

12th House Moons rarely get the sympathy they truly deserve, especially from family and close friends, who may love them dearly but have a dysfunctional way of using this individual to more so meet their needs or cater to their feelings. Those with this placement can bottle up a lot and when they finally do express their emotions, they get labeled whiny, needy, crazy or any negative stereotype of their Moon sign. What these people have to realize is that they, regardless of gender, are the motherly figures to most around them, not vice versa (including their own mothers, in some cases). A Mom shouldn't expect their child to understand their feelings. But, they also MUST take regular breaks from caring for others for self-care as well as to be supported by their inner circle. It's crucial that they find a nurturing partner and emotionally mature friends who they can consistently lean on. They learn that they can't trust many to truly be there for them. So these bonds are incredibly valuable and often lifelong.

MERCURY IN THE 12TH HOUSE

It's hard for Mercury in the 12th House people to get others to truly listen to them. Many of them are told they're too quiet or made to feel intellectually inferior. Others may get the opposite: that they never shut up, that they're too smart for their own good. Either way, people often respond to their perfectly good ideas and sensible insights with silence or willful ignorance. They eventually have to learn that they are here to merely act as channels for information. They are the messengers (some are gifted channelers or mediums) and that can come with the threat of getting metaphorically shot. But, it's important to not take it personally. They can also serve as voices for those who need encouragement or are too scared to speak up. People are often more receptive to the 12th House Mercury person when they're "speaking out" for a cause or something bigger than themselves. Their ideas can be seen as distracting or out there yet expressing opinions that are socially aware or will help others gets more people on board with what they're saying.

VENUS IN THE 12TH HOUSE

Venus in the 12th House people can deal with a lot of resistance in terms of other people's reactions to their love lives. This varies, though, depending on their gender expression. Those with this placement who are more feminine are routinely put on a pedestal. Few people are seen as being "good enough" for them, especially since they often have many obsessive admirers. So they make many choices in romantic partners that are deemed controversial, even if they're actually not so bad. On the flip side, those who are more masculine often are the controversial choice in love. They can be "unconventionally attractive" yet seem to pull mates who are incredibly desirable, inspiring a lot of jealousy. Either way, much of the criticism has a way of dying down if the person a) realizes what people think of their love life is irrelevant and b) takes measures to protect their relationship with enough privacy. You don't have to prove to anyone how happy of a couple you are. And not everybody is going to be genuinely happy for a thriving couple anyway.

MARS IN THE 12TH HOUSE

It can seem as if it's impossible for a 12th House Mars person to fight back. Not necessarily because they're incapable of it but because they get a lot of pushback whenever they do. Again, this can differ depending on the person's gender expression. If they are more masculine, their well-deserved moments of assertiveness and understandable anger can cause them to be labeled rude, a bully, a mean girl/boy. If they are more feminine, they may be expected to just sit there and take and take endless wrongdoings. And when they finally lash out, instead of being nice and passive, they're shamed for it. Ultimately, 12th House Mars people benefit from accepting that there are more ways to fight back than outright aggression. Depending on their Mars sign, they can kill with kindness, defeat their enemy with a logical debate or just channel their energy into the best revenge: success. In any case, the more they enforce boundaries while keeping their cool, the easier it is for others to see who the real enemy is.

JUPITER IN THE 12TH HOUSE

It can be very hard for some people to truly celebrate the victories and blessings that Jupiter in the 12th House people receive. They seem to already "have it all", whether or not this is actually true, and they have a way of activating the "lack consciousness" of particularly insecure people. They are also quite sensitive to this and can feel horribly guilty for their success and prosperity or try to make themselves smaller to comfort others. That's not the answer! But it does help to realize that not everyone wants you to thrive, unfortunately even certain loved ones. This is foreign to Jupiter in the 12th House people, who truly want others to win, which is why they can flaunt their good fortune with an innocent expectation that others will be happy for them. It's important for them to learn to "move in silence" and focus more on generously supporting others on their path. In doing so, the Universe will continue to bless them.

SATURN IN THE 12TH HOUSE

Saturn in the 12th House individuals encounter a confusing backlash when they express and display ambition. Some people will be very skeptical or critical of their goals and plans while others can pretend to be happy for them while feeling secretly jealous. The thing is that these people, often without doing anything, are already viewed as being "better" than others. They exude a certain class and distinction, always appearing in their own league. So, when they actively pursue positions of power or status, it can be seen by many as very threatening. If they are too strongly in "boss" mode, they come across as harsh, scary, or (the word that haunts them) intimidating. People are much more relaxed and receptive with them when they lead with their feminine energy. So, for Saturn in the 12th, success and influence come much easier when they are especially collaborative and supportive or simply seek to be of service to others through their work. Letting go of specific ambitions prevents them from attracting unnecessarily competitive or dismissive vibes from others. Then, their high level of dedication and efficiency can receive the recognition it deserves.

URANUS IN THE 12TH HOUSE

It can seem as if a person with Uranus in the 12th can't just let loose and have some fun without ruffling someone's feathers. This is often accidental as they are just more irreverent, mischievous or wickedly funny than most, without trying to be. They get an inexplicable thrill out of getting into trouble that can become compulsive. So, when they've offended someone, that only motivates them to be even crazier. This is what can get them labeled "edgelords" or "try-hards", written off as annoying by their detractors. Their outrageous antics can majorly distract from the fact that they have something smart and interesting to say. And cool. 12th House Uranus folks are incredibly cool people, capable of setting trends and breaking new ground. If they stop pulling their little (or big) stunts, their It Factor and creative genius will shine through in a way that's undeniable, even to their critics.

NEPTUNE IN THE 12TH HOUSE

Those with Neptune in the 12th can run but they can't hide. These very sensitive people can seek solitude and private reflection to the point of reclusiveness, even the more extroverted ones. But, others refuse to leave them alone for long, especially in public. Often to their chagrin, they are very magnetic to others and their energy can be addicting to be around. And, like a celebrity of sorts, if they aren't fully receptive to their "fans" (which can include their awestruck loved ones) they can get a range of reactions from disappointment to anger to sudden indifference. It's much harder for these people to thrive when they aren't consistently putting themselves out there. Neptune in the 12th people must learn to limit their necessary recharge time and devote more energy to their adoring public. Hard as they may try, they can't fade into the background. They are meant to be noticed and celebrated, bringing their special magic and glamour to the world at large, instead of hoarding it all to themselves behind closed doors.

PLUTO IN THE 12TH HOUSE

When Pluto in the 12th House people assert their power, they can unfairly receive many harsh and extreme reactions from others. There can also be an infuriating double standard, as others may act in similarly intense, passionate or dominant ways without judgment. But, when they do it, they're seen as evil, destructive or manipulative. The unfortunate truth is that many people project the darkness on to this individual that they cannot handle within themselves. However, out of a sense of righteous rage or wounded pain, the Pluto in the 12th person may double down on their radical ways, only reinforcing people's fears or judgments of them. They thrive best when not reacting to the hate, refusing to feed into the drama. Soon, they come to realize that no response can often be the most powerful response. While redirecting their energy, their haters usually end up self-destructing through their own negativity. Meanwhile, they learn the true meaning of control.

NORTH NODE IN THE 12TH HOUSE

Change is an incredibly difficult concept for those with the North Node in the 12th. A lot of these people, for instance, may spend their entire lives in the same city or turn their hometown into their personality trait. It also often seems as if they are never truly allowed to "move forward" or "move on". Family or old friends could feel betrayed if they start changing in some major way. But, the essential dynamic here is karma. There is a huge unresolved issue from a past life (or two) that is absolutely demanding to be resolved this time. It's very likely that it involves a soulmate of some kind who has followed this person from the last life into this one. 12th House North Node people can feel particularly "haunted", especially by this soulmate or anyone else from a previous life who is now in their present; either through direct criticism that they can't get out of their head or crazy signs and synchronicities (or both). And the more they try to just ignore the issue, the worse it gets. These people are here to majorly grow but not by seeking the future. They can only evolve by dealing with their past. There is something about their South Node placement they are repressing or in denial about. It's only when they embrace that truth that they will come into balance and access the strengths of their North Node.

#astrology #astro observations #astro notes #12th house #sun in the 12th house #moon in the 12th house #mercury in the 12th house #venus in the 12th house #mars in the 12th house #jupiter in the 12th house #saturn in the 12th house #uranus in the 12th house #neptune in the 12th house #pluto in the 12th house #north node in the 12th house #12th house placements #12th house stellium #12th house planets

[hbdttg]

“Hold the elevator!”

The elevator doors are mere inches from closing, but Steve dutifully shoots a hand out to stop them. They slide back open, revealing a flustered-looking man about Steve’s age on the other side.

He’s dressed head to toe in black, decked out in a simple black pullover with a modest V-neck, snug black jeans, and all-black leather Chucks with a messenger bag slung across his chest. The messenger bag is, unsurprisingly, also black, but covered in a collection of tough-looking patches and pins in varying shades of—well, it’s mostly red, dark red, white, and some yellows, but the pops of color still stand out against his otherwise monochrome ensemble.

His dark, curly hair reaches a little past his shoulders and he’s got this frankly outdated fringe that, despite its very 80’s vibe, frames his face perfectly. His eyes are large and expressive, and he’s got this frantic energy about him that reminds Steve of a live wire. He’s nothing like the buttoned-up suits Steve usually shares his elevator rides with each morning, and it’s a refreshing change of pace.

The man gives Steve a thankful look before stepping into the elevator and leaning against the side wall. “Thanks,” he says, a little distractedly. He’s got a pair big of headphones on and Steve realizes he’s in the middle of a phone call when he adds, “No, not you, Gare, I was thanking the guy who held the elevator for me. Yeah, this building’s crazy. There’s a whole-ass sixtieth floor—guess I’m kind of a big deal now.” He lets out a small, self-deprecating chuckle, reaching for the panel beside him.

As the doors close and the elevator starts to slowly ascend, Steve notices the man pressed the button for the floor above his. Both the fifty-second and fifty-third floor buttons are lit in a halo of green.

“You know I didn’t want to leave you guys,” the man continues, a bit more quietly now that he and Steve are sharing the same small space, “but shit, I couldn’t turn down the pay.” He scoffs. “Ugh, listen to me, just another cog in the capitalist machine. Man, if high school me could see me now. High school Eddie used to talk big about forced conformity and rising up against the man, and now here I am—”

Steve tries not to listen to the one-sided conversation going on beside him, but it’s difficult when a moment later, he hears his own name.

“—clocking in for my first day at fuckin’ Harrington Hargrove Hagan. The pretentious bastards can’t even shorten it to an acronym or something. God forbid they have to miss out on the sound of their own names.”

Steve manages to hold in the obnoxious snort that threatens to escape him. He’s starting to think he might like this guy—Eddie, his mind supplies helpfully—but Eddie’s next words have him freezing in place.

“And it’s nepo baby central. Yeah, pretty sure all the H kiddies are hotshot brokers with the company. All the biggest accounts—gee, I wonder why.”

Steve can feel the back of his neck burning hot with a mixture of annoyance and shame as Eddie cracks a caustic joke about silver spoons and trust funds.

“You’re kidding, one of them works at this branch? Damn, I guess I’ll just keep an eye out for the guy who most looks like he’s got a giant stick up his ass.”

This is quickly becoming the longest elevator ride of Steve’s life. He grits his teeth and stares fixedly at the floor display panel above the elevator doors, watching the numbers climb higher and higher. Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight.

“Listen, I should go, but let’s grab a drink at the Hideout later. Cool, see you then. Bye.”

Forty-one. Forty-two.

Eddie removes his headphones and shoves them into his bag, angling slightly toward Steve. “Sorry about that, man.”

“You’re good,” Steve says shortly, not looking away from the changing numbers. They reach the forty-seventh floor, and all the while, he feels Eddie’s gaze on him.

It’s not like he’s openly staring, but there’s a certain weight to his furtive glances that completely counteracts his attempts at subtlety. It’s the type of gaze Steve’s familiar with, one that he’s been on the receiving end of since his sophomore year of high school when he hit a growth spurt and actually learned how to style his hair. Assessing. Appreciative. Interested.

And in any other situation, Steve would gladly engage. He’d turn on the charm, quirk the corner of his lip up in that way Robin always rolls her eyes at but reluctantly acknowledges as ‘passably effective’, and maybe even make up an excuse to sidle a bit closer.

But he’s not giving this guy his A-game.

Instead, Steve waits in stifling silence until the fifty-second floor is announced and the doors slide open. He steps forward to exit, but at the very last moment stops in the doorway.

He initially wasn’t going to say anything—though, a past version of himself would have definitely spat something biting and bitchy to Eddie about his snark, would have snootily told him to take his little assumptions and shove them where the sun don’t shine—but sooner or later Eddie’s going to realize he and Steve are colleagues, and he’s going to remember shit-talking him in an elevator on his first day of work, and it’s going to be awkward and uncomfortable.

Steve’s just speeding up the timeline, pushing for the sooner rather than the later, when he decides to spin around and fully face Eddie.

“I think you pressed the wrong button,” he says, all sweet and helpful like he’s talking to Dustin’s mom over a sink full of soapy dishes. “Couldn’t help but overhear that you work at Harrington Hargrove Hagan. It’s on the fifty-second floor, not the fifty-third.” Then he takes a small step backward, moving out into the carpeted hallway.

“Oh.” Eddie scrambles for his phone, unlocking it and scrolling quickly until he finds something that has him straightening up and smiling gratefully at Steve. “I guess I remembered it wrong. Thank you.” He pushes away from the wall, takes a step forward to follow Steve out, but then stops dead in his tracks.

Steve gleefully notes the line of Eddie’s gaze, how it lingers at the breast pocket of his shirt, where, clipped to a retractable badge reel, his building keycard hangs. Eddie evidently hadn’t noticed it during the elevator ride up, but he’s certainly fixated on it now.

Perhaps on the abstract yet easily recognizable Harrington Hargrove Hagan logo in the top right corner.

But more likely, based on the positively mortified look growing on Eddie’s face, on the name clearly printed underneath Steve’s photo in bold, black lettering: STEVE HARRINGTON.

Slowly, Eddie drags his eyes back up to Steve’s face. He stares in silence, eyes bugging nearly out of his head, face turning a concerning shade of pink, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, and his reaction is extreme enough that a small part of Steve is almost inclined to take pity on the guy and laugh it all off.

Unfortunately for Eddie, a bigger part of Steve thinks Eddie looks kind of cute all red-faced and embarrassed like this. So he glances down at himself thoughtfully before turning his attention back on Eddie. “Wow,” he says with exaggerated astonishment, “now that you mention it, I guess I do look like I’ve got a giant stick up my ass.”

As if on cue, the elevator chimes in warning. The doors begin to close, but Eddie just remains rooted in place with that same wide-eyed, horrified expression.

When it becomes clear he has no intentions of actually exiting the elevator, Steve chuckles and wiggles his fingers in a cheeky little wave. “Welcome to the team,” he says airily, before Eddie’s still-blushing face disappears behind the elevator doors.

/ Now with a Part 2!

#stranger things #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #modern office au #corporate steddie au #eddie's in IT #HHH is a commercial real estate firm #but steve's not a hotshot broker he's literally just a guy who makes copies all day or some shit #i personally just want to see all of eddie's baseless assumptions shattered as he gets to know steve #fic writing #hbd #actually i've never read a corporate steddie fic before so if anyone has any recs i'd love to hear them

[hyperactively-me]

king!ghost x reader -- war

soooo. yeah! this part is so 'simon "only soft for his girl" riley.' but, this is where shit gets seriousss lol ALSO WORD COUNT IS OBSCENE I'M SO SORRY (i'm not sorry), with this part being about ~8.4k words total. HAVE FUN I GUESS! warnings: LOTS OF SMUT, (unprotected sex, but there is no pregnancy resulted from this here because its ~fantasy~!), mentions of death, talks of war

You remember exactly what you were doing when the news was broken to you and Simon. 

You and Simon were lounging on your plush couch, your feet propped up in Simon’s lap, sitting before an open fireplace as he read to you. One of Simon’s hands held your ankle as the other held the book open. You had cuddled up with a blanket, slightly dozing off as Simon’s deep voice drawled through the story. It was peaceful, serene…domestic. 

The door to the chamber swung open, revealing a solemn-faced messenger. Simon’s gaze hardened as he shifted from the book to the intruder, a subtle furrow forming on his brow. Walking in without knocking was extremely uncommon, and just as Simon was about to reprimand them, the messenger spoke. 

“Your majesties, forgive my intrusion, but I bring news from the southern borders. The Southern Kingdom has launched a full-scale invasion. War has come to Kastron.”

The world seemed to move in slow motion as you took in their words, an icy chill running up your spine despite the fireplace a mere few feet in front of you. The tranquility of the moment shattered, and the book slipped from Simon’s grasp, its pages rustling as it hit the floor. The shock of the message echoed through the room, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake.

Simon’s grip on your ankle tightened involuntarily. The flames in the fireplace now seemed to cast ominous shadows on the walls. You sat up, the blanket slipping off your shoulders, and shot a worried glance at Simon. Simon’s eyes met yours, a silent understanding passing between you. 

Simon’s jaw clenched, his gaze hardening with a sense of duty and determination. You withdrew your feet from his lap, now sitting up straight, wordless. You swallowed thickly, your throat felt dry. 

“What?” Simon’s voice is urgent. “Are you certain?”

The messenger nodded, his expression grim. “The information was just passed along to me from a few witnesses, your majesty. The Southern Kingdom’s forces are advancing rapidly. Our scouts barely had time to send word.”

A weight landed on your chest, a sudden heaviness that made it harder to breathe. Simon immediately shifts gears, rapidly standing up, his eyes never leaving the messenger. 

“Prepare the council. We convene in the war room immediately,” Simon commanded, his voice unwavering. The way he switched so quickly from domestic tranquility to a stance of solemnity and command was a stark reminder of the kind of ruler he was — impenetrable, stoic, and ruthless. 

The messenger hastened out of the room, and you and Simon followed suit.

As the three of you made your way through the corridors, tens of strategists and other high-ranking military officials added to the growing assembly. The tension in the air was palpable as you reached the war room, its doors swinging open to reveal a scene of controlled chaos. Maps adorned the walls, lanterns flickered on the large table, and the hum of hushed conversations filled the room.

Simon took his place at the head of the table, his presence commanding immediate attention. Simon refused a chair, pressing his hands onto the table as he leaned over. General Price stood by his side, ready to translate the unfolding crisis into a coherent plan of action. Commander Garrick is clutching rolls of paper, already prepared with possible battle strategies. 

The council members acknowledged your arrival with nods, but the gravity of the situation left little room for formalities. Simon wasted no time and addressed the room, his voice cutting through the murmurs.

You felt numb, seated in a chair that had to be pulled up for you to sit near to Simon. It felt as though you were underwater, spacing out as Price debriefed the room on the unfolding situation. 

General Price stepped forward, unfolding a detailed map that showcased the contested territories. His finger traced the movements of the Southern Kingdom’s forces. As he spoke, you tried your best to pay attention, still caught up in the immediate shift in tone. Not even two weeks had passed since the ball was held in your honor, and approximately two months since you were stabbed, and somehow war was officially declared on Kastron. This is what you were afraid of having to deal with as queen, yet you knew it would be inevitable, knowing Kastron’s history. 

“The Southern Kingdom’s forces are advancing on multiple fronts. Our scouts report significant numbers, and their progress is faster than anticipated,” General Price explained, his tone steady despite the concerning information.

Simon’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he absorbed the gravity of the situation. The room fell into a focused silence, broken only by the scratching of quills and the occasional whispered discussion among council members.

“And what are their intentions?” Simon asked, his voice sharp.

“We’ve gathered that, since the tensions experienced a few months ago, it is most likely their primary aim to steal our resources and the silver-rich lands, your majesty. They also seek to dismantle our military power by taking over Kastron,” Gaz speaks confidently, motioning to the notes in his hands. 

Responsibility weighed heavily on your shoulders, and you could feel the collective gaze of the council turning to you and Simon for guidance. Simon looked back at you, a silent exchange of shared determination.

Simon turns back to face the rest of the room, his gaze fierce. “We cannot let the Southern Kingdom broach any villages. We will defend our lands, protect our people, and ensure the security of Kastron. But, Price, I also want you to mobilize our forces. We need to establish defensive positions and buy time for additional reinforcements. General Price, what are our immediate options?”

Price outlined a series of potential strategies, ranging from fortifying key locations to launching counterattacks to sending diplomats. The council engaged in debates, discussing the strengths and weaknesses of each approach.

Amidst the planning, you felt a surge of responsibility. You couldn’t merely be a passive observer; the fate of Kastron rested on the decisions made in this very room. Gathering your resolve, you spoke up.

“Um, maybe we can explore diplomatic options first. It’s clear the Southern Kingdom wants resources and power. If we can negotiate a compromise, we might avoid unnecessary bloodshed,” you suggested, meeting Simon’s eyes with a hopeful yet determined expression.

Simon considered your words, the furrow in his brow softening. Diplomacy wasn’t his first instinct, but he recognized the potential benefits. The room fell into a contemplative silence as everyone weighed the idea.

After a moment, Simon nodded. “You’re right. We’lll send envoys to open a line of communication. General Price, prepare a delegation. Make it clear that we are willing to negotiate, but also ready to defend our kingdom.”

The tension in the room eased slightly as the council shifted its focus to the diplomatic approach. Three delegates were selected, messages were drafted, and plans were set in motion.

That was a week ago. Two days after you had made your suggestion and the council voted, the bodies of these three delegates turned up near a village close to Kastron’s southern border. 

When the news of the delegates’ fate struck the war room, Simon was beyond infuriated. Diplomacy had been brutally rebuffed, and the Southern Kingdom’s intentions were now crystal clear.

The warmth of the crackling fire from that night seems worlds away from the chill that now permeates the air. Looking back now, it all felt like a distant dream. 

Now, you’re sitting in an empty bed, trying your best to think positively despite the inner turmoil you’re experiencing. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the distant sounds of preparations echoing through the castle. You glance at the empty space beside you, the absence of Simon leaving a void that no amount of positive thinking can fill. The shadow of your personal guard stands outside your bedroom door, a constant reminder of the heightened security measures now in place. The once-familiar comfort of the castle feels alien, additional guards posted throughout the halls. The sense of confinement within the walls was palpable, a stark contrast to the freedom and celebration of the ball held in your honor two weeks ago. The events of the past week replay in your mind like a haunting refrain. The failed attempt at diplomacy, the loss of the delegates, and the inexorable march of the Southern Kingdom's forces toward Kastron—all of it hangs over you, a dark cloud blocking out the sun. 

Simon has been stuck in the war room for nearly 16 hours every day for the past week, tirelessly strategizing, receiving updates, and making crucial decisions. As Simon remained confined in the war room, you took on the role of overseeing domestic affairs, ensuring that the daily functions of the kingdom continued despite the looming threat of war. The once-familiar routine now carried an undercurrent of tension, and you found yourself managing not only the logistics but also the emotional well-being of the people within and outside the castle.

The past week was a blur of meetings with advisers, coordinating with servants to maintain order, and responding to the concerns of citizens. The castle buzzed with an anxious energy that mirrored the uncertainty of the times.

Because of this arrangement, you and Simon would really only see each other in the morning while waking, and even then, that was only for a short time. Your morning routine has become a brief respite from the relentless demands of the impending conflict. Simon would wake up, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. You would roll into him, squeezing him tightly. As you both rose from bed, the weight of responsibility descended once again. Simon would dress in his regal armor, the emblem of Kastron emblazoned on his chestplate. You, too, would don the attire befitting a queen, the weight of your crown a constant reminder of the duty that now defined your days. Breakfast was always hurried, yet a brief pause in the chaos. Conversations were punctuated by updates from the war room, and from there, your day began. 

A few more days pass, and one evening, Simon returns to the bedroom the earliest he has in the past few days. The look on his face is extremely solemn, and extremely sorrowful. 

“Dove, we need to talk.” 

You’re immediately pushing yourself off the bed, twisting your hands in your grip. 

“Of course, what is it?” Your heart races at the caution in Simon’s voice. The somberness in Simon’s expression deepens your concern. You take a step closer to him, your eyes searching his for any clues.

Simon’s gaze is heavy with sorrow, but yet a hint of determination crosses his features. He takes a deep breath, as if bracing himself for what he’s about to say. Your hands clasp tighter, a silent plea for reassurance.

“Dove,” he begins, his voice steady but laden with emotion, “the situation has escalated. General Price and I have made a decision. An important decision.”

Your heart skips a beat, anxiety tightening its grip on you. The air in the room feels charged, and you hold your breath, waiting for Simon to continue. He averts his eyes to the ground. 

“I... I’m going out into the field,” Simon says slowly. 

In that moment, it’s as though the air in the room was swallowed whole. You feel as though you can’t breathe, knees buckling slightly. Are you hearing him right? He looks back up at you. 

“Price, Gaz, and I have discussed the strategy, and my presence on the front lines is necessary. We can’t afford to leave anything to chance. I’m highly trained, highly capable, and my place is with our soldiers on the battlefield,” Simon continues, his voice confident and firm. 

You’re frozen in place, the room spinning as you process the words. A lump forms in your throat, and you struggle to find your voice. You shake your head vigorously. 

“But… no. No. No, no, no, you can’t go. I won’t let you leave.” 

Simon steps closer, grabbing your shoulders and holding them firmly. The warmth of his touch contrasts with the cold dread settling deep in your chest. “Darlin’, I have to go. I didn’t take this decision lightly. I’ve been to war more times than you know, and all before I even met you.” 

You look up at Simon, desperation in your eyes. “But Simon, this is different. I’m here, and I’ve… I’ve never been alone here. And, what if…” 

You swallow your words, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. 

Simon approaches you again, his touch gentle as he turns you to face him. “You’re not gonna be alone. I’ve asked Soap to stay here, he’ll be with you most days; and I’ll be in communication.”

Simon’s gaze softens as he continues to hold your shoulders, studying your frowning face. “I know. I know this is incredibly difficult, but I need you to understand. The kingdom is in need, and my duty as king demands that I lead our forces. And, I have nothing but full confidence in your abilities to lead Kastron.” 

You don’t say anything, your bottom lip quivering as you try to keep yourself together. 

“I need you to stay here, love,” Simon murmurs, his voice a gentle plea. “The castle needs a leader, and you’ve shown that you are capable. You’ll be out of harm’s way.”

A sense of helplessness washes over you, and you pull away from Simon’s grasp. Turning away, you wrap your arms around yourself, as if trying to shield yourself from his admission. The room feels smaller, the air heavier, and you wish that this was all a terrible, terrible dream. 

“Can’t someone else lead the military? You're too important to risk on the front lines.”

Simon takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving you. “Price and I have considered every option. My skills and experience are essential. It’s the best chance we have to protect Kastron.”

The tears in your eyes now threaten to spill over, and you pace across the room, breathing picking up. “But, there has to be another way, Si. Sending you to the battlefield is too risky. What if something happens to you? Don’t you understand?”

You’re crying now, breathing labored. Fat tears now start to roll down your cheeks, and Simon watches you with a heavy heart. “I understand, love. I do. The last thing I want to do is leave you. Can’t even fuckin’ bear the thought. But I have to do what is necessary to protect our kingdom.” 

Simon reaches out, gently cupping your face, his thumb brushing away some tears that escapes your eyes. “I cannot promise you that everything will be alright. War is unpredictable, and I cannot guarantee my safety. And you know better than anyone that I have the training, I have the capability to go to war. But I need you to understand—I'm doing this for Kastron, for our people, and for you.”

You smack his hand away, instantly regretting it the moment you see his face morph into pain. 

“You’re not leaving! I won’t let you!” you start to sob, your body trembling with every cry. 

You start to hit his chest, your fists pounding against the armor that shields him, as if trying to break through the iron. Simon endures the blows, his hands remaining at his sides, absorbing your hits as his heart shatters. 

“I’m not letting you leave!” you practically scream, and the guards outside your door wince. You smack his chestplate harder, hating the way he’s just standing there, unmoving. 

“You can’t go, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t,” you plead, voice choking with desperation and vision blurred from your tears. 

Simon feels as though his heart is being shredded slowly and painfully with each strike, but he lets you vent, understanding the pain that grips your soul. The sound of your sobs reverberates in the room, echoing the helplessness that has settled upon both of you.

He finally catches your wrists gently, his touch firm yet tender. You collapse against him, your strength waning, and Simon wraps his arms around you. His armor feels cold against your hot cheek, a stark contrast to the usual warmth of his embrace. Your tears flow freely, a combination of fear and frustration. 

“I love you, and it tears me apart to see you like this,” Simon whispers, his voice cracking with raw emotion. “Kastron needs me, and she needs you. I’ll do everything in my power to come back to you, I can promise you that.”

You finally look up at him, your tear-stained eyes searching his for any hint of revocation, but you know deep down that he’s firmly set. You cling to him, as if your touch alone can tie him down to this room. Simon gently wipes away your tears with the pad of his thumb, rubbing soothing circles on your back. You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself in his embrace.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You won’t.” Simon holds you tighter, the pressure soothing you, grounding you to the room. “I don’t want to lose you either, dove. But I need you to stay strong. Lead Kastron in my absence. I have complete faith in you.”

“When will you... leave?” you manage to ask, your voice cracking. 

Simon takes a deep breath, armor pressing into your chest as he inhales. “Two days, at dawn.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the finality of his words. You tilt your head up slightly, looking up into Simon’s eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation, any glimpse of doubt. But all you find is resolve.

The room is enveloped in a heavy silence, unsettling you to your core. Simon tilts your chin up higher, looking into your eyes with an intensity that pierces through you. His lips find yours in a tender kiss, a bittersweet exchange as his hand weaves itself through your hair. The taste of his kiss lingers as he pulls away, his eyes searching yours for patience. You nod, a silent understanding.

Simon doesn’t let go of you, insteading walking you backwards until your knees hit the bed, forcing you to lay down. 

. . . 

The next day had come and gone, the moon now rising high in the sky. You were on your way back to your room from your final meeting of the day, the castle now quiet. 

You had hoped Simon would be in bed already by the time you arrived at your chambers, but instead you were met with a dark, empty room. You don’t even bother slipping into your sleepwear, a pang of sadness settling in your chest. Sighing, you slip back out of your room, waving off the guard at your door who tried to follow you. 

You already knew where Simon was. 

You knock gently on the doors to the war room, pushing it open when you hear a muffled, Yes? filter through the wood. The war room is dimly lit, the strategic maps on the walls difficult but not impossible to decipher from the flickering light of the lanterns. Simon is hunched over the large table, poring over several documents and a detailed map of the southern borders. His worn armor sits discarded beside him, and the room carries the scent of parchment, ink, and a hint of something metallic.

Simon glances up, weariness etched on his face, as you step into the room. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the weight of the world seems to lift as a small, genuine smile forms on his lips.

“Hey, love,” Simon greets, his voice softer than usual, a stark contrast to the authoritative tone he’s been exclusively carrying the past week. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head, crossing the room to stand beside him. “No, I needed to see you.” The dim light emphasizes the exhaustion in his eyes, and it tugs at your heart.

Simon straightens up, putting down his quill gently. “I was just going over the battle plans. Price and I want to make sure every detail is accounted for before…”

An awkward silence settles between you two as you study Simon’s face. The lines of stress, the fatigue in his eyes, and the tight set of his jaw speak volumes. You reach out and trace a gentle finger along the side of his face, an intimate gesture. 

“I hate seeing you like this,” you admit. “You’re carrying so much on your shoulders.”

Simon leans into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment. “It comes with the job, dove.”

You lower your hand, exhaustion welling up within you. “Everyone is asleep. Come to bed.”

Simon sighs, looking back at the papers spread about the table. 

“Soon, darling.”

You step closer, your fingers finding his. “Simon, you’ve been at this for days. Please, you need to rest, relax. The plans will still be here tomorrow.”

The glow of the lanterns casts a shadow along Simon’s face, highlighting the shine in his eyes. His fingers close around yours, and he brings your knuckles up to his lips, pressing an open mouthed kiss on them. You shiver, heat arising in your stomach. Simon pulls you into him, pressing his chest up against yours as he cradles your face in his hands, slotting his mouth over yours. You respond with a fierce passion, your fingers threading through his hair, eliciting a quiet groan from him. 

As the kiss deepens, Simon gently guides you backwards until your lower back hits the table, the maps and plans long forgotten. Simon breaks the kiss as you gasp, the heat in your lower body growing stronger. 

“This is helping me relax,” Simon breathes, hot and heavy on your cheek. His hands slip down to your ass, pinning your hips to the table with his own. “Jus’, let me take care of you.” 

You swallow thickly, gliding your hands up and down his chest, feeling his muscles contract slightly at your touch. 

“Take care of me, then,” you whisper, and that’s all he needs to hear before hauling you up onto the table, papers shuffling and scattering onto the floor, but neither of you care.

Simon follows you as you lay down on the table, pressing a deep kiss into your mouth as his hands shoves more papers out of the way. The rustling sounds of papers and maps hitting the floor fade into the background, replaced by the rhythm of your shared breaths. Simon’s touch is both gentle and possessive, his hands exploring the curves of your body with a familiar intimacy. As his hands roam, a soft moan escapes your lips, muffled by the heat of the kiss. 

Simon then pulls you forward on the table, adjusting you until your hips are on the edge, legs dangling in the air. You look up for a brief moment, watching as Simon drops to his knees in front of you, and the sight alone makes you dizzy, wetness pooling in your panties. He looks so reverent and his eyes lock with yours, looking up to you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. You bunch up the fabric of your dress, pulling it up high until the fabric pools around your waist.

Simon spreads your legs wide, hot breath fanning against your sensitive skin. You open your mouth, but before you can say anything, he’s pressing wet kisses to the insides of your thighs. You shudder, legs twitching as your desire mounts, aching for his mouth on your wet cunt. Simon doesn’t waste time, throwing your dangling legs over his shoulders to get closer to you. 

“Simon,” you groan quietly, needing him to touch you now. He doesn’t respond, instead pressing two digits against the fabric of your panties, just barely teasing your clit. Your breath catches in your throat, swallowing thickly as he runs his fingers up and down against the gusset, circling over your clothed clit with a feather light touch. 

You shudder, thighs trembling ever so slightly at the teasing, wetness surely starting to soak through the thin layer of cotton. 

“S’ wet already,” he murmurs, eyes mesmerized by the sight before him. His light touch now turns into something stronger, using the fabric over your slit to build friction in the most delicious way. “Feels good?”

“Yes,” you whimper quietly, hands clawing at the surface of the table.

He chuckles to himself, barely audible over the sound of your racing heart and quiet whimpers. Your arousal seeps through the fabric, and Simon seems to revel in the effect he has on you. He squeezes your thighs tighter, fingers pressing into the plush, doughy skin as he presses more kisses on the insides of your thighs, moving closer and closer to your center. 

You involuntarily buck your hips as his finger starts to circle your clit more forcibly over your panties, using the fabric as leverage to create more friction. You let a few moans slip out, eyes blinking a few times to steady your dizziness. 

Simon's movements become more purposeful, his fingers working magic over the sensitive bundle of nerves beneath the fabric. The sensations send shivers through your body, and you can feel the growing wetness between your thighs. Each stroke of his fingers, every graze of his lips along your inner thigh, adds to the building tension. Unable to withstand the torment any longer, you arch your back, pleading for more. 

“Fuck, Si,” you whine, high-pitched and needy. “Please.”

“What’s got you all worked up, love? Hmm?” he teases, moving to press his tongue into the soaked fabric, teasing your hole. 

You moan in response, thighs moving to clench his head. He simpers at your reaction, calloused hands pushing your legs apart. 

“Tell me what you want,” Simon coos, his voice low and husky. His fingers continue their ministrations, dancing over your clothed heat. 

“I want…” you begin, your words catching in your throat as Simon applies more pressure to your clit, the sensation almost too much to bear. “I want you, Si. Need you right now.”

A smug grin erupts on Simon’s face as he abandons the fabric barrier.

“Good girl.” 

Unable to resist any longer, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down with deliberate slowness until they slip off your ankles. He stuffs the material in his back pocket, a small, teasing smirk playing on his lips. 

With your panties discarded, Simon returns his attention to your exposed core. His breath is warm against your skin as he leans in, studying the way you’re soaking, and the anticipation is almost unbearable. The first touch of his tongue against your clit has you gasping, the pleasure intensifying with each slow, deliberate stroke. He dips his tongue into your hole, then slides it back up to your clit, sucking on it firmly.

“Like this?” he murmurs, teasingly trailing his fingers along your slick entrance. 

“Yes, yes,” you plead, aching for him to just have his way with you. “Please, Si.”

Without further hesitation, Simon dips a finger into your wetness, the slickness making the intrusion seamless. You gasp, your back arching off the table as he begins a slow and deliberate rhythm, each stroke making your legs feel as though they’re on fire. 

Simon watches you intently, his eyes flicking up to your body every so often. He relishes the way your body responds to his touch, smirking to himself that he’s the only one who’s ever seen you like this. 

Your moans grow louder, echoing in the room as Simon expertly works his tongue up, down, and around your vulva. When he comes to suck harshly on your clit, your thighs instinctively close around his head, and Simon groans at your reaction. The vibration adds a layer of pleasure, a deep seated moan pushing past your lips. 

“Sound s’ pretty f’ me, darling,” he mumbles, refusing to fully remove himself from you. 

He adds a second finger, stretching and filling you, the sensation pushing you closer to the edge. 

“Oh, fuck,” you cry out, a familiar warmth spreading in your abdomen. 

The table beneath you creaks with your movements, but neither of you pays it any attention.

As Simon’s tongue continues to lap at your vulva and clit, your grip on the edge of the table loosens, instead finding purchase in his hair as if to egg him on. The sensation of his tongue and fingers build to an almost unbearable peak, toes curling as he hits all the right spots. You’re teetering on the edge of release, every touch sending shockwaves through your entire body.

“S- Simon, I... I’m so close,” you gasp, your voice strained with pleasure.

Simon, ever attentive, reads your body’s responses with precision, adapting his movements to heighten your pleasure. He doesn’t relent; instead, he quickens the pace, determined to push you over the edge. The oh so familiar coil tightens in your abdomen, and with a sharp cry, you succumb to your orgasm. Waves of pleasure wash over you, legs shaking at your release, leaving you trembling and utterly spent. Simon laps up your wetness, groaning at the way your walls clenched his fingers at your release. 

“Such a perfect girl,” he praises, thriving off the way you shudder and moan as you orgasm. 

As the aftershocks of your climax subside, Simon withdraws his fingers, a satisfied glint in his eyes. He pushes his soaking fingers to his mouth, sucking off the remaining juices. 

“Always tastes so perfect, love.” 

Heat rises in your face as you watch him, still panting from your orgasm. He rises to his feet, a pleased smile on his lips as he leans down to capture your mouth in a lingering kiss.

“You alright, love?” Simon whispers against your lips, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin.

You nod, still catching your breath, a blissful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “More than alright.”

He chuckles, a deep and melodic sound. “Good. Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

You nod fervently, pushing yourself up to sit on the edge of the table. Looking over the edge, you forgot about the various papers and maps that had…fallen to the floor during your heated moment. 

“The papers…” you say quietly, warily eyeing the amount of things that had been brushed to the floor. 

Immediately, Simon is picking up the strewn papers, muttering to himself about how they were all in his way. Your legs are still vibrating as you push off the table, now standing on the floor. You brush your dress back to its original place as best you can. When you move to help him pick up the maps, he stops you in your tracks.

“No, no, love. I’ve got it,” Simon insists, a fond smile on his face. 

You watch as he efficiently gathers the papers, arranging the documents back onto the table, the strategic maps finding their places among the scattered sheets. Once satisfied with the order he’s restored, Simon turns to you with a grin. “There, good as new. Shall we?”

“My, uh, my panties…” you trail off, face burning. The slick between your thighs is definitely still there, reminding you of your lost garment. 

Simon shoots you a mischievous look, and he retrieves your discarded panties from his back pocket. Holding them up, he smirks, a teasing grin playing on his lips as he quirks his eyebrows.

“For safekeeping,” he quips, a playful tone in his voice. “Wouldn’t want anyone stumbling upon them, ‘specially here.”

You roll your eyes, a combination of embarrassment and amusement heating your cheeks. Simon takes a step closer, then bends down on one knee, tapping your ankle. 

“C’mon,” he says, motioning for you to step into the fabric. Steadying yourself by clutching onto his shoulders, you relish the way his hands brush up your thighs as he pulls the fabric up under your dress until they’re snug around your body. With a final playful squeeze to your ass, he stands up. 

“Now, we shall,” you giggle lightly, brushing stray hair from your face. 

Before you fully leave the room, you press up on your toes to whisper in his ear. 

“Can’t believe you ate me out in the war room of all places,” you giggle, clutching onto him. 

He shrugs nonchalantly, a hint of pride crossing his features. “It’s our castle. Gonna have to christen every room at some point.” 

You try to suppress your laugh, knowing deep down that he’s not joking. 

Linking your arm with his, you follow Simon out of the war room and through the silent corridors of the castle and back to your shared chambers. Your legs are a bit shaky, still not fully recovered. 

Simon gives a curt, silent nod to the guards standing in front of the bedroom doors, before stepping inside with you. The moment Simon shuts the door to your bedroom, he’s kissing you fervently. It’s both possessive and tender, a silent acknowledgement that tomorrow is the day he leaves. He guides you toward the bed, the cool sheets welcoming against your heated skin. 

As Simon deepens the kiss, hands wandering over each other’s bodies, the weight of the day’s responsibilities melts away even further.

Simon breaks the kiss, his eyes locking onto yours with nothing but pure adoration and love. “I love you,” he says, the sincerity in his voice echoing through the room.

You smile, your heart swelling with affection. “I love you too, Simon.”

With a gentle touch, you start to brush your hands under his tunic, guiding it up and off his chiseled frame.

The room is filled with a quiet intimacy as your fingers trace the contours of his chest, each touch causing the man to shiver. You enjoy the way he trembles from your touch, noting his more sensitive regions. The burden of your impending separation lingers in the air, but in this moment, you choose to ignore it, basking in the warmth of his presence.

You reach for the waistline of his pants, following the fabric down as you let him step out of it. Finally, when your hand grazes his lower abdomen, right above his crotch, he hisses, hand clutching onto your wrist. You don’t stop, yanking down his boxers until he’s fully nude in front of you. The moonlight filters through the balcony window, casting a soft glow on Simon.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” you praise, standing back to admire your husband in all his glory. “So gorgeous, so strong.” 

Simon blushes, redness creeping up from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. A grin appears on his face, pride seeping into his skin. His eyes never leave yours as you slowly undress, removing your garments in a languid fashion, desperate to savor this night.  

He steps closer, hands reaching for the sleeves of your dress, fingers deftly working to free you from the fabric that separates you. The dress falls to the floor in a gentle cascade, and you hear Simon’s breath catch in his throat. You slip off your undergarments, until you’re finally exposed before him. Simon’s eyes roam over your form, and the intensity in his gaze makes your skin tingle.

You step out of the discarded dress, standing bare in front of each other. Simon’s hands find the small of your back, pulling you close, and you melt in the warmth of his touch. He presses a chaste kiss to the top of your head, then slowly guides your jaw upwards to catch your lips in a kiss. The kiss is a slow burn, a sweet mingling of your breaths, as Simon explores your mouth with a gentle reverence. His hands roam over your back, pressing you closer into him, as if he was trying to bury you into his chest. You can feel his erect cock pressing into your stomach, and he gently bucks his hips against you. 

Breaking the kiss, Simon trails a line of tender kisses down your neck, igniting a trail of goosebumps in their wake. 

You reach up, cupping his cheek, and he leans into your touch. “Promise me you’ll come back,” you whisper, the vulnerability in your voice bared for him to see.

Simon slows to a stop, keeping his face planted in your neck. He then presses a tender kiss to your skin, squeezing you as tight as he could in his embrace, knocking the breath out of you. “I promise, love. I’ll come back to you.”

You nod, swallowing thickly as he straightens to his full height. Without breaking eye contact, Simon guides you to the bed, the cool silk sheets a sharp difference to the heat radiating off your bodies.

As you lay down together, Simon hovers above you, a mixture of tenderness and hunger in his eyes. The moonlight bathes the room in a soft sheen, your husband looking like a being that descended from heaven.

“You’re ethereal,” you say breathlessly, and Simon’s eyes sparkle with gratitude and affection.

“Says you,” he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. Simon trails his fingers down the curve of your body.

“I mean it. Don’t brush it off,” you whisper, your fingers gently tracing patterns over the scars on his chest. 

“‘M not. Thank you, dove.” 

You lean up and capture his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. As you kiss him sensually, you reach your hand down to wrap around his cock, pumping your hand up and down his length. He groans into your mouth, body twitching above you as you stroke his hard cock, bucking into your grip as you set an even pace. 

Simon’s hand finds its way to your hip, fingers digging into your flesh as he pants above you. He breaks the kiss as you apply more pressure, his breaths heavy and labored.

“F- fuck, lovie,” he moans, head fuzzy as your hand squeezes his cock just right. “God, y’know how to drive me mad.”

You hum in response, swiping your thumb across his slit. Simon gasps over you, body threatening to fall on top of you with every stroke and touch you administer on his cock. Bringing this behemoth of a man down to a trembling, quivering mess in your hands has your heart racing. 

Simon then moves to explore your body with a newfound hunger, his lips tracing a path of heat and need. The sensations send shivers down your spine as he kisses and nibbles his way across your collarbone, down to the curve of your breasts as you continue stroking his cock. 

“T- that’s it, need you, now, right now,” he pants, his voice desperate and needy. You release him, and Simon wastes no time yanking your legs apart, caressing your thighs. He shifts his weight, positioning himself between your legs.

You whimper as he drags his cock through your slick folds, his tip catching on your entrance after a few strokes. Simon gazes down at you, his expressive eyes full of a potent mix of desire and love. Without breaking eye contact, he guides himself into you, and a shiver runs down your spine. Moans spill from your lips, your back arching as his cock slides into you inch by inch. 

“Takin’ me so nicely, so pretty,” he murmurs, clutching onto you. 

Simon’s movements are deliberate, his cock stretching you open to accommodate his size and girth. His size makes you see stars every time. Finally, as he bottoms out, you both let out a sharp breath. 

“Simon, ‘m so full,” you murmur, grinding your hips against his. In response, he silences you with a searing kiss, pressing you into the mattress. 

“I know you are.”

When he finally starts moving his hips, you have to bite back a sob. His thick shaft drags against your walls at an agonizingly slow pace. He buries his face in your chest, tongue lapping at your supple breasts and hardened nipples. 

You claw at his shoulders as he pumps his cock into you slowly. You’re still sensitive from when he ate you out, whimpering and wheezing as he pumps his cock into you slowly. When he starts pressing into your clit, you writhe underneath him. 

“Please, please,” you wheeze, feeling every little ridge and edge of his cock inside you. 

“Sweet, sweet girl,” he coos, chest rumbling as he studies your face twisted into pure pleasure. He thrusts slowly a few more times, his hips meeting yours with each movement. 

He starts to move slightly faster, needing you to cum around his cock. You gasp when he starts to pick up the pace, your slick soaking the base of his cock. The faster pace allows him to push into you deeper, his pupils blown wide with lust as you cup his face in your hands and pull him into another kiss. You arch your back into him as you kiss, bucking your hips as he circles your clit faster, harder. 

His lips leave yours, breathing hard and open-mouthed against your face. His hands explore every inch of your body as if committing it to memory, fingers tracing every square inch of your skin. You reciprocate, running your hands through his hair, feeling strength and vulnerability coexisting in the man you call your husband. 

Simon turns to bite your shoulder, his cock feeling absolutely, perfectly stimulated by your tight walls. You cry out in pain and pleasure, yanking his hair to elicit a response from him. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. The room is filled with the sounds of your moans and the slight creaking of the bed as Simon takes you with a primal intensity. His movements become faster, each thrust pushing you both closer to the edge.

You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him to go deeper. Simon responds with a guttural groan, his grip on your hips sliding down to your ass. 

“I love you,” Simon murmurs against your ear, his words sending shivers down your spine. “Always, only you.”

“I love you forever,” you stutter out, tears threatening to run down your cheeks. 

Your walls flutter around his shaft, causing Simon to groan, making his mind sink further into his primal desire. He feels the familiar tightening of his orgasm creeping up on him, but he refuses to cum before you. 

Simon starts to circle your clit faster, hitting all the angles and spots that he knows will have you screaming in pleasure. 

“Oh, oh fuck,” you moan, thighs trembling. “You- you’re, so good—”

“I know, I know, darling.” 

He takes your hands in his own, pinning your hands to the mattress by your head. His fingers lace with yours, never once daring to let go. He looks down at you, his gaze tender and caring, something he saves especially for you, yet there’s an intensity in his eyes, a desire that you know can be seen in yours as well. His hips move faster, slamming deep and hard into you, your body shaking as your moans and cries fill the room. You know you’re on the brink of your orgasm, your hold on his hands intensifying. 

“Cum with me,” you moan, arching into Simon again. He groans at the thought of cumming at the same time as you, his cock twitching with the need to release inside of you. “Please, Si. Need you to fill me up.”

Simon’s pace increases impossibly faster at your excitement, pressing and circling your clit in the spot that makes your toes curl. 

“Pretty girl, my pretty girl,” Simon growls, seizing your hips and dragging you closer to him. His undeniable need to cum reaches his cock as you mewl. 

“‘M gonna cum, ‘m gonna—” you sob, the familiar heat of an impending orgasm traveling from the tips of your toes to the tops of your thighs. 

Finally, you orgasm hard, your walls squeezing around his cock as you cum. Simon cums not long after, rocking into you repeatedly as he releases. His cheeks are flushed from exertion, gasping and groaning as his cock twitches with his release. Your name falls from his lips like a fervent prayer as he cums inside you, wrapping his whole being around you. 

You try your best to slow your breathing, focusing on the way Simon lets his whole body fall loose, covering yours. The breath he had been holding came loose with a deep sigh, arms coming to wrap around your frame. It took a few moments for you both to collect yourselves, catching your breaths and shivering from oversensitivity. 

You swallow the thickness in your throat as Simon pulls out of you, both of your releases trickling from your cunt. He grips your jaw possessively, pressing a kiss to your jawline then to your now swollen lips. You both lay there in the afterglow, nothing but pure love coursing through your veins. 

“I love you, Si,” you sigh, scratching his back with your nails. 

Simon buries his head against your shoulder, each exhale tickling your flesh. After a few minutes, Simon shifts to lie beside you, his arm draping over your waist as you both lay in a tangle of limbs. You stroke Simon’s hair, your fingers running through the short strands with a certain tenderness. His breathing gradually steadies, and you feel his muscles relax against you.

“Promise me again,” you whisper, vulnerability returning to your voice.

Simon turns to look at you, a serious expression crossing his face. “I promise, lovie.” 

Content with his reassurance, you snuggle into his embrace, feeling the comforting warmth of his body. After all, this would be the last time in who knows how long you’d have him in your bed. 

The world outside your chambers may be uncertain and dangerous, but here, in the embrace of your true love, you find peace, if only for a fleeting moment.

. . . 

Morning comes all too soon. 

The sun wasn’t even up, yet you knew the clock was ticking before Simon had to depart. 

The moment you both woke up, you were on top of him, aching for him to fuck you one last time before he left. 

In the quiet aftermath, as the two of you lay tangled in the sheets, the reality of the separation settled in. Simon’s fingers traced delicate patterns on your skin, a silent reassurance that lingered between you two. 

“I wish I could stay,” Simon confesses, his voice a low rumble against your ear.

You tighten your hold on him, unwilling to let go just yet. “I know, but we have to.”

He nods, his eyes reflecting a storm of emotions. 

“Dunno what ‘m gonna do without you,” he mutters, pulling you into a comforting embrace, savoring the feeling of being close to him. 

The first hint of sunlight starts to peek through the windows, signaling to you both that it was time to get ready for the day. 

As you both dress, the atmosphere in the room shifts. You help Simon pull on his military regalia, buttoning his shirt and pinning his crests and ribbons to his chest. Finally, he pulls on his armor, settling the heavy iron and silver pieces on his frame. Simon’s armor clinks softly as he secures it, an unwelcome contrast to the tender moments you had shared just a while before. 

Once dressed, you stand before each other, eyeing the door warily. It could be months until either of you saw each other again. Simon cups your face in his hands, his touch tender yet firm, as if burning the memory of your features into his mind.

You watch Simon’s throat bob as he swallows thickly, taking your hand in his as you cross the threshold of your chambers. You walk together through the corridors, hand in hand, the acceptance of his departure finally at peace within you. You would always worry, every day, but you knew that he would come back home to you safely. It was just a matter of when. The castle felt different—a place that would witness the ache of longing and uncertainty in the days to come.

As you reach the front courtyard, the air is crisp, and the first rays of sunlight illuminate the stones of the castle. You’re met with the sight of hundreds of soldiers and knights, Commander Gaz, and General Price. Soldiers bustle around, preparing for the journey ahead of them, their gazes giving respectful nods and bows to Simon as he passes. The castle gates loom ahead, a threshold between the safety of the castle and the dangers that lie beyond. 

Simon straightens his posture, walking with purpose, his stride unwavering as his armor clinks softly. You stand by his side, a pillar of support in the face of duty. You steal a glance at Simon, his jaw set, eyes focused on the path ahead. The tender moments you shared in your chambers just hours ago feels like a distant dream, replaced by the harsh reality of war.

Commander Gaz approaches, his expression stern yet sympathetic. “Your majesty, it’s time,” he says, a subtle nod indicating the urgency of the moment. 

General Price jogs up to Simon, leaving some of his soldiers to speak to him. “We’re ready whenever you are. The men are looking extremely optimistic this morning.” 

Simon nods, a silent acknowledgment of the journey he’s about to embark on. Price’s gaze then shifts to you, and there’s a rare softness in his eyes. “Take care of yourself, your majesty. I’ve left trusted knights and guards here to ensure you’re taken care of.” 

“Thank you, General,” you reply, your voice steady as you flash him an appreciative smile.

As you reach the castle gates, the mood shifts. The soldiers form up in disciplined ranks, and Simon turns to face them. He raises his hand in a solemn gesture, a signal for silence. The courtyard stills as all eyes focus on their ruler.

“Today we march not as conquerors, but as protectors. Our duty is to defend our homes, our families, and Kastron as a whole. We stand as a collective, and no force can break the bond that ties us together. For honor, for justice, for Kastron!”

A resounding cheer erupts from the soldiers, their spirits ignited by Simon’s words. The castle gates creak open, revealing the vast expanse beyond. Hordes of soldiers and knights begin to move through the gates, led by Price and Gaz. 

Simon turns to you, and for a fleeting moment, the world narrows down to just the two of you. He cups your face, pressing a tender kiss on your forehead. “Wait for me,” he whispers. 

You offer a brave smile, masking the tears and sorrow that threatens to consume you.

“I will,” you reply, your voice carrying the strength and resilience needed for the days ahead.

Simon’s fingers press into your cheeks, guiding you to his lips for a final kiss. You grab onto him one last time, wrapping your arms around his neck, not caring that everyone can see you both. When you finally break apart, his eyes search yours for a moment, a silent exchange of admiration. 

“I love you, Simon,” you say, your voice firm despite the emotions churning in your gut.

“I love you,” he replies, a promise. 

With a final, tender kiss, Simon pulls away, his hand lingering on yours for a moment longer before he joins the ranks of the soldiers. The sound of marching fades into the distance, leaving you standing alone in the entranceway, watching the love of your life vanish into the horizon.

You watch as the castle gates close behind Simon and his troops, separating you from your husband. The morning sun climbs higher in the sky, casting its warm embrace on the now deserted courtyard, where the echoes of Simon’s departure linger.

Now alone in the courtyard, a breeze carries brushes past you. The castle feels emptier, and the weight of your responsibilities as the queen of Kastron settles in. Soap approaches you tentatively, his eyes full of concern. 

“Ye’re majesty, is there anything I can do for you?”

You turn to him, sighing appreciatively. 

“I… I’m not sure. But, I do want to thank you for staying here with me. It means a lot,” you reply, a small smile breaking through the somber atmosphere. 

Soap nods respectfully, his gaze steady. “If there’s anything you need, don't hesitate to ask. I’ll be at your service.”

You jump up to give him a hug, and he returns the embrace. After a moment, you pull away, wiping away some stray tears you had let trickle down your face. 

Turning back to face the castle, it seems different—colder, emptier. Yet, in your heart, your love for Simon and Kastron still burns, a beacon that will guide you in the coming months in the hope that he will return home to you safely. 

- - - - -

(masterlist)

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #hyperactivelyme

[dirtytomatoedwrites]

Preludes and Nocturnes - Part 2

Paring: Rafe Cameron x InnocentPogue!reader

Summary: Rafe discovers your hidden talent and now he has seen it, you have his full attention.

PART 1 is here if you haven't read it

Warnings:  18+ Smut. Darkish!Rafe. Virgin!Reader. Romance, Angst, Dub-Con, Fingering. Not Proof-Read so mistakes are my own.

Word Count: 8.3k words (Rafe has released the writing beast in me)

Author Note: Hello lovelies! So happy you enjoyed the first part.  Here's the second. I thought it would just be just a second part but the more I wrote the story just kept unfolding and I really want to do it justice. (I think part 1 and 2 together is the longest I've written for any fic character) So in order to really get into the angst and it not be too long its going to have to be 3 perhaps 4 parts (not sure yet) Anyway I'm currently writing part 3 so it won't be too long before posting. One thing - there's only one piece of music with this part and I would suggest playing it and leaving it running while you read the rest of the chapter.

Thank you for reading and sticking with the story and if you enjoyed it please reblog. It helps to spread the love.  Much love and take care. ❤️

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.

The soft glow of your phone, quietly vibrating beside you, nudged you out of your peaceful slumber. Still shrouded in a groggy haze, you instinctively turned away from it. Without even a glance, you knew who the messenger was, and the mere thought that he had sent another text caused a weary sigh to escape your lips.

Rafe's persistent attempts to connect since that unforgettable night had been unrelenting. Ignoring his calls was relatively easy (you had silenced his number), but his text messages proved more difficult to dismiss. Simple words like "Hey," "Hi," and "Talk to me" consistently lit up your phone at all hours, serving as a gentle yet persistent plea for your response—a response you couldn't bring yourself to give, yet somehow couldn't bring yourself to block him outright either. Ultimately, you opted for what seemed the only rational strategy, although in hindsight, it may not have been the wisest: complete avoidance.

But, in truth, none of that mattered. Not when your waking thoughts and dreams were dominated by memories of Rafe, endlessly replaying the night you shared. The feeling of being completely overwhelmed that night, your pleading words that it was all too much, that you needed to stop, were still fresh in your mind. How Rafe merely smiled in response and declared it was only the beginning, sealing his promise with a kiss.

And as he kissed you slow and deep, Rafe was true to his word. His middle finger wormed its way back between your legs. He found your sensitive clit already swollen and slippery with your slick and rubbed the nub in gentle circles in sync with his languid kiss. Slow and steady, minutes ticked by as Rafe dragged out your pleasure, watching you patiently, drawing back his finger whenever he felt you were close, his tongue lazily circling yours, as you both breathed as one. Until finally, finally, he allowed you to cum.

Your body exploded for him, blinding white pleasure saturated your senses leaving you crying and shaking while Rafe whispered soothingly against the shell of your ear "That's a good girl. That's a good girl."

Your unforgettable night with Rafe was unparalleled, surpassing all previous experiences, including those with your first and only boyfriend, Jake. Granted, you had not given Jake the same liberties, but even with the awkward kisses and over-the-clothes groping that marked your brief relationship, Jake had never elicited emotions remotely comparable to what Rafe managed in just one evening. What Rafe stirred effortlessly within you was a different beast entirely — something desperate, needy, and vulnerable. The sensation was so powerful that even three weeks later, it remained, smoldering like a steadfast ember, ready to reignite under the right conditions.

This realization filled you with absolute dread. The sudden understanding that it was Rafe- Rafe Cameron that held the power to shape your desires, ignite unknown cravings, and provoke illicit responses from your body that you couldn't control, was utterly terrifying.

You had often heard tales of girls falling for the proverbial 'bad boy,' forsaking their better judgment for some reckless charmer, and had always scoffed at such narratives. The thought of you succumbing to such feelings or desires was, until recently, beyond the realm of your wildest dreams. It seemed, however, that you were not as immune as you had once believed. All it took was the right—or perhaps, in this case, the wrong—person to stir those latent desires to the surface.

The sheets felt like an unwelcome weighted blanket on your body, pressing you down as you twisted and turned, desperately trying for sleep to come. But it remained stubbornly out of reach. Instead, you found yourself overwhelmed by a flood of polarising emotions.

Chief among them was a sharp sting of shame from that night with Rafe—a shame born from the startling responsiveness of your own body to his, and a gnawing guilt that it was Rafe, of all people, who had elicited such a reaction.

Yet, beneath the layers of guilt and shame, another emotion stirred, one you fervently sought to squash: a thrill of excitement at how utterly alive you felt being dominated by him and the confusing, even more, inescapable undeniable truth—you had loved every single intoxicating minute of it.

In a small town of no more than 7000 souls, you had turned avoiding Rafe into something of an art form. It wasn't difficult, really. Your comfort zones were galaxies away from the crowded, noisy spots that seemed to magnetize him. Bars, clubs, and bonfires weren't your scene anyway.  Your day-to-day orbit included exam prep and college applications, mostly done at the library for a change of scenery, relentless babysitting shifts, and quiet trips to the edges of the out sticks with your cousin to catch crawfish —far from the exclusive circles of Figure 8. 

Life was, if not exactly smooth sailing, at least predictably turbulent. Everything seemed under control, except for one tiny, nagging detail: Rafe. And your near-pathological commitment to avoid him.

On an average day that seemed to blend seamlessly with the rest, you were navigating your way through a series of errands for your dad. The North Carolina sun was blazing overhead casting sharp shadows. As you rounded a corner bathed in this bright, unforgiving light, a figure suddenly materialized. At first, it seemed like a trick of the heat, an illusion stirred up by the sweltering atmosphere. But as your eyes adjusted, recognition dawned. It was Rafe, but he looked... different.

Your gaze drank in the details, lingering over the notable changes—the buzzcut that gave him an even more dangerous edge, the way he stood taller, seeming to tower over the world, the newfound confidence that rolled off him in waves, a palpable energy that dared anyone to challenge him.  But the transformation wasn't just physical. An undercurrent of danger clung to him like a second skin.  He looked like he had seen things. Done bad things.

Reality came rushing back, slamming into you like a tidal wave, you tried to reverse course, turning on your heels to disappear from his line of sight. Yet, your reaction came a second too late. Rafe had spotted you, and maybe if you hadn't just blown most of your cash on groceries, you would've dropped them and run.

Rafe's speed was unrivaled. With just a few long strides, he effortlessly caught up to you. Firmly grasping your arm, he swiftly spun you around to face him, and there, you saw your own reflection in his Ray-Bans. He slid the sunglasses onto his head, revealing his piercing blue eyes. He made no attempt to hide the whirlpool of emotions swirling within them.

"That's not very neighborly of you," he said. His words were clipped and tinged with anger, yet something in his expression softened slightly as he gazed at you. Was it relief? Disappointment? It was difficult to determine, but one thing was clear—his emotions were just as tumultuous as yours.

"I forgot something—"

"Oh, you forgot something?" His grip tightened, decreasing the space between you.

"Yes, from the supermarket—"

"What, the one over there?" he asked, casually gesturing over his shoulder in the opposite direction.

"A different store."

"Right, right. Well, I'll walk you there."

"No! I've changed my mind," you protested, shaking your head. Your feet instinctively shuffled backward as you attempted to free yourself from his grip. His laughter was low and dry, his hold on you tightening.

"I need to go, Rafe. Let me go. I have to get home," you pleaded, desperation edging your voice.

"You heard her, country club. She said 'Let go'." The forceful tug-of-war between you and Rafe abruptly seized as both of you turned to see Barry approaching. You'd never directly interacted with Barry, but tales of his local thuggery and drug dealing were well-known to you. He greeted Rafe with a familiarity that, given Rafe's reputation, was not surprising.

"This doesn't concern you, man. Keep moving," Rafe commanded, his gaze fixed on Barry.

"Well, I did hear her say 'let her go'," Barry remarked, positioning himself beside you.

"Yeah well, she doesn’t know what she wants," Rafe retorted, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips as he pulled you closer, positioning himself between you and Barry.

"Just let her go, man—"

"Fuck off," Rafe spat.

Unfazed, Barry squinted and leaned in closer. "You realize how this looks, right? Out here in broad daylight?" he warned.

“Keep walking,” Rafe's jaw clenched as he squared off against Barry.

"Do you not realize what you are doing, bro?"

"I said keep walking," Rafe said icily, maintaining eye contact.

An unspoken exchange passed between the two men, concluding with Barry retreating, hands lifted in a gesture of surrender. “Alright then,” he conceded. “You do you, country club. You do you. But don't come crying to me when this shit backfires. I warned your J.Crew lookin' ass.”

After Barry's departure, Rafe scanned the surroundings before returning his focus to you.

"Where's your car?" His question hung heavily in the air as you looked up at him, fear evident in your eyes.

“Hey, I asked you a question,” Rafe's voice softened, his hand gently shaking your arm. “Where's your car?”

"It's...it's not working,” you whispered.

“You walked here?”

You nodded, swallowing hard.

A smirk crept across his lips. "Well, aren't you in luck? I'll give you a ride."

"No, that's... I can walk. I planned to walk—"

"Don't. Don't do that. Don’t act dumb, alright? It's nearly a hundred degrees out. What- you planning on collapsing on the side of the road?" His tone was surprisingly gentle, even as he grabbed the grocery bag from your hands. "Let's not make a mountain out of a molehill, yeah? Barry's already acting like a fool. We don't need a full circus," he stated, heading towards his truck and leaving you with no choice but to trail after him.

Rafe held the door open for you, assisting you as you climbed onto the plush leather seat. After handing you the grocery bag, he closed the door and walked around to the driver's side. In a subtle move to put some distance between the two of you, you placed the grocery bag in the middle.

Rafe started the truck, rolled up the windows, and activated the air conditioning. The truck pulled out of the parking lot, beginning a mostly silent ride.

Apart from the occasional glances Rafe threw your way, the journey remained relatively quiet. He made no attempt to hide his attention, his thumb rhythmically tapping on the steering wheel. The intensity of his gaze was unnerving, and you felt like you were suffocating despite the AC. You couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze.

"You look good..." Rafe stated, punctuating his words with an approving nod. The compliment stirred a flurry of emotions within you, leaving you feeling disoriented. As your heart pounded like a war drum, the silence seemed to morph, becoming dense and strangling.

"Thank you," you muttered trying to fill it. Your gaze firmly on the road ahead.

"How's your dad?" He asked, initiating a light conversation about your dad's well-being. You answered his questions with measured caution, unsure of his intentions. You informed him that your dad was coming home tonight and you intended to cook him a meal since he practically survived on sandwiches during the week in Burnsville. Rafe's thoughtful nods suggested he was listening, but there was an undercurrent of ambiguity that left you uneasy.

"What are you planning on making for him?" he asked with a semblance of innocence.

Your voice wavered as you listed the dishes, each word revealing your growing vulnerability. Anticipating his next move or comment, your heart raced and you braced yourself for what felt like an inevitable confrontation. You kept thinking he'd ask about the unanswered calls, about his ignored messages.

"Wow, you’re a real cook, not just a 'barely-can-boil-water' cook."

“I manage,” you replied.

Rafe hummed in agreement, his thumb still tapping the steering wheel albeit slower; more measured. “You know, Wheeze misses you.”

“I miss her too. How is she?”

“Good. She’s got exams coming up, so she’s been focusing on that. She's also got herself a little girlfriend."

"You seem to approve. Let me guess, Kook?" you asked absentmindedly.

"Nah, Pogue," he corrected, emphasizing the 'P'. "I guess we like what we like, huh?" he said, eyes raking over you.

Silence followed as Rafe steered away from the main road, venturing down an isolated street lined with beech trees. Decaying houses dotted the landscape, separated by wild stretches of tall bluestems and switchgrass.

"You should, you know… come by the house. See her sometime. I know she’d like that."

“Oh- I.. I would but I can't," you stammered, shaking your head "I have college applications to finish. Maybe sometime after."

“Right, right… college... applications... where are you applying?”

"Um… Kildare Community, Piedmont, Sun Valley, Crystal Coast Community--"

"What about Juilliard or Berklee? You applying to any of those?”

His question caught you off guard, and you turned your gaze towards him. Under the sunlight, his handsome profile seemed almost otherworldly.

"I hadn't really given it much thought," you confessed, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

His eyes fixed on yours, curiosity flickering in them. "Why not?"

Your answer was simple, albeit hard to articulate. "I can't afford it," you said with a shrug. Your eyes back on the unfolding road ahead when his gaze became too much.

"Don't they offer scholarships?"

"Yeah, they do. But the competition among applicants would be intense-"

"So? You're talented. Apply." he said matter of factly. "There are folks on the cut dreaming of an escape, with squat to show for it. You? You have options..." His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, seemingly lost in thought for a moment. "Don't squander it. Not here and definitely not at some shitty community college."

Taken aback, you struggled to find a response, and it didn't help that you could feel his eyes on you, evaluating your reaction. The remaining ride passed in silence, and by the time he pulled up outside your house, you were more than relieved.

"Thank you, Rafe," you said, quickly reaching for your grocery bag, but Rafe stopped you.

"So, that's it? Just 'thank you, Rafe?'" he asked, his jaw shifting restlessly from side to side, as though words were on the edge of his tongue, fighting to break free.

"Oh— I'm sorry, I should've offered to cover the gas. I don't have much on me, but I can--" Your words were cut short by Rafe shaking his head.

"I don't want your money."

Fear prickled your skin, "Then what—what do you want?" Swallowing nervously, you awaited his response.

Rafe's gaze flitted to your lips then back to your eyes "A kiss." he said.

Your head jerked back, unsure you'd heard him correctly.

"A kiss?" you echoed, attempting to digest his sudden proposal.

"Yeah, just a kiss," he replied. His voice was so steady, so devoid of emotion, it was as if he was merely commenting on the weather or asking if you had the time.

Your query rang out once more, uncertainty creeping into your voice, "A kiss?"

"Just one. One kiss and we call it even." Rafe's lean-in was deliberate, his index finger lightly grazing your jaw, igniting a trail of warmth along your skin and subconsciously you leaned into it.

"A kiss," you whispered back, your eyes locked onto his. Perhaps you didn't want things to escalate into a fight, but maybe, just maybe, a part of you wanted to kiss him. Taking a breath to steel yourself, you leaned in, brushing a swift kiss against his cheek. Almost instinctively, his lips followed, seeking yours.

"That's, that's not a kiss," Rafe breathed, his eyes growing progressively darker with each word he spoke.

Gently, Rafe curled his fingers around the back of your neck, drawing you closer. His attention was solely focused on your lips. As if under a spell, you relented, delivering a brief, innocent kiss onto his lips. But just as you began to pull away, Rafe halted you, his fingers remaining intertwined at the nape of your neck.

"Nah, that doesn't count."

"I kissed you, Rafe—" you began, your voice trembling.

"No, no. You owe me a real kiss for all the unanswered texts and the missed calls..." His words triggered a surge of panic within you and you tried to pull away, but Rafe held you firm, his gaze burning into your own. "I was worried about you. Did you know that?" he asked, his eyebrows creasing in confusion.

"We had fun. I made you feel good and then you just...." He paused, collecting his thoughts, his eyes darting between your lips and your startled expression. "I thought something had happened to you. But then, I woke the fuck up and realised you were safe - you just ghosted me. You know, I even contemplated driving over to your house? But I knew your dad wouldn't appreciate that. I thought I might never see you again, and then...there you were."

Rafe's words gushed forth like a sudden revelation. "There you were, shopping for groceries to cook for your dad, playing the dutiful daughter, blissfully content in your little world, while mine was hell." He spat out the words with venom, his fingers tensing at the nape of your neck, pulling you so close that his lips were mere millimeters from yours. His eyes, swirling with turmoil, locked intensely onto your eyes, which were now brimming with unshed tears.

"So, while I'm relieved you're okay," he started, his lips curving into a slight pout as he painstakingly enunciated each word, "You owe me. You owe me for thinking about you. You owe me for worrying about you. Now, open your mouth."

"Rafe," you whispered, tears beginning to cascade down your cheeks.

"I said, open. Your. Mouth." His voice hardened, his command leaving no room for doubt.

Your broken sob was all it took for Rafe to swoop in, kissing you passionately. His tongue probed the depths of your mouth, and you willingly complied, feeling the unmistakable force in his movements - raw, desperate, determined.

With each passing moment, Rafe deepened the kiss, leaning into you even further. He poured in his passion, demanding that you returned it with equal intensity, leaving your head spinning and your heart aching. The sheer intensity of the moment left you gasping for breath, and as Rafe's lips left yours to press desperate, kisses against your cheek and down the column of your throat you felt like you couldn't breathe at all.

"Please, I have to go, I have to," you managed to muster, pulling his fingers away and pushing him back. With a surge of determination, you grabbed your grocery bag and yanked on the passenger door, only for Rafe to swiftly reach over and slam it shut.

You turned to face him, struggling to catch your breath and see him through your teary haze. Rafe's face portrayed a picture of calm, cold calculation, with only the harsh puffs of air escaping his lips marring that composure. "You're making this difficult," he uttered, his voice echoing the icy chill of his demeanor. "It doesn't have to be."

Rafe relinquished his hold on the door, and you seized the opportunity, yanking it open. You nearly lost your balance in the process but managed to catch yourself just in time. Without daring to look back, you bolted towards your porch. Only when you heard the grating sound of his truck pulling away and tires screeching against the gravel did you risk a glance back.

The rhythmic splash of water against the wooden planks of the dinghy was the only sound as you and your cousin worked in tandem, freeing the crawfish from their nets and emptying them into plastic buckets filled with fresh water.

The usual serene ambiance of your shared task was disrupted by the thickening tension in the air, both from the approaching storm and from the heavy silence your cousin seemed eager to shatter.

"You know," she began, her voice deliberately casual, "Konnie's been running her mouth again."

You looked up from the net you were shaking above the bucket of cold water, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, yeah? What crazy story has she cooked up this time?"

She hesitated, then said with faux nonchalance, "Something about seeing Rafe with a girl yesterday. Says she looked a lot like you."

"What?" You froze mid-shake, a flicker of surprise crossing your face.

"Wild, right?”

Forcing a laugh, you attempted to balance surprise with casual dismissal. "Konnie's always been good at making stuff up."

She glanced sharply at you, her gaze assessing. "It's not ‘making stuff up’ if Barry was there to corroborate it."

The weight of the revelation pulled at your focus.

“This sounds like something out of a K-drama," you whispered, your focus back on your trap.

"Isn't it just? Our Kook King looking down on half the town like we're nothing but shit beneath his shoes, is with a Pogue. An actual born and bred Pogue. I don’t know if that’s rich in irony or if it makes him a hypocrite?" She laughed bitterly.

"Both, probably, if it were true. But it’s not.”

She nodded slowly. "Right well, Konnie said Barry tried to stop Rafe from making a scene. Why would Rafe be making a scene?” she asked, her eyes locked onto you.

Your fingers tightened around the net, your heart beating in your throat. "I don't know. It's Outer Banks. People talk. They get things wrong and--"

She sighed, leaning closer. "Is there something going on between you and Rafe?”

“No, there isn't—"

“Because if there is, I need to know. Like, are you sleeping with him-“

“No!”

“Then are you dating him?”

“No- it’s not like that." You said shaking your head profusely.

"Then what's it like?"

"I babysit his sister you know that—" you faltered under your cousin's intense gaze. "He just happened to be in town when I was grocery shopping and he gave me a ride home. Nothing happened.”

Your cousin gave out a bitter laugh and shook her head. "A minute ago you were acting like it was some baseless rumour—”

"Because you were freaking me out! What else was I supposed to say? You just came at me with a bunch of questions like I did something wrong" You said, your face hot.

You couldn’t help but notice your cousin’s frustrated sigh.

“Look, I’ve got your back, regardless of whatever is going on here. And I can’t tell you how to live your life, that's for you to decide. But, Rafe-- Rafe is not the type of guy you want to be involved with in any capacity. I thought you knew that.” The distant growl of thunder underscored the urgency of her words.

“I do, and I’m not,” you said, licking your lips.

“Good. Because Rafe would never risk being seen in public with a Pogue, let alone put his reputation on the line for one. If you get involved with him, you'll be the one who ends up getting hurt."

"I know," you murmured in agreement.

She nodded and looked up at the darkening sky. "Good. Just making sure we're on the same page is all."

"We are," You nodded, barely able to meet her eyes. "We should hurry," you said quietly. "A storm's coming."

During the subsequent week, Rafe had surfaced in your life more times than in the previous three weeks of no contact. Initially, you brushed it off as mere coincidence. You saw him at the market, then again at the docks, immersed in intense conversation with his friends, and once again at the wreck when you went to pick up food. Each encounter was brief, like an encounter with a spectre and each time you slipped away, thankfully, unseen.

With your heart hammering in your chest, you assured yourself that he wasn't intentionally seeking you out. You dismissed these run-ins as sheer coincidence. That's what you convinced yourself, at least.

Until the Library.

Your heart stuttered as you spotted him through the double doors just as you were about to exit. There he was, nonchalantly leaning against his truck, eyes concealed behind Ray-Bans and his arms folded.

Despite the casual stance, his presence radiated terrifying, intimidating energy. His posture, his unwavering gaze, his patient vigil - it all pointed towards one intention. It felt like you had been doused with cold water when realization struck-

Rafe was waiting.

For you.

Two choices lay before you. Either you could escape through the back door or find a window to climb out of. But deep down, you knew these would only delay the inevitable. It was time to confront the situation. Harnessing every ounce of courage, you resolved to put an end to this.

Usually, you'd carry only a handful of books, but today you had filled your tote. The thought of smacking Rafe in the head with it seemed like a good option. Adjusting the strap on your shoulder and gripping the bag firmly, you pulled the brass handle, flung open the door, and strode down the library’s stone steps, your chin lifted high.

A grin worthy of the Cheshire Cat split Rafe's face, his teeth flashing with amusement as he watched you. But you didn't give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his presence. You breezed past him, leaving him behind in your determined stride.

Not long after, Rafe slipped into his truck and drove alongside you, his arm hanging out of the window, eyes flicking between you and the road.

"It's gonna rain, you know." he said. His voice, smooth as silk, echoed around you. You kept walking, acting as if his words had fallen on deaf ears, yet they hung ominously in the air.

"It's gonna rain, you know," Rafe repeated, amusement tingeing his tone.

"I heard you the first time," you snapped, your voice sharper than you had intended.

Rafe whistled in surprise. His grin only widened, “Come on, don't be like that. Get in. I'll give you a ride."

You faltered for a moment at his offer, but quickly regained your stride. "I don't need anything from you, Rafe."

"Sure about that?" He drawled, his truck moving at the same steady pace as you.

The thrum of your heartbeat in your ears underscored your steely resolve, refusing to meet his gaze. The truck's engine growled ominously at your side.

"You know, a ride with me wouldn't be so bad. In fact, you might enjoy it”

"I'd rather get hit by lightning," you fired back, keeping your gaze fixed straight ahead.

Rafe removed his sunglasses and lightly tossed them on the dash. His silence was heavy, bearing witness to your defiance before his voice returned, a touch of impatience coating his words. "So how much longer are you planning to keep this up?"

“What do you mean? Keeping what up?”

“Running...pretending like you don’t give a shit—”

"Who said anything about running? I'm walking away. There's a difference."

"Oh, is that what this is? Right. Right." He drawled, the truck maintaining its constant presence by your side. "Well, it looks more like running to me."

"You can think whatever you want, Rafe. I really don’t care" Your words were as icy as a protective shield, distancing you from his unnerving scrutiny.

"You know," he spoke after another pause, his voice melting into a softer, intimate cadence, "You'd think I'd be bored by now but nah, I like these little interactions of ours. I look forward to them, actually…”

"Don't," you managed to whisper.

"Don't what?" He questioned, feigned innocence in his tone. You could hear the smirk in his voice, a symbol of triumph despite your rebuffs.

"Just leave me alone, Rafe."

"You know I can't do that," he declared with unshakeable certainty.

"Why not?" You shot back, halting to confront him and Rafe hit the brakes. As you turned to face him, the first drops of rain began to fall, soaking your skin and hair. You surrendered to the sensation, letting the rain blur your surroundings into an indistinct haze. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

A fleeting wave of vulnerability crossed Rafe's face, causing his confident smile to momentarily falter. "You know why..." He began, licking his lips, as if the weight of his next words were a challenge to articulate.

"No, I don’t. Aren't there plenty of Kooks you should be chasing after? Isn't that supposed to be your speed, anyway?" Your voice was laced with a mix of frustration and genuine curiosity.

He exhaled slowly, his eyes unwavering, locked onto yours. "Okay, you want me to spell it out? Fine." Leaning in just slightly, ensuring every word landed with intent, he said, "I like you, yeah? Not some Kook or a Touron. You." And then, softer, almost a whisper against the backdrop of the rain, "You know I do." The quiet intensity of his affirmation sent shivers down your spine. It was a truth both of you had danced around, a truth as terrifying as it was undeniable. Time seemed to stretch in that moment, punctuated only by the drumming rain and the frantic pace of your heart.

You swallowed hard, battling the storm of emotions threatening to spill out. "Well, you have a peculiar way of showing it," you managed to say, your voice quivering with a mix of vulnerability and defiance. His unexpected honesty had pulled the rug out from under your feet, leaving you reeling. "You've been stalking me, trying to intimidate me, forcing me to do things I don't want to--"

"Forcing you?" Rafe’s gaze hardened as he studied your face. "Forcing you? I’m forcing you?”

“Yes, Rafe. Forcing me,” you protested, the words tinged with desperation, a last-ditch attempt to create distance between you two.

Rafe chuckled under his breath as he shook his head. “I'm forcing you, but you came harder than you've ever done in your entire life just from my fingers. I'm forcing you, but you came so many times you could barely remember your own name--"

"I never wanted any of that! I didn't ask for any of that—" You tried to reason only for Rafe to silence you with a frustrated roar, his hand banging on the steering wheel.

"Get in the fucking truck!!"

"No!" you laughed shakily “No. in fact, I'm perfectly fine. Right. Here." you declared defiantly, tilting your head back to let the rain wash over you. A temporary respite came with your eyes squeezed shut. When you dared to open them again, Rafe was still there, an unwavering, persistent figure.

With another heavy sigh, Rafe surrendered. "Alright." he nodded bitterly "Alright, You're really gonna make me do this, huh?"

"Do what?" you retorted, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Before you could decipher his next move, Rafe abruptly killed the engine, flung open the door and stepped out into the torrential downpour. The heavens seemed intent on soaking him through. Droplets of rain lashed down, darkening his shirt until it clung to his chiseled torso, revealing the muscular contours beneath.

"What the fuck," you whispered under your breath, your heart racing from his unexpected action. There he stood, defiant against the torrential rain, every drop sliding down his chiseled features, his piercing eyes never wavering from yours.

Time seemed to stand still until, driven by some invisible force, Rafe lunged forward pulling you into his embrace, his lips fiercely meeting yours.

His lips was soft. Not demanding and you found yourself responding instinctively. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest as your hands moved to grip the wet fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. You could taste the rain on his lips, mingled with the hint of sweetness from the soda he had been drinking earlier. The world disappeared.

There was only him.

The kiss deepened, Rafe's hand moved to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling in your rain-soaked hair, while his other arm snaked around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. His touch sent a shiver of anticipation running down your spine, setting your nerves alight. The rain beating down on you both seemed to fade into the background, drowned out by the thunderous pounding of your heart.

His lips moved with a fervor that left you breathless, each stroke of his tongue against yours an echo of the underlying passion and yearning that had been simmering beneath the surface. Every sensation, every emotion was amplified tenfold in the shared intimacy of the kiss. You surrendered completely to the moment, losing yourself in the touch of his skin, the strength of his hold, and the intoxicating taste of his lips.

Eventually, the kiss slowed, the initial fervor simmering into something softer, sweeter. Rafe broke away, his breath shaky. His eyes held yours captive, and a flush crept onto his face. His fingers traced a path down your cheek, before he finally stepped back.

"We can do this two ways," Rafe murmured over the steady patter of rain on the truck's roof. Pure mischief danced in his eyes as he stated, "I can drag you kicking and screaming and trust me, I’ll enjoy every minute of it, or you can walk and get in on your own. But either way - you're getting in the truck. Your call."

Wordlessly, you pivoted and moved towards the truck, your boots crunching against the rain-dampened gravel.

"That's what I thought," Rafe replied, a victorious grin splitting his rain-speckled face as he caught your fleeting glare. Unruffled, he stretched out his hand, popping open the weather-beaten door with a familiar creak lost in the drumming rain. His hand was warm and steady as he helped you up into the seat, the fabric of your clothes already beginning to stick to the leather.

In one fluid movement, Rafe navigated around the truck, momentarily swallowed by the spray of the falling rain before reappearing on the driver's side. With a clunk, the door closed behind him, sealing out the chill and sound of the heavy rain. His wrist flicked, the ignition turning over and the engine’s steady rumble intertwining with the rhythmic tapping of raindrops on the roof.

Leaning over the seat, Rafe's momentarily searched around the back. When he reappeared, he held a well-used, grey fleece jacket, its fabric softened by countless washes.

"Here," he offered, his voice barely louder than the muted patter of the rain against the windows. He extended it towards you, his fingers brushing against yours in exchange.

"Thank you," you replied, accepting the jacket. The fleece was surprisingly warm, a welcome contrast to the chill spreading through your rain-soaked clothes.

Rafe maneuvered the truck through the storm your house barely discernible in the relentless deluge. He parked close to your porch, an unspoken gesture to spare you from the worst of the rain. When he switched off the engine, the absence of its rumble made the cab feel suddenly small. The silence that enveloped you both was thick, charged with unsaid words and emotions neither of you didn't know how to share.

Rafe turned to face you, the dim glow from the dashboard lights casting a soft luminescence on his features. Rain droplets traced shimmering paths down his face, catching on his eyelashes and hanging at the tips. His gaze held yours, searching, longing, a question lingering in his eyes.

Swallowing hard, you broke the silence. "Want to come in?" The words hung in the air, tender and tentative. "Maybe dry off a little before hitting the road?"

"Make yourself at home" you said.

With a click, you turned on the side lamp, illuminating the cozy sitting room in a warm glow. You excused yourself, leaving Rafe momentarily to fetch some things for him. From the hallway closet, you grabbed a clean towel, and after a brief rummage through your dad's wardrobe, you found a red plaid shirt that might fit him. Deciding to change yourself, you quickly slipped into a comfortable, loose faded shirt and denim shorts.

Upon your return, you found Rafe intently examining the family photos that adorned your walls. The captured moments were a mix of joyful events and everyday life: you proudly holding up your first caught fish, a close-up with you and a school friend age seven with your front teeth missing, an affectionate snapshot of your parents in a tender embrace, and a cherished image of baby you, seated on your dad's lap at the piano. Each photo was a silent testament to days that were simpler, happier.

Rafe, towering in your small living room, shifted his gaze to the old piano settled in one corner. The instrument, though aged, held a simple grace.

“It’s not as grand as the one at your place,” you remarked gently, catching his attention. As his gaze shifted to you, there was a perceptible pause as his eyes traveled down to your legs and then resettled on your face.

"But it still has its charm, right?"

“I guess,” you shrugged, closing the distance between you two and handing him the towel and shirt.

Your fingers brushed with the exchange, sending a thrill through you. With a grateful nod, Rafe dried his head and face. He began to unbutton his shirt, pulling the wet fabric from his slacks, peeling it off his body. As he revealed inch after inch of lean muscle and beautifully tanned, unmarked skin, you couldn't help but admire the flawless appearance—a testament to his privileged Kook life.

“Can't take your eyes off, can you? Want a guided tour?” He teased.

“Dream on, Cameron,” you shot back, attempting to sound casual, but the playful glint in his eyes suggested he knew exactly the effect he was having on you. The sound of his confident chuckle filled the room with warmth.

“How long have you had it?” he inquired, head tilting towards the piano.

“You mean Betsy?”

Rafe smiled “It has a name?”

“Of course. We've had her as long as I can remember. My dad got her before I was born. She’s older than I am,” you confessed with a fond smile.

"Go on, play for me," Rafe murmured, the timbre of his voice making it feel less like a request and more like an intimate invite.

The memory of the last time you played for him, and what had ensued, made you take a deep breath. But you shook off the feeling, reminding yourself that your bench was, luckily, a one-seater. "I'll play," you said with a small smile, "but you've got to promise to behave."

Rafe chuckled, leaning back on the couch, wearing your dad's shirt but leaving it unbuttoned. His smirk was wicked and teasing, the very embodiment of temptation itself. "No promises."

Rolling your eyes. You took a seat on the bench and began to play, allowing the music to flow through your fingers. Each note resonated with the room, reflecting the myriad emotions swirling within you. The gentle glow of the room's lighting seemed to dance in tune with the melody, casting warm and shifting shadows. The scent of the rain outside mingled with the familiar smells of your home, creating an atmosphere of nostalgia and present moments intertwining. As the final note lingered in the air, caressing the silence that followed, you turned to find Rafe's gaze fixed intently on you. His eyes, laden with intensity and yearning.

“Come here,” he said softly, his voice filled with something deeper, something unspoken. He leaned back against the sofa, extending his hand to you.

With a deep breath, and a flutter in your chest, you walked towards him, finally straddling him, feeling the warmth and strength of him beneath you, knowing that this moment was a milestone, a turning point in whatever it was that was unfolding between you two.

Rafe's fingers delicately trailed along your thighs, taking in every curve and contour. He lingered for a moment on a mole on your left leg, brushing his thumb over its slightly elevated surface. Every touch ignited a fire on your skin, an intimate dance of warmth and desire. As his hands continued their exploration, they ascended up your sides and Rafe sat up.

Suddenly his hands wrapped around your neck, tipping your head back with a possessiveness that made you gasp. The raw strength in his grip was undeniable; he held the power to hurt you. But somewhere deep down, amidst the swirling mix of emotions, you felt an unwavering trust that he wouldn't.

With your head tilted back, you found yourself drowning in Rafe's gaze. He examined your features, delicately turning your face this way and that, softly illuminated by the nearby lamp. Every aspect of your countenance seemed to fascinate him, but it was his own features — the small scar above his right eyebrow, the striking high cheekbones, thick lashes, and those mesmerizing blue eyes — that captivated you in return. When those very eyes briefly lingered on your lips, and his thumb gently brushed against them a sharp inhale caught in your throat.

"So fuckin' pretty," Rafe breathed, the weight of his words heavy in the brief silence that followed. Then, with an urgency that stole your breath away, he captured your lips with his. His kiss was both tender and powerful, a dance of tongues and unspoken passion.

His hands moved from your neck, sliding beneath your shirt finally touching bare skin to wrap around you. The world seemed to tilt as he expertly turned, positioning you beneath him without breaking the kiss.

Rafe's fingers found the buttons of your shirt. Each one he undid was like unwrapping a gift, each sliver of exposed skin driving him further into a fervor kissing you deeper until he pulled away from your lips altogether to look down and savour your breasts.

“I knew it…” he whispered “You’re gorgeous...” and wasted no time in swirling his tongue around your pert nipple before sucking it into his mouth. His other hand kneading the tender flesh of your other breast oh so softly.

Rafe's touch sent waves of electricity coursing through your body, each sensation igniting the desire between your thighs. With every gentle tug, every teasing bite, you surrendered to your longing, your moans a symphony of need. While dampness formed at your core, evidence of your escalating arousal.

Leaving your nipple, his lips sought your cheek, his fingers deftly finding the button of your shorts, effortlessly undoing it. "I couldn't stop thinking about the way you squirted for me." he smiled, his voice a soft murmur in your ear.

"Ugh- Rafe, don't-" You couldn't help but groan, your hands instinctively covering your face in a mix of bashfulness and embarrassment.

"Come on, babe don't hide from me now," he urged, gently moving your hands away from your face. His unwavering gaze bore into you, with a magnetic intensity that held you captive. "It was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen," he continued, his words wrapping around you like a sensual embrace. You responded with a mix of eye-rolling and a self-conscious laugh, but Rafe's touch on your jaw stilled your reaction.

"I'm serious," he insisted, his eyes locked onto yours. "Watching you moan for me all desperate and sweet. Feeling your pretty little pussy swallow my fingers... and then knowing I made you feel so fucking good you couldn't help but squirt…” Rafe groaned “Baby, I jerked off to the thought so many times I'm surprised my dick hasn't fallen off." he chuckled. "All I could think about these last few weeks was watching you cum. I wanna watch you cum." Rafe's words were a soft murmur, his unwavering gaze locked onto yours.

Adjusting his position slightly, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your jeans shorts, a deliberate slowness in his movements as he eased them down your body. His breath quickened, his eyes devouring the sight of you in your white panties, damp with the evidence of your arousal.

Moistening his lips, he carefully tugged down your panties, guiding your legs free from their confines. He stared at your pussy taking his fill.

"Pretty as a picture," he whispered. Settling in beside you, he rested his head on his palm, his gaze fixed upon you. "I want to watch you cum, but this time..." Rafe tenderly parted your legs, cradling your knees and exposing you fully to the room's golden light. "This time, I want to see everything," he murmured.

His fingers traced the contours of your mound, the subtle hills and valleys of your skin. A light dusting of pubic hair added to the texture he was exploring. There, at your slit, a glistening collection of your arousal had formed. With a gentle touch, he collected a bead of it on his fingertip, his eyes locked onto your face. Bringing his finger to his lips, he sensually tasted you, an intense hunger gleaming in his gaze.

"I’ll need to eat this pussy too..." he murmured, nodding as if confirming an important task on his list of things to do. "But let's take it one step at a time, yeah? Don't want you running away from me anytime soon." His words held a trace of humor, a playful acknowledgment of the strained heated desires between you two. You were about to chastise him but his lips captured yours in a hungry kiss. While your mouths entwined, Rafe's finger moved back to your clit, his gentle movements coaxing a moan from your lips.

Just as you were sinking into his heavenly touch, Rafe broke the kiss and gently pulled his finger away from your clit. The absence of his touch almost prompted a whine from you, but Rafe quickly quieted you with a gentle shush. With a practiced finesse that revealed a glimpse of his dexterity, he employed his teeth to deftly remove the signet ring that encircled his finger. The ring glided off smoothly, lingering briefly within his mouth before finding its place in his pants pocket. His voice, laced with desire, broke the silence in a husky murmur, "Can’t go deep with a ring in the way, can we?” With deliberate intent, he returned his two fingers between your folds and wormed them inside you.

"Oh god, oh shit-" The fabric of Rafe's (or rather, your dad’s) shirt twisted beneath the force of your grip, your fingers curling and clenching as a flood of both pleasure and pain surged through your core. He was not lying when he said he was going to go deep.

Admitting comfort at this moment wouldn't be honest, not with the way his fingers were delving inside you, pushing against your tight channel. The fine line between discomfort and pleasure was being treaded, a line that teased just on the cusp of crossing into one or the other. Strangely, there was an undeniable allure in feeling so exquisitely full and it dawned on you that even with the mingling pain you liked being full.

With a mix of awe and submission, you embraced the realization that this was indeed what your body was designed for—an intricate dance of taking and being taken. The recognition of your body's innate capacity to accept him, to welcome him so completely, was a mesmerizing revelation that you couldn't help but marvel at.

As your gaze drifted downward, you couldn't help but raise an intrigued eyebrow at the sight that greeted you. His long, skillful fingers moved sinfully, withdrawing and reentering, each motion leaving them glistening with the evidence of your arousal. The sight and sound was hypnotic, and as a drawn-out moan escaped your lips, you couldn't help but notice Rafe's gaze following suit, his own reaction mirrored in the form of a needy groan.

"God, look at you. Taking it all the way to my palm... making a pretty mess." he quipped, his voice trembling with desire as a shaky chuckle escaped him. "Does it hurt?"

You gasped in response, the honesty ringing true in your voice, "A little."

A low, almost guttural groan escaped Rafe's lips, his tongue darting out to moisten his suddenly dry lips. "Yeah, but you like it, don't you? That slight twinge of pain. Hurts good, doesn't it?"

A slow, almost reverent nod escaped you as your eyes rolled backward, caught in the riptide of sensation. Your hand joined Rafe's at his wrist, a desperate yearning to connect more deeply with the source of your pleasure and the exquisite ache that accompanied it. You craved the sensation of his every stroke, each movement a testament to his mastery over your desire. Your hips began to sway, an instinctual response, seeking more friction, a little extra pressure to tip the scale just a bit further into pleasure. When you started to pluck and gently pull on your nipple you had finally reached it.

"Shit. That's it. Take what you need, baby.” He whispered. His tongue made its way back to your other nipple sucking on the tender flesh while he stared up at you. His gentle tongue swirling and firm hard fingers relentlessly drilling and your own hand gently plucking had you seeing stars and then some. You could feel his cock, thick and stiff brushing against your side as he rutted slowly against you seeking friction and for the first time you began to whine in sheer desperation, wishing he had fucked you with his cock instead.

"Use your words, baby," Rafe's voice held an almost teasing quality. "I want to know how good it feels—for next time when you accuse me of forcing you..."

You should have been mad, outraged even, by his audacity. But there was a magnetic pull in his words, a spell that rendered your protests powerless against the tide of pleasure that had you firmly in its grasp. The chorus of moans that spilled from your lips was a testament to your surrender "Don't stop- feels so good. Oh god, ‘m close. So close. Please Rafe-- please.. please... please.." Your words quivered with a mixture of urgency and need, punctuated by the ragged rhythm of your breath as your body shook.

As if on cue, Rafe applied a cork-screw motion, his fingers expertly stroking your G-spot with fervor. Your orgasm surged forth, violent and all-consuming. Waves of ecstacy coursed through your body, compelling your abdomen to convulse, and your leg to kick, a response to Rafe speeding up his efforts, fingers plunging deep while his thumb orchestrated rapid blissful circles on your clit.

"OH, FUCK-- OH RAFE!!!" Your voice filled the room as you were swept away in the throes of your orgasm. You couldn’t help but soak his fingers, and like a breached dam, overflowing and cascading, so too did your juices overflow as it trickled down to the cleft of your ass.

"Fuck—" Rafe hissed, his voice strained. "Ah, shit!" he sneered through clenched teeth. Overwhelmed at the sight, feel and sound of you screaming his name, his hips involuntarily jerked as he came. An untouched release that left him gasping for breath. His moans blended with yours, a beautiful song of shared pleasure that only ended when he leaned in for a messy kiss.

His gaze never wavered; it feasted on every second of your reaction and revelled in the glorious aftermath. You were glowing, skin flushed and alive from the intensity of your climax. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, sweat glistening off of your exposed breasts. Legs still spread, revealing the slippery mess with his fingers buried deep in you.

If you weren't so strung out from your orgasm, the opportunity to catch a glimpse of something more in his expression might have presented itself. A fleeting flicker of his unwavering fixation taking root, a mere hint of the deeper obsession he harbored for you. But instead your eyes closed, your lips forming a satisfied, lopsided grin. You couldn’t think. In fact, you couldn't care about anything at all.

Feedback is always appreciated. Lots of love until next time and thanks for reading.

UPDATES - PART 3 / MASTERLIST

#rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe x you #rafe fic #rafe fanfiction #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x fem!reader #18+ read #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x oc #rafe cameron x female reader #dirtytomatoedwrites

[the-fluffy-folio]

Void Thrall – Medium elemental, any chaotic alignment

Some say that the void thrall is a harbinger of a great evil – a messenger sent to signify the coming of a creature born from nothingness; an entity so hungry that it devours villages and cities as a whole. Others, however, believe that the thrall is merely a fading echo of said cataclysmic being. Lost and aimless, it wanders the lands as a faint reminder of a tremendous battle fought out decades or even centuries ago. Whatever the truth, the void thrall is a remarkable phenomenon. Where it passes, it leaves its eerie gifts behind. Hidden by time, these little gems bring misfortune to whomever roams close.

🔮 If you like my work, kindly consider to support me on Patreon to gain access to monster pages, tokens & artwork of over 250 quirky creatures as well as dozens of potion & item cards based on their lore.

#fantasy art #artists on tumblr #creature design #bestiary #dnd item #baldur's gate 3 #illustration #artist #animation #art #dnd #hand drawn #homebrew #paintings #fantasy #digital art #dungeons and dragons #ciritcal role #ttrpg #worldbuilding

[orphicrose]

The co-host (Alastor x femreader) II

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Summary: You are Alastors Co host in life, perhaps more. But are separated by a sudden death. When you are finally reunited in the under world, it is up to Alastor to figure out why you don’t remember him.

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Alastor had arrived in hell a few years after you, completely unaware that you ended up in the same place. You both saw each other as saints, i guess that's what love does to you.  If only you had more time to truly know each other. His last years weren't as dignified as yours. And neither was his death. 

All through your sickness, he was by your side. Cooking for you, entertaining you, helping out with rent. Your mother would have, but she lived in another state, and had very little money to come visit you or support you. So Alastor did.  But when your body decided enough was enough, you took a toll for the worse. You were gone within days, with him still by your side. Willing to do anything to see your eyes full of life just one more time. It truly broke him as a person. But no one would ever know. 

He sent out a broadcast to honor your name, all of your frequent listeners shedding a tear over the loss. Because it truly was a loss. Spreading kind words like "she's in a better place now", if only they knew. 

Then there was Alastor. In the end, everyone was glad the world had ridded such a monster. No one knew it when he died, but they did when the remains of those who had gone missing was uncovered. Some argue they deserved it, some argue it was an act of evil. 

It had been a few weeks since the encounter with Satan. Y/N didn't have much of a choice, her soul was his. Now she had to do his dirty work. You see, Satan's a busy man. Being the keeper of the wraith ring, and having the people of earth call on him frequently for deals. He couldn't keep up with all of it. So, he gave some of that responsibility to Y/n. Someone who can claim souls and grant wishes from the desperate and needy. Of course the souls still belonged to him, she was just the messenger. With this comes the ability to travel to the mortal realm, and fear of other sinners when you are being called the sacrificer. Within days, Y/n rose the ranks as an overlord who owned a large territory. Unspeakable amounts of power being given to this singular soul was a lot to take in, but she didn't have a choice.

The business was now up and running, "The slaughter house". Satan being the CEO, of course. Y/N being the manager, and other souls of Satan being his laborers who dealt with mundane things like paper work. The pay wasn't too bad though. This operation being set up in hell also gave other sinners the opportunity to sell their soul to Satan in return for a high paying job. Its a bit extreme, but it gets very desperate in hell. I'm sure you can imagine. 

Y/n's name was lost, now being called the demon of sacrifice. It was incredibly de-humanizing, and she hated it. Only using her power when absolutely necessary or when business required it. But it wasn't all bad, she had a better accommodation, a steady cash flow, a lot of useful contacts and very little conflict with other demons. It was also incredibly lonely. Because of the fear around her name, very few people were willing to befriend her. 

Then, on top of that, was the pain of her memories from life. Knowing that all if this is ultimately her fault. All because she just wanted power. How was she to carry on. Then it hit her, she has the power to do what she pleases. She can be whoever she wants to be down here, and to start this she needed to forget everything that haunted her.

Alastor landed in hell four years after y/n, after being shot in between the eyes. Not many know how his rise to power happened, but it was merely overnight. Tormenting the citizens of hell, kidnapping powerful overlords that few would dare to mess with, and giving a new reason for sinners to fear for their lives. The radio demon was born, and it didn't take long before his radio broadcasts displayed what had happened to his unfortunate victims. No one was safe.

"Miss l/n! Todays demand for Satan is big today, I don't think we will be able to get through all of them" a small, fishlike demon ran up to her, struggling to keep up with her pace through the corridors. 

"Its late, imp. I will deal with them tomorrow. Prioritize the simpler requests, none of that fame or millionaire shit." Y/n bit back, eager to leave.

"But ma'am, The sin of wraith isn't very happy with how the number of souls are dropping"

"uh huh, uh huh. I'll see you tomorrow, imp" The door slammed in his face, and the handle was too high for him to reach. 

"I'm not an imp" He mumbles under his breath, watching the overlord walk away in the windows of the door. 

Y/n had a coffee date with one of her closest friends, Zestial. One of the few overlords who still had his head attached to him. They had arranged to talk about the affects of the new tormentor, needing a plan to put their people at ease and to protect the skin on the bac of their necks. Usually, she'd have someone accompany her. But this occasion was far too private.

The night had progressed fast, the crimson sky darkened and street lamps struggled to do their job and lighten the streets. Y/n was almost at her destination when she noted a faint buzzing sound in the back of her head. It definitely wasn't there before. She stopped at the end of an alley she had just walked through, and assessed her surroundings. No one, not a soul in sight. Behind her, again no one. A strange feeling made its way into her throat, as if her body sensed danger. The sound getting louder, louder. Street lights seemingly struggling even more, and eventually going out. One by one. The street was pitch black within seconds. Y/n couldn't do anything but remain in their position, against the wall of the alley. 

A small, voodoo doll like creature ran passed the entrance of the alley. Paying her no attention, and laughing as he went. He was barely audible as the static became more insufferable in her ears. But she knew something was after her, she just prayed to lucifer that it wasn't who she thought it was.

"Not even going to try and run, dear?" The static stopped, the voice sounding like it was in the air. Having no body attached to it. Then he materialized seemingly from the shadows. His slim body accompanied by a tailored red suit, and an eerie smile refraining his face from showing any sort of emotion. The radio demon. He was here. Her face was barely visible in the darkness he had created, only the glowing from her eyes was an indication of life. 

"Come on, give me a chase. Make this interesting. I'll give you a head start" He taunted, slowly getting closer. Leaning his cane at his side, making it hard for y/n to get out. 

"No? I guess this will be the easiest kill yet" His smile widened a the seams of his mouth, being pulled by an invisible string like a doll. His form followed in lead, being hoisted up and enlarged to intimidate his prey. 

"Don't touch me freak." Y/N finally spoke, kicking his cane over and materializing into the ground. Becoming nothing more than a shadow that cant be touched. He watched at she disappeared into the night, almost in disbelief. He's heard that voice before. But it can't be, there's no way she is down here. She can't be. His smile never faltered, and he decided to leave this chase for another day. Street light finally flickered back on, and everything remained as it was before. Other than Alastor's new knowledge. Their story wasn't over yet.

#fanfiction #hazbin husk #hazbin angel dust #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel #hazbin x reader #hazbin x you #hazbin x y/n #alastor x reader

[the-wandering-wonder]

By The River

I was rewatching Lord of the Rings, and oof. I now remember why I swooned over Orlando Bloom so much as a teenager...

Pairing: Legolas x Reader

Word Count: 1,334

Rating: T (angst)

Chapter: 1/1

Summary: You've grown quite fond of Legolas, but when he disappears without so much as a word, your world is turned upside down.

You walk slowly towards the river Bruinen, occasionally glancing up at the clear night sky. A handful of trees litter the path of the river, marking where the beauty of Rivendell merges with the beauty of the forest. You take in a deep breath as you approach a particular beech tree, one that was slowly becoming your favourite.

You smile to yourself as you hear the feet landing behind you, slowing for just a moment as you see the familiar blond elf falling into step alongside you.

“It’s a beautiful night.” Legolas breaks the silence.

You merely hum in agreement, glancing at him with a soft smile, one that he returns.

You couldn’t quite remember how long you two had shared this routine, but he was always there, every night, ready to join you in your walks along the edge of the forest. Most nights you spoke, joking and laughing, but some nights, you enjoyed the simple silence, interrupted only by animals in the distance or the whistling of the wind. Truth be told (but never to Legolas himself) he was the reason you enjoyed your walk so much.

You eventually find yourself paused at the riverbank, looking down at the moonlight reflecting along the rippling waters. A breeze whips around you and you shiver, exhaling softly as you wrap your arms around yourself. You feel a warm presence behind you as Legolas moves to wrap his cloak around your shoulders, his hands resting on your upper arms. Without thought, you lean back into his touch, letting his warmth wash over you.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs.

You tilt your head to glance back at him, finding him gazing down at you, blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight. His hand comes up slowly, resting along the hollow of your throat, his thumb and forefinger pressing up against your jaw, lifting your face to meet his. He dips his head down, tentatively brushing his lips over yours before pulling back and letting his hand return to its place on your arm. Your lips part slightly, but no words come, so you give him a soft smile instead, letting your head fall back to rest against his shoulder as your gaze returns to the waters of the river Bruinen.

~~~~~~~~

The next day, you find yourself busy, running small errands for the council. But Legolas remains in the back of your mind, his soft kiss replaying over and over. Once night falls, you grab your cloak and slip out for your nightly walk. You quickly make your way to the beech tree, pausing for a moment. When all you hear is the rustling of the water and chirping of birds, you glance around.

“Legolas?” You call out, looking up at the branches.

Your heart begins to race as your elven senses pick up no sign of him. 

“Legolas?” You call out again, silently hoping that he had somehow lost track of time.

No answer comes and you feel your breath run short, catching in your throat as your pulse pounds in your ears. You force down a deep breath before turning to run back into the walls of the city. You make your way to the council room, steadying yourself before approaching Elrond, who greets you with a nod of his head before returning to the map he was studying.

“Lord Elrond,” you begin, bowing your head slightly, “have you seen Legolas?”

“He is gone,” the elf responds, “A messenger came from Mirkwood this morning, and he left.”

You feel your heart sink to your stomach as tears prick the corners of your eyes. Your jaw drops slightly as you turn away from Elrond, clenching your fists by your sides.

“This troubles you?”

“I was just-” You pause, unsure of how to explain yourself to the high elf. “I did not know he was leaving.”

“Do not worry for him,” Elrond says, turning to look at you fully, “he will return in time.”

~~~~~~~~

You try to follow Elrond’s advice, busying yourself with whatever you can find and forcing yourself to focus on anything but the thoughts of Legolas. But days soon turn into weeks, then into months. And the Sindar elf does not return. You eat out of habit, on the days that you remember, and hardly ever venture out of the walls of Rivendell. Some days your heart aches as it did when Legolas first left, other days it feels cold and numb.

One day, Elrond, who had kept a distant eye on you as you grieved, approaches you.

“You should take a walk,” he says softly, “the air would do you good, as would the sun.”

“The river reminds me of him,” you admit.

“An unpleasant memory?”

“No, not at all. I just…I miss him.”

You stare at Elrond with glassy eyes, tears threatening to fall. He lets out a small sigh as he places his hand on your shoulder.

“Then go to the river, sit with the memories.”

Elrond gives your shoulder a soft squeeze before turning to walk away. You watch him disappear around the corner before turning your attention to the waterfalls scattered around the city, listening to the sounds of rushing water. You slowly walk through the city, heading towards the waters of the river.

You eventually approach your tree, reaching out to run a hand along the bark as you look down at the flowing water. In the light of the noonday sun, the colour almost matches Legolas’ eyes. A tear slides down your cheek as you turn to lean against the beech, sliding down to the ground and bringing your knees to your chest. Your eyes close as you lean your head back against the tree, losing yourself and letting time fly by.

You hear footsteps in the soft grass and you leap to your feet, turning to face the approaching figure. The sun glints off golden hair and your jaw drops momentarily before you close your eyes, deciding that your eyes are playing a cruel trick.

“No.” You say softly.

You slowly open your eyes, taking in the figure that now stands before you. Piercing eyes stare at you as golden locks flutter in the soft breeze. Legolas…

“I thought you’d left,” you murmur, “never to return.”

“You truly think I would do that?” Legolas tilts his head slightly, striding forward to stand in front of you.

“I didn’t know what to think,” you reply slowly, “you were just…gone. You never even said goodbye.”

“I tried to find you,” the blond elf murmurs, “but I couldn’t. And it was urgent that I return to Mirkwood.”

You take a step back and swallow as you stare at the river again, fingertips digging into the bark of the tree as it presses into your back. Finally bringing your gaze up to meet his, you see pale blue filled with concern and… was that hurt?

“I would never abandon you.” 

Legolas’ voice comes out as little more than a whisper as he moves in closer, bringing up a hand to caress the line of your jaw, catching a fresh tear with his thumb. You lean into his touch, closing your eyes as you feel his free hand resting ever-so-lightly on your hip. 

“ Melethril…”

Your eyes flutter open as you feel Legolas’ warm breath dancing across your lips, his own within inches. Your hands find purchase on his cloak as his body envelopes yours, your lips finally meeting in a soft kiss. You lean into him as his grip tightens on you, holding you close as your lips mold together. Your lungs begin to ache, but your desire for Legolas pushes all other thoughts back as you cling to him.

Legolas finally breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as you both take in a breath. He tilts his head back to look into your eyes, the intensity of his gaze filling you with warmth. He speaks in a low tone, slowly and assuredly.

“I will always come back to you…”

#legolas #legolas greenleaf #reader insert #legolas x reader #orlando bloom #elrond peredhel #angst with a happy ending #fluff #grief #little bit of romance

[ckret2]

(The great thing about deciding to represent Flatland in fic as a totally-different-but-basically-the-same book called Flatworld is that I can, just, casually rewrite it to suit my own evil purposes.)

Ford picked up Flatworld, flipped open to a random page, and began reading.

SQUARE. Most illustrious Sir, I can observe plainly that you are a Circle, though I know not by what magical means you have found an ingress into my dreams. Would your Lordship deign to satisfy the curiosity of one who would gladly know the identity of his esteemed Visitor?

SPHERE. Your question is more difficult than you may realize. To begin with, I am not a Circle, but rather a Sphere, the definition of which I shall explain to you in due time; and you, my humble pupil, if you exercise the full extent of your intellectual and rhetorical capacity, I hope shall be the Square who changes Flatworld. 

SQUARE. Your Lordship both honors and confuses me. I shall strive to be worthy of your high estimation, but I am naught but a mere Quadrilateral and know not how I could contain the potential to achieve such a feat.

SPHERE. I see I have gotten ahead of myself. I shall explain the purpose of my visit. I hope to find in you—as being a man of sense and an accomplished mathematician—a fit prophet to receive the Gospel of Higher and Lower Dimensions, which I am allowed to preach to only one brilliant mind in a century. 

SQUARE. Pardon me, my Lord, if I am speaking blasphemously in my ignorance; but would not a messenger from beyond this Plane who delivers Gospels to Prophets be better described as an Angel?

SPHERE. You may refer to me as an "Angel" if you so wish, as my nature is not so different from the creature you call such. However, I have come not to offer a divine revelation of the Third Dimension, but rather to bless you with the inspiration to discover its reality for yourself. In this manner, I am less like unto an Angel than I am to a Muse—

Ford threw the book on the floor.

#about my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

[zapreportsblog]

↱ ties that bind ↰

➘ summary : shoto discovers that his father has set him up into a arranged quirk marriage

➘ shoto todoroki x reader

Shoto Todoroki sat in his room, his thoughts as tumultuous as the storm outside. Rain hammered against the windowpanes, echoing the turmoil that raged within him. He had always known his father, Endeavor, was controlling and manipulative, but he had never imagined the extent to which his father would go to shape his life.

A letter lay before him, the contents of which had shaken him to his core. It had arrived earlier that day, delivered by a stern-faced messenger. As he unfolded the letter, the words within seemed like a cruel joke, a twisted scheme he could scarcely believe.

"Dear Shoto,

By now, you are aware of the extent of my expectations. It is with the utmost intention that I reveal a reality that will forge our legacy further. You are bound by a Quirk Marriage to (Y/N), a young woman with exceptional capabilities.

This union is not merely personal but strategic. (Y/N)'s quirk, one of reality warping, is an asset that aligns perfectly with our ambitions. I expect you to fulfill your duty as my heir and cooperate fully in the forging of this bond.

Endeavor."

Shoto's hands trembled as he reread the words, his chest tightening with anger and disbelief. He had heard whispers of forced marriages among powerful families, but he had never imagined he would be ensnared in one himself.

His father's quest for dominance was evident in this calculated move. To think that his father would so callously dictate his life, even down to his relationships, filled Shoto with an indignant rage he had never felt before.

Yet, despite his fury, a surge of curiosity tugged at his thoughts. Who was (Y/N)? What kind of person could his father manipulate into such a situation? Were they a willing participant, or were they as much a victim of Endeavor's machinations as he was?

As the rain continued to lash against the window, Shoto's mind raced with questions, uncertainties, and a burning desire to unearth the truth. The reality of his situation was laid bare before him, and he knew that whatever lay ahead, he would face it with a determination to forge his own path, free from the shackles of his father's control.

Determined to uncover more about the person who had been drawn into this unwanted union, Shoto grabbed his coat and headed out into the rain-drenched streets. He needed answers, and he wasn't going to wait any longer to find them.

As he arrived at the address provided in the letter, his heart pounded with a mixture of apprehension and resolve. The building before him was modest, its appearance contrasting sharply with the grandeur he was accustomed to. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door, waiting for a response.

The door creaked open, revealing a young woman with (h/c) hair and eyes that shimmered with surprise. Her features held an air of innocence, but there was a depth to her gaze that caught Shoto off guard.

"Hello? Can I help you?" she asked, her voice soft and cautious.

Shoto cleared his throat, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions within him. "Are you (Y/N)?"

She nodded, her curiosity evident. "Yes, I am. Do we... know each other?"

Shoto hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "My name is Shoto Todoroki. I received a letter... from my father."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened in recognition, and her expression shifted from curiosity to understanding. "Ah, I see. So you're... the one."

Shoto raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "The one?"

She stepped aside, inviting him into her humble living space. "Please, come in. We have a lot to talk about."

As Shoto entered, he took in his surroundings—a small, cozy apartment with touches of personalization that reflected (Y/N)'s taste. They settled in the living room, and (Y/N) began to speak, her voice steady but tinged with a mixture of sadness and determination.

"(Y/N), (Y/N) (L/N), that's me," she began, "and yes, I am part of this quirk marriage, just like you. My quirk is reality warping, a power that I never asked for. Your father approached me with an offer—a partnership that, in his words, would benefit both of us and align with his ambitions."

Shoto's jaw tightened, his anger flaring anew as he listened to her recount the situation. "So, you're here against your will as well."

(Y/N) nodded, her gaze meeting his with a mix of resignation and defiance. "Yes. And I've spent my days wrestling with the reality that my life has been manipulated for someone else's gain. I didn't choose this path, just like you didn't."

Shoto's heart clenched at the weight of her words. Here before him was a young woman who had been entangled in the same web of control, a victim of Endeavor's ambitions just as he was. And yet, in her eyes, he saw a determination to break free, to reclaim her agency.

As their conversation continued, Shoto found himself drawn to (Y/N)'s strength and vulnerability, her willingness to share her story despite the pain it held. In that moment, they were two individuals bound by circumstances beyond their control, but they were also two individuals who had the potential to reshape their destinies.

As the rain continued to fall outside, (Y/N) and Shoto forged an unexpected connection—a connection that would lead them down a path of defiance, self-discovery, and, ultimately, the chance to break free from the chains of their forced union.

Over the next few weeks, Shoto and (Y/N) continued to meet in secret, their shared experiences creating a bond that neither of them had anticipated. The more they spoke, the clearer it became that they were kindred spirits, united by their determination to reclaim control over their lives.

As they wandered through the city one day, raindrops clinging to their umbrellas, (Y/N) shared her dreams and aspirations, painting a picture of a life she had envisioned for herself before her quirk marriage. Shoto listened intently, his heart softening as he saw the fire in her eyes, the same fire that burned within him.

"(Y/N)," Shoto began, his voice hesitant yet resolute, "I don't want to be a pawn in my father's game any longer. And I'm guessing you don't either."

(Y/N) nodded, her gaze unwavering. "You're right. We didn't choose this, but we can choose what comes next."

Shoto's lips curled into a determined smile. "I've been thinking. If we can't change the past, maybe we can change the future. We can find a way to break free from this quirk marriage, from our fathers' control."

(Y/N)'s eyes lit up, hope kindling within her. "You mean... defy them?"

Shoto nodded, his resolve unwavering. "Exactly. We can forge our own paths, on our terms. We have quirk powers that are uniquely ours, and we can use them to shape our destinies."

As they spoke, their determination grew, fueled by a shared purpose and a desire for agency. They hatched a plan, a risky one that involved revealing the truth behind their quirk marriage to the world, exposing the manipulative actions of their fathers. It was a move that carried immense risks but offered the promise of liberation.

Days turned into weeks as Shoto and (Y/N) meticulously planned their next steps, all the while nurturing their growing connection. Their discussions ranged from serious strategy to lighthearted banter, their shared moments a balance of support and camaraderie.

The day of their revelation arrived—a press conference that would shatter the façade created by their fathers and set them on a course towards self-determination. With the world watching, Shoto and (Y/N) stood side by side, their hands entwined, a visual representation of unity against the chains of manipulation.

"(Y/N), are you ready?" Shoto asked, his voice steady but his heart racing.

(Y/N) smiled, her grip on his hand firm. "Ready as I'll ever be. Together, we'll show them that we won't be defined by their plans."

As they stepped onto the stage, the cameras flashing around them, the weight of their actions hung in the air. They spoke with unwavering conviction, exposing the truth behind their quirk marriage, the lengths to which their fathers had gone to control their lives.

The press conference marked the beginning of a new chapter for Shoto and (Y/N), one defined by their own choices and aspirations. Their revelation sent shockwaves through society, challenging the norms and expectations that had once held them captive.

As the rain continued to fall, the two of them stood united, facing a future of uncertainty but also hope. And in that moment, amid the storm, they were not just two individuals, but a force that defied manipulation and embraced the power of their own wills.

#x reader #x reader one shot #x reader oneshot #shoto x reader #shoto todoroki imagine #shoto todoroki x reader #bnha shoto #shoto x y/n #shoto todoroki imagines #mha shoto #shoto todoroki #shoto x you #shoto torodoki #one shot #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #bnha oneshots #bnha imagine #my hero academia #my hero academia imagines #my hero academia imagine #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia masterlist

[triple-mayday]

There’s hella theories floating around about the reason behind Tucker Carlson’s sudden divorce with Fox News, but there’s one that I love the most.

Its the sexiest, pettiest, most delicious bullshit to ever be conceived. Behold:

We know for a fact that Tucker got bitch slapped across New York City by Rupert Murdoch himself. Not only that, but baby boy was laid off sometime on Friday and notified only on Monday, when he came to work. So, this unforeseen development was like a kick in the balls. For the uninitiated, Rupert Murdoch is the name of the demonic entity responsible for the creation of Fox News.

Tuckerson and Rupert had a special relationship. According to Tucker himself, the now ex-host was “100% [Rupert’s] bitch” (we love a proud sugar baby). Tucker was basically a glorified court jester - he cosplayed for daddy Rupert as a pro-worker, anti-elitist, anti-establishment, Christian, relatable everyman that broke republicans could relate to. That was, of course, a load of horseshit. As said by Tucker himself.

You see, back in Mesozoic Era (circa 2008-2011), our boy was an active participant in shock radio programs where he paraded himself as an open and proud elitist and a self-admitted trust fund baby.

All of this deliciousness speaks for itself. Tucker Carlson is a chameleon that changes his face depending on what’s resonating best with his conservative audience. Which brings us to the nearly orgasmic culmination of events that could have possibly led to Tucker’s current unemployment.

Tuck roleplayed as a hardcore Christian for quite some time. On that fateful Friday night, he turned it up to 100 for his speech at the conservative think tank Heritage Foundation’s 50th anniversary gala. Bubba was popping off, calling abortions “child sacrifices” and demanding daily prayers. The audience loved it. Rupert? Not so much.

The thing is, for Rupert business comes before fascism. Grandpa worships money, Jesus is merely a profitable business strategy. For a businessman, the rabid fundie shit was already incredibly off-putting. And Tucker’s villain monologue just happened to be the last drop in the bucket that was already filled to the brim by Murdoch’s ex. That’s right. The chair of Fox News broke off his recent engagement because his fiancée was a Jesus freak.

Now onto the good shit. Rupert’s ex had a favorite show. Guess what that show was?

Tucker Carlson Tonight

The woman in question even had tête-à-tête chit chats with her favorite TV personality, thanks to her connection to Fox News CEO.

Tensions were rising in the Murdoch household. The ex-fiancée’s obsession with Tucker only added fuel to the fire. The woman went as far as declaring that Carlson was a messenger from God. One day, Tucker had a dinner at his boss’ estate. In the middle of dinner the Jesus lady pulled out a Bible and began discussing the book of Exodus with Carlson.

Rupert just sat there like 👁️👄👁️

In the end, the man was too freaked out by Christian fundamentalism and kicked Tucker out after his particularly awful speech. It was also a cute little fuck you to his ex cause now her favorite show got canceled

This is just one theory, but it’s my favorite, so I prefer it above all else, and now you get to experience this beauty with me

God, I adore American politics

#us politics #tucker carlson #fox news #rupert murdoch #fundie shit #this whole establishment is a fucking circus #I love América nowhere else will you see this kind of fuckfest on full display #christian fundamentalism

[alex-travaganza]

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa did you see the new pnf short?

this is news to me. i’ve been focusing on my mental health (playing red dead redemption 2 and nothing else) for the past week so i’ve been offline but i gotta check this out…

what

i am so hype for this. i love it so much. it is amazing and i want more right now. please don’t read under the cut there’s definitely not a multi paragraph conspiracy theory underneath

I AM NOT ACCUSING ANYONE OF ANYTHING… i am just SAYING MY PEACE

us shippers are rejoicing, as we rightfully should, at this amazing w. but i just gotta be that one guy, i gotta poop on the party. could this be bordering into… and forgive me for uttering these words… queerbaiting?

i know the idea of being queerbaited by an evil scientist man and a secret agent playtpus is ridiculous and hilarious, but r we getting johnlocked just a little bit? maybe just a little…. because i’ve always been of the opinion that perryshmirtz will most likely never be a canon storyline for a bunch of reasons, and as much as i’d like that to happen, i can see how some oblivious straight people (so… probably a lot of the writers let’s be real) could reasonably watch all of phineas and ferb and think there’s absolutely nothing homoromantic going on between the two of them. like of course there’s jokes about them being like couple in the same way we get it for buford and bajeet, but, at least when it was airing at the time that it was, that was neverrr going to be acknowledged as anything but funny funny haha joke. like i love dwampy but this show is not crowned for its thoughtful and progressive takes there is SOOOOO much racial stereotyping and ignorant shit in pnf. relationships between two men were not going to hold the same narrative weight as a hetero relationship

so yes i think it’s a bit of a stretch to say pnf in itself is queerbaiting with perryshmirtz, but THESE SHORTS… this is like……. a lot man it’s a lot man it’s a blessing and a curse. i hope it’s just a couple folks who like perryshmirtz putting those bits for funsies but i’m getting suspicious. i’m raising my eyebrows up and down, feeling as if i’m seeing flags of a.. pinkish hue… reddish, perhaps.

and this is disneyyyy cmmmonnn all these hip new queer kid shows? they’re doing pretty good. of course, we aren’t going to ruin our precious precious phineas and ferb IP for the foreign market by putting a gay relationship in the actual show, but it couldn’t hurt to draw in a few tumblr and tiktok queers from our homoromantic little shorts, eh? ehh? it’s a big market, kids aren’t just tuning in on cable tvs anymore to watch phineas and ferb, we need a little more outreach. it’s all about streaming babbbyy it’s all about that disney plus! get those queers watching the new seasons of phineas and ferb when they’re finished binging the owl house!

are you understanding my friends? i am no messiah of perryshmirtz. that’s liz. but maybe, i shall be a mere messenger spreading my annoying takes amongst the land. or maybe it’s not that deep because 8 year olds watching phineas and ferb don’t care. but it’s a free website baybe

#you all follow me for my opinions right #or breaking danville #or perrysmirtz loss #either way you’re getting my opinions #perryshmirtz #phineas and ferb #heinz doofenshmirtz #perry the playtpus #asks #ask #thank you: #anonymous

[sotwk]

2nd Day of Yule: “Two Turtle Doves”

Crown Prince Mirion Thranduilion x Reader

Third Age 110 

The Last Homely House, Imladris

“Are you certain about this?” You gently stroked the downy throat of the sweet, grey-colored bird perched on the ledge of the open window. It chirped its approval of your touch, signaling not just its willingness, but its eagerness to set out on its special mission. 

But your question had not been for the amiable creature. It was for the Lady of Imladris, who finally rose from the desk where she had been working for the past several minutes while you waited, entranced by the swift movement of her skilled fingers. 

“This should do it.” Lady Celebrian flashed a triumphant smile and held up the small object, about the size and shape of an earwig, between her thumb and forefinger. “As for being certain, I think that is something you should ask yourself, not I or our little friend here.” She bent over to the bird on the windowsill, and before you could come close to see what she was doing, the tiny case that contained your letter had been secured to the animal’s right leg. “This will surely find its way to the intended recipient, so are you certain about your message?”

“I…yes, I am.” You knew you did not sound at all confident, and the blush that bloomed over your cheeks did not help matters. “I only hope that my words do not disappoint him.”

“Oh?” Celebrian’s tone was light and passive, but you were well aware of her deep love for Elvenqueen Maereth, and by extension, her sons. She had surpassed your mother in her eagerness to introduce you to Prince Mirion, even in the midst of the momentous occasion of her wedding day to Lord Elrond merely two summers ago. 

Yet Celebrian asked no questions, and gave no indication that she meant to press you for more information, whether at the moment or in the future. When you came to her to share news of the arrival of the feathered messenger from the Woodland Realm, you knew you could trust her to hold your secrets in confidence. 

However, you stopped short of sharing the contents of the letter with her, for you could not even read the words in private without sinking into a chair, overwhelmed by emotions you could not define.

“I believe he is ready to depart.”

Indeed you had tarried long enough in sending a response, almost unforgivably. You stretched out your arm, and the grey dove fluttered lightly to land on the edge of your hand.

“May kind winds carry you all the way home, darling friend,” you whispered. “Thank you for your courage.”

The messenger bird bobbed its head, trilled cheerily, and promptly took flight. In a flash it vanished into the evening sky, too quick in the darkness for even your sight to follow.

“What a long way to fly in terrible weather,” you sighed, peering up at the clouds overhead which appeared moments away from turning their icy burden into snowfall. “It seems like too much to ask of that fair little creature to brave such a journey.” 

“You may see it just as a delicate song bird.” Celebrian moved around you to close the shutters and keep out the incoming frost. “But Greenwood doves are exceptionally, deceptively hardy and utterly determined, just like their people. If that little one succeeded in finding its way here, then it will most certainly succeed in its quest home.” She slipped an arm around your shoulders to give you a gentle squeeze. “There is nothing left to do but wait.”

The Lady departed your room to leave you alone with your thoughts…which quickly turned to those words again. You glanced over at the book you left on the chaise by the fireplace. Within its pages you hid the letter that you had been reading over and over again since its arrival, even though the words had already nested within you, keeping his voice inside your head and his face in your mind’s eye. 

"The bond between two Greenwood doves is so steadfast that one could scarcely bear to be separated from its mate for long. I send this one to you because he is a trusted friend; one who understands the importance of his errand. Just as I do, he knows of separation and longing and the love that drives it all.

My only desire is to reaffirm the ardency of my affections for you. To know that you have been reminded of it, that you have thought of me, is enough to comfort me through this winter we are apart. 

I await my friend’s return with anticipation. I shall celebrate his reunion with his beloved, in the hope that I too may experience that same joy very soon."

Yuletide Series MASTERLIST

Yule Event Tag List: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @achromaticerebus @aduialel @asianbutnotjapanese @auttumnsayshi @blueberryrock @conversacomsmaug @elan-ho-detto-elan-15 @entishramblings @freshalmondpandadonut @fizzyxcustard @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @glassgulls @heilith @heranintomyknife23times @ladyweaslette @laneynoir @lathalea @lemonivall @LiliDurin @quickslvxrr @ratsys @spacecluster @scyllas-revenge @stormchaser819 @talkdifferently6 @tamryniel @tamurilofrivendell @acornsandoaktrees @warriormirkwood @emmanuellececchi

#yuletide in the elvenking's realm #yuletide #yuletide sotwk 2023 #sotwk fanfiction #sotwk headcanon #thranduil #elvenqueen maereth #celebrian #mirion thranduilion #lotr #tolkien #the hobbit #thranduil headcanon #greenwood the great #sotwk oc #thranduilion #mirkwood #mirkwood elves #woodland realm #lord of the rings #christmas #holiday fanfic #christmas fanfic

[orangekittyenergy]

Hey there! I just read your post about how M%stra didn’t smell or taste of literally anything during their times together with Gale and it got me thinking… Had Gale literally never experienced a loving physical touch AT ALL during their relationship that LASTED DECADES??

Hiiiii!! 😘 Thanks for the ask!

(also TW for anyone for Mystra talk ahead bc theres a lot of strong feelings about her for good reason)

So, I thiiiiiink so. Yeah. (Poor Gale). I'm not sure if its ever actually fully confirmed or if I'm mixing up fanon and canon, but I'm actually fairly positive Mystra only 'made love' to Gale in the astral form; the way the gods do - as he puts it when showing you the same.

Theres a couple things, I think, that confirm this. During his romance you can tease that hes 'out of practice' with kissing. Which I guess could be because he'd been in isolation for a year but I took to mean that he literally hasn't kissed anyone in 10 years. Also, generally the line about making love the 'way the gods do' heavily implying that that is just what they do, that is how they make love. That is all he has know the last 10+ years. That is where he is most comfortable right now in terms of 'lovemaking'. I dont know if (after becoming a god) Mystra ever took a 'human' form again.

Theres a couple other notes - like the line when talking to Elminster (her feet are far too delicate - that Gale delivers with such wonderful snark) that imply she general stays in her realm and either sends messengers to do her bidding or brings people into her domain to speak with them directly. (Which again, would mean no, she never got sweaty or messy or kissed sloppy style like we mere mortals like to do). When going to the Stormshore Tabernacle she channels her magic to invite Gale back to her domain - and I think all this leads to the idea of her just generally not wanting to 'lower' herself to the mortal plain and actually preferring to stay in her realm.

He also talks a few times about spending time in her realm, and we know he wasnt there the entire time he was her chosen, so I think he would go be with her and learn from her and then go back to the mortal plains to go about his business.

Lastly, there is a dialogue Gale and Halsin share (Galemancers help me here - I know I read it here but cant for the life of me find it anywhere (and my search history is crazy trying to find it)) - where Halsin asks Gale if Mystra ever took any different shapes when making love - and Gale says no because she preferred far more 'abstract' ways of making love. (Someone please let me know the exact quote because its driving me crazy).

Reading a bit more about Mystra, I dont even know if she would necessarily even consider what they did 'making love' herself. (I know when they talk in Act3 she calls him her 'lover' but that could be her using a term Gale could connect with). Gale mentions her eyes have no feeling after meeting her again and given the general relationship history between Gods and mortals I fully get the impression it was more of a spiritual/astral connection than ever an actual physical one. If anything, I would go as far as to say I dont think they ever 'had sex' in the way mortals would consider it but just connected in the weave (with all the pleasures it would bring, which I'm sure was very very intense for Gale).

Soooo yeah, I'm pretty sure Gale hasnt felt actual physical touch until you first pull him out of the portal. 😭 Hence why I think he is so happy to love Tav however they look AND why he loves their M U S K so much. 🫠🙃

Also, I tried to keep this really based on in-game conversation. Because A) I'm still not yet very well versed on Forgotten Realms lore. B) From my basic understanding BG3 was a liiiitle loose with some of the timelines and blurred some of the history a touch. Please anyone correct me if I'm way off base with any lore! 🙏

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale #bg3 gale #bg3 mystra #my writing