#i entrust my heart and soul into her hands

[darkwolf989]

Outside The Office Part Twenty Eight

Hi all!

Take a peek at part twenty eight- enjoy and as always, feedback is welcome!

“I told you to stay away from her!” 

The anger in Valentino’s voice startled me awake. I shifted under a blanket that wasn’t there before and I tried to raise my arm to wipe the sleepiness away. I felt like I had been asleep for hours, and my entire body ached. I sat up slowly and looked around the room. The curtain was pushed back, and I watched as Valentino took a step towards the nurse. I didn’t need to see the absolute fury written on his face- his tone was more than enough.

“I told you I would be back, I told you to call me when she woke up and you not only ignored my orders, you ignored them because you fucking felt like it,” he snarled.

Red wings exploded from his back as he stepped closer to the nurse. I froze and watched in a mix of fear and fascination. I knew the Vee’s kept parts of them hidden, the darker parts, the parts that defined them as demons. But I never expected Valentino  to have wings hidden, well, like mine were. 

Come to think of it, I hadn’t taken my wings out since my arrival in hell. Or thought about them really. They were a part of me, but a part I kept hidden. And when I looked to Valentino’s 

 blood red, moth-like wings, I wondered if our reasons for tucking them away were similar. 

My thoughts were interrupted as Valentino stepped closer to the nurse and lifted her by the front of her too short dress. 

“Not only did you directly violate my orders, you violated my consent clause. And for that, our deal is done,” he continued. 

“I- I didn’t-” she began to plead. 

Valentino wasn’t having it. “You know damn well giving a patient, one entrusted in your care, drugs without medical cause or patient permission is a violation of consent.” His voice dropped to something darker, more dangerous. 

Above her head, a contract, similar to the one that appeared when I signed a soul on. I watched as it tore in half and Valentino’s gun came out. I knew better than to interfere this time.

A single shot. A smoking gun. A scream and the vanishing of her form. As if she had never existed.

Valentino turned around and I saw him for the first time in his full overlord form. Bright red wings spread out. White fluff around his neck, dotted with small black hearts. Sharp red teeth. And an expression that contained nothing but soulless rage. 

Behind his heart shaped glasses, our eyes met. Realization struck. In a moment, his form changed back to the Valentino I knew.

“Princessa, how much of that did you see?” He asked in what I assumed to be him attempting to be soothing.

“A-all of it.” I replied shakily. “What happened?”

He hesitated for a moment, as if unsure I would want him to come closer. I reached my arms out to him and he came right to my side and took my hand in his. 

“She gave you something- something to make you sleep. I trusted her to watch over you while I handled an issue, and, instead of notifying me when you woke up, she decided to keep you asleep. And then said things to me that don’t bear repeating, mi amore. So I made an example out of her to the rest of my staff. Just in case I haven’t made my position clear enough.” He pressed the palm of his hand to my forehead and studied me. “How do you feel, mi amore?”

“You have wings,” I said slowly. 

He let go of my hand. “I do. I’m sorry- I’m sorry you had to see that side of me, my love. I promise, I will never give you that anger- that rage, that power that you just witnessed.”

I studied him. For the first time in a long time, Valentino looked uneasy. And if I didn’t know Valentino as well as I did, I would even suggest he looked uncomfortable. Uncomfortable, Valentino- those two words didn’t belong in the same sentence. 

“I have them too, you know.” I began as I searched for the words that would show him I was comfortable with him. That I trusted him. That I wasn’t afraid of what I had seen.  “Wings, I mean.Haven’t thought much of them since, well, since I got down here. We really only used them in battle, otherwise they’re a liability. Easy to tell I’m an angel if my wings are out, right?” I knew I was beginning to ramble. “Can you control that side of you? Do you control when they come out, how much of you changes in your…other form?”

“I control it all,” he answered slowly. “Princessa, I-”

“I want to see it again. That side of you. Even- even just your wings.” I interrupted. “Show me. Please? I know- I know you won’t hurt me.” 

He gave me a wary look but sighed. “As you wish.”

He took a step back and his wings sprang forth from his back, casting a dark shadow over where I sat. He watched me carefully, waiting for my reaction. 

“They’re…beautiful..” I breathed. “Do they feel pain? Are they sensitive? Are they flexible?”

If he seemed uneasy before, my line of questions definitely caught him off guard. 

“Yes, yes, and yes?” He answered. “I mean, I wouldn’t appreciate them being yanked on, but I also…I also don’t think it would hurt me if you touched them.” 

“Can I?” I asked. “Touch them, I mean.”

I waited for him to nod before I reached out and ran my fingers over just the edges. They felt silky smooth, soft and rigid all at the same time. Much, much different than the sharp feathers that made up mine.

“Mine are different. Really different.  I’ll show you someday, I don’t think…I mean, I think I’m too tired to call them forward. That happens sometimes.” I said softly as I began to trace the bright heart shaped pattern. “Hearts for love?”

“You’re not sacred, Princessa?” He asked softly. “You’re not terrified by what you just saw? By what I just looked like- by what I just did?”

“No. You would never hurt me,” I replied carefully as I leaned my body forward to move my hands down his wings. “You’ve proven that, more so today than ever before. I trust you, Val.”

His expression softened. “Princessa.” He took another step forward. “To answer your question, yes- hearts for love.” 

 I ran my hands down to the base of his wings. To love someone meant to love every part of them- good, the bad. The beautiful.The ugly. He loved me enough to want to care for me, even when I made shitty decisions. He loved me, despite my scars, my emotions, my fears. He embraced every part of who I was- and I wanted to do the same. I tried to sit up, the wave of exhaustion flowed through me. 

I saw his wings begin to retract as he came closer. 

“No, Val.” I pleaded. “Keep them out.”

He balked. “Princessa, I want to hold you. I don’t want…”

“Does it cause you pain to sit with them out?”

“No, they don’t feel pain.” He answered softly.

“Then hold me. Don’t hide them away…”

He shook his head. “Let me get you upstairs, mi amore. Then if you so badly want to explore this side of me, I will allow you to. But right now, I want you out of my studio and into our bedroom.” His wings vanished from sight. “Can you agree to that, princessa?” 

I absolutely could.

#valentino x reader #valentino x wife #hazbin fluff #valentino x you #hazbin hotel #vox x reader #the vees x reader #valentino hazbin hotel #valentino #the vees

[justblades]

⌕ SEIZED, 18+

⟢ CHARACTER : luocha x afab! reader WC : 1.8k

⟢ WARNINGS : (EX)PLICIT, MDNI. lactation, breeding, netorare, d!ck deprived & d!ck drunk! reader

⟢ SUMMARY : an appointed family doctor visits a widowed mother to check up on her health, but it appears fate had other plans instead.

the incessant pelting rain continuously clatter against your home's rooftop, pitter pattering sounds ironically accompany the loneliness murking your heart. it has been a long week of just trying to get by with no hints where to continue next. without your husband, it's as if your pillar of support crumbled into smithereens, nothing but dusts of what were once a life being.

naturally, your peers and family come into the scene to help soothe your grieving soul, but as much as you hate to admit it, no words of theirs relieved the lingering sadness. feigning healing has been a routine so you don't worry your relatives too much— but then a surprising knock on the door veer your train of thoughts off course.

you check from the cameras to see who's the visitor and as you saw those familiar blond strands tied in a neat low ponytail and the foreign designed clothing, you swing the door open and give a greeting. "good evening, doctor. come in." he bows lightly, "pardon the intrusion."

with enough small talk while you lead the doctor to the vast living room of your own home, you bid your farewell for a moment to fetch some drinks, a kind gesture of welcoming your guest. "might i ask how's your girl? is she well?" the doctor queries kindly, viridescent hues flutter in curiosity. "yes, she's asleep actually. it's a little . . saddening to realize my husband never got to see our girl past 6 months." you reply, setting the tray on the long glossed table.

"my sincerest condolences. if ever you would like to seek help from a professional, i can name a few and refer you to them." his honeyed words felt rather wholesome. for some reason, being with someone you're not that particularly well acquainted with is refreshing. you've met with luocha several times from your husband's health check ups whenever you accompany him, so it's safe to assume luocha took up the role to be your family's doctor; after all, your husband is the type to entrust a reliable individual to support his wife.

luocha takes out his equipments so he can administer his check up regarding your physical health, bringing out his stethoscope and the familiar golden necklace laced around his gloved fingers. he proceeds with the usual basics, a question sparking one after another as a way to not bore his patient. "how are you faring nowadays?"

"honestly speaking, things are really bad." he nods, gesturing for you to continue. "i can't help but yearn for crumbs of intimacy sometimes." you chuckle at the end, coverig a light hand on your mouth. "from your husband exactly? or—" your gaze shifts to luocha's face, addled at the far fetched inquiry of his.

"—my apologies. that was below the belt." the blond male cuts himself off and an apologetic smile sits on his lips. however you dismiss it, "no no, don't worry about it. if anything, it feels nice to be accompanied once in a while. i can't open up my feelings to others given that i might cause them trouble," you pause, heaving a blue sigh and continue, "i doubt this will weigh you down, doctor. especially when you're in the medical field."

the vicinity then falls silent for a short while and your eyes gaze elsewhere, reminiscing the olden moments you were being showered with affection from a loved one. a gut feeling suddenly persuades you to look back at luocha; when you do so, the smile sculpted on his lips persists. his usual expressions were never eerie, but this time, for some reason . . it feels different from the usual. "it's a shame you're widowed at such a young age miss."

your eyes widen, heart beat racing against the hundreds of thoughts flaring up in your mind. "i don't know what you're hinting at, doctor." he closes in the remaining distances between the both of your bodies. you remain there sat on the wooden chair while the blond stands up and lowers himself just enough for your piercing, heating gazes to meet. "there is no need to bluff. it's okay." his voice deepens, jade hues reflecting a crystalline clear view of your curious expression.

as if the strings of your life become woven in a fruitful future once again, your sultry lips press against luocha's. getting a feel of his soft margins sends shockwaves of pleasure and longing in your system; you couldn't restrain yourself, restraint is not your forte. the kiss eventually transitions into a deeper one, tongues coming into the scene, tangling with each other's in sync.

luocha's eyes are shut, his breathing becomes sharp and ragged. it was clear cut that he's savoring your liquids, gloved hands now exploring your body. "miss, it was . . . supposed to be a lighthearted joke." he says in between the sloppy kisses, struggling to keep up with your fast rhythm. "drop the formalities, luocha." you retort, your stomach fluttering for more action.

it was his first time being referred to by his nickname from a favorite patient— fueling his carnal desire even more that it's impossible to extinguish its fervor flames at this point. luocha's hands quickly cup your clothed chest - his long fingers lightly dig on the plush of your tits, your breath hitches and the kiss finally ends, connecting your lips to luocha's with a naughty singular trail.

he skillfully rips the fabric apart, conferring him a full open view of your voluptuous tits— given that you're still breastfeeding. luocha's bulge underneath twitches, he bites his lips in impatience, a foreign feeling he has a hard time encountering. you let out a chuckle and take the initiative by pushing him back to his seat and straddle his lap, facing the doctor.

naturally, he's surprised, but you did not waste any more time by combing his lush flaxen hair with your hand and drag him to your boobs, perfectly aligning his mouth to your soft buds. a soft moan slips out once you got a feel of his tongue suckling on your nipple, "mhm, i never would've guessed you'd be into this as well."

the doctor doesn't reply but proceeds to toy with the other one, squeezing your flesh in an attempt to milk you dry - evident from how hard he's lapping your boobs up. your folds start to seep out of arousal from the lewd movements and you get a feel of luocha's erect crotch; you buck your hips to accumulate friction from the heating body part all the while urging luocha to drink more of your juices. in contrary to his gentlemanly, chivalrous nature, he's surprisingly greedy and rough as to how he nibbles on your hardened bud.

"h-how do i taste?" you skittishly ask and luocha pauses. "compelling." a mere singular word throws your mind in a daze, body tingling everytime luocha's feathery touches brush on your skin. "a flavor that's addictive, making me want to procreate with you so your supply wouldn't run out."

heat and blood rush all the way up to your cheeks, sexual passion brews in the depths of your lower abdomen. "i'll stand up as the father— we can be together . . ." he whispers to your ear, his hot breathe caressing your bare skin. your next move was more predictable: luocha watches with his predatory-like eyes while you strip yourself in front of him, legs farthest apart, muddy white beads trickling away from your lower lips.

your fingers spread your folds open, an immensely erotic view that will inevitably be etched in the male's mind for the longest time. "this is all yours." the corners of luocha's lips tug upwards as he removes his onyx glove with his teeth, proceeding to set it on the tabletop beside your vulnerable state. he resumes and brings his cock into full view for your eyes as well, stroking his girth until it stands tall and glorious. "you're surprisingly . . packing."

you were taken aback as he lifts your body up along with your left leg, draping it on his forearm while he teases his tip adjacent to your entrance. it happened too fast as if it occured in 20 machs speed, now rocking your hips, begging for him. "did you ever imagine this whenever you accompany your husband with his check ups?"

now that he mentioned it, you were left wondering. since when did you ever fantasize about your husband's doctor, much so that your façade as a goody two shoes wife immediately breaks down with the littlest, puny attempts?

just as when you were about to respond, he thrusts into your wet cunt, his girth filling all the remaining space inside your velvet walls. luocha's guttural moan erupts from his throat, gratification pooling inside him the more you clenched around his throbbing dick. you were tight, very tight that the doctor feels himself cum on the spot.

if it weren't for him pulling out from your slit, he'll have to instantly bury his seed of climax deep. "ah— luocha . . !" you yelp once he pistons in again, this time, his cock's tip kisses the surface of your cervix. ". . honestly. . y . . yes." you admit, embarrassment gnawing at your bones, words cut off everytime luocha pounces into your lewd hole.

his breathing becomes even more jagged, beads of sweat rivulet from his forehead, "i'm very close . ." your knees were about to give in as well, all the left strength in your body vanishing. "m-me too!" with another shared sloppy kiss in between the intercourse unraveling from both of your heated, lust brewed bodies, luocha pounds into your pussy swiftly, emitting squelching sounds both from his cock and the constant sucking and licking of your lips.

"hah . . please . . make sure you'll knock me up!" desperation heavily hints your words, enough to cater to luocha's preferences that were obvious the more time you got to spend with him. you figured it all out, how he likes your lactating tits, how he goes berserk just to procreate with you. although it all seemed a little too quick— perhaps this is how the higher entities planned it.

with one last balls deep thrust, all of his cum pool inside you, filling you to the brim. your melting moans of pleasure mesh along with luocha's, both satisfied from everything that transpired. luocha supports your trembling body with his figure and grabs ahold of your hand, bringing it closer to his saliva glossed lips. he places a chaste kiss on the back, leaving yet another ephemeral chill, running along your spine up and down.

"i'll take good care of you . . . your girl . . . and our soon to be baby. our newly built family."

my masterlist !

#luocha #luocha smut #luocha x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #hsr x reader #hsr x reader smut #honkai star rail x reader smut #honkai star rail luocha

[bro-atz]

good knight [bro's 500 — san]

[fake relationship/forbidden love, smut, royal!au, knight!san/princess!reader]

requested by: @k-hotchoisan + 🍪

word count: 4.7k

content: smut, a lot of sexual tension... like a lot a lot, UNPROTECTED SEX (PLS WRAP UP IRL), slight breeding kink, completely consensual!

author's note: both aubs and cookie anon had really similar ideas so i decided to combine them! also, i went way too hard w this piece... it's supposed to be a drabble idk what happened 😭 the things i do for san ig ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“San, you have to help me. Please,” you begged the knight.

You were standing with him in the Great Hall, not a single other soul around you. The knights had returned from their daily rounds, and San was getting ready to head back to his quarters when you stopped him. He was the only one in the entire castle that you could trust to help you with your vision, and you hoped that if you begged enough, he would follow through and help you out.

“Princess, what you’re asking of me is too much of an encumber. There’s no way I could fulfill such a thing,” San said quietly.

“San, you’re the only one who can do this for me. You need to do it.”

“What about—”

“I’ve already considered all of the other possibilities!” you interrupted him. “I thought everything through, and the only thing I can think of is for you to take me to this stupid ball and present yourself as my lover. Please, please, please San!”

“Your highness,” San sighed softly. “I can only do so much.”

“San, please… I don’t know what else to do, and if I tell my father that I don’t want to marry the prince, then he’ll never let me step foot outside of the castle until the day of the wedding. Plus! Plus, he trusts you so much, and I don’t know who else he would listen to that would also be able to help me, and I just—”

You covered your mouth when you felt tears well up in your eyes, stifling a sob. San immediately reacted by cupping your face and drying the tears from the corners of your eyes with the pads of his thumbs.

“Princess, don’t cry,” San said, his lips nearly pulling into a painful frown. “I’ll… I’ll talk to the king, okay?”

You nodded and mouthed a small thank you to the man before he turned on his heel to go talk to the king.

“I really don’t see the need for you to go, San,” the king said gruffly. “Your job is to protect the kingdom.”

“Isn’t the princess part of the kingdom?” San pointed out.

“Well, yes… But, still. I don’t see why you need to go.”

“Your highness, your daughter is a beautiful you lady, and if you send her to this ball all alone, lord knows what’ll happen to her,” San started, hoping that scaring the king would work as a tactic since you were counting on him, after all.

“The prince will be there! She’ll be fine.”

“Yes, but what about to and from the ball? The prince won’t be able to pick her up or drop her off, and I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t trust the other kingdom to protect her just yet.”

“Oh my… You’re right. Okay, I’m entrusting you with her, then. I want you to get her there and back safely, San.”

“Yes, your highness.”

With a wave of his hand, the king dismissed San. He returned to the Great Hall where you were standing and tapping your foot nervously while anxiously biting your nails. You looked at him with expectant eyes, and he responded to you with a quick nod. Relief washed over your body, and a smile bloomed on your face. San turned around and made his way back to his quarters in a hurry as your smile made his heart nearly swoon.

San’s heart did swoon when he saw your full outfit for the ball. You had a beautiful royal purple strapless lace ballgown on, rhinestones decorating your bust, waist, and hips. You smoothed out the dress and looked down at it before looking at San and asking quietly, “Do I look alright?”

“Princess, you look so beautiful,” San said with a tiny gasp. “You’re going to be the most beautiful woman at this ball.”

You smiled shyly at the man. You knew that he was just telling you that because you were the princess, but it was still nice to hear him say that. San held his hand out for you and assisted you as you got into the carriage before sitting alongside you.

The steady clicking of the horses hooves droned on in the background as the carriage made its way along the dirt path. The clicking was so steady, in fact, that it lulled you to sleep, your eyes growing heavier with each passing second. It was only when you fully fell asleep did you rest your head on the knight’s shoulder, slightly startling the man.

San couldn’t help but observe your features. You were so beautiful when awake, so he didn’t expect you to be such a graceful sleeper as well. Your long eyelashes were so perfectly curved that it took everything in the knight to not run a finger along them, and the way your rosy lips were slightly parted as you breathed softly drove him insane. Rather than squish you— you know, as one does with cute things— San settled for brushing your hair out of your face and kissing your forehead, only to immediately freeze.

Oh shit.

That was out of bounds. He should not have done that— he was merely a knight and you were the princess! How dare he make a move on your sleeping being? Shame consumed San’s body as he recoiled, his shoulder moving slightly, making your head nearly slip from your comfortable pillow. You let out a little whine and pushed yourself closer to San, threatening the man’s heart. He froze yet again and held his breath, wondering if you were awake for that moment when he kissed your forehead, but you weren’t. You were fast asleep.

At least you were asleep, San had to keep telling himself as the long journey to the other kingdom persisted. At least you were asleep.

“Okay, just stay right by my side, San,” you instructed San as soon as you got out of the carriage.

Thanks to your amazing nap in the carriage, you were on full, high alert from the moment you arrived in the other kingdom. You linked arms with San and let him escort you into the palace where the ball was completely underway. You only clung closer to the knight as you made your way through the halls and into the Grand Hall where dozens of princes and princesses were talking, drinking, laughing, and dancing.

“What’s the plan, princess?” San asked you in a hushed voice as the two of you stepped through the threshold.

“We need to find the prince—”

“Princess Y/N! I was beginning to wonder when you would arrive!” a voice said cheerily from behind you.

Startled, you jerked away from San and turned around to face the prince you were to wed, your heart pounding like crazy as you realized that you would have to lie to the prince well before you had time to prepare yourself.

“P-prince Yeosang!” you exclaimed while nearly biting your tongue.

“Oh, and I see you’ve brought a guest,” Yeosang’s voice flattened almost immediately upon seeing the knight by your side.

Sensing your fear, San reached for your hand and held it, his fingers lacing with yours. You would think that the action would calm you down, but it only made you more flustered. Mustering up the courage within you, you cleared your throat and said, “Yeah. Actually, I need to tell you something.”

Before you could continue, Yeosang held his hand up. He didn’t need to hear it since just seeing your hand in San’s was enough to explain the situation. “Does your father know?” Yeosang asked icily.

“Yes,” you lied straight through your teeth.

“Interesting… Alright, well, enjoy the ball. I’ll see you around some time, princess.”

With that, Yeosang returned to his guests at the ball, his arm immediately wrapping around the waist of another princess. You let out a huge sigh of relief and turned to look at the knight, your eyes sparkling brilliantly as you made eye contact.

“Thank you, San!” you whispered but cheered at the same time.

Rather than wait for a response from him, you threw your arms around him and hugged him to show your appreciation. San was completely taken aback, but after a few seconds, he accepted the hug, his own arms wrapping around your body. He could faintly smell the fragrance you had used earlier that day, and he so badly wanted to bury his nose in your hair and enjoy the smell properly, but he refrained.

Little did he know that you were in the same boat, but with him and his musk. San smelled so manly and so sexy, you felt like your insides were about to start a raging fire the longer you immersed yourself in his warmth and scent. Then, you realized you had been hugging the man for quite some time, so you let go and shuffled away slightly, a light blush appearing on your cheeks. Had you looked up, you would have seen that San’s face was extremely red, and you only looked up by the time it subdued.

“We, uh,” San cleared his throat and spoke softly. “We have some time to kill before we head back… What would you like to do, princess?”

“Well, I’m not going to say no to free food and drinks,” you murmured.

Letting out a light laugh, San nodded and said, “Of course. Right this way, your highness.”

Arm wrapped loosely around your waist, San accompanied you wherever you went. He made sure to stick close to you as the night progressed, one of his hands always on you at any given moment.

The two of you were standing and watching the couples waltz on the dance floor. San refused to drink— technically, he was on the job, so he had to remain sober— while you nursed your second drink of the night. You tore your eyes from the ballroom floor and looked at the attractive knight. You thought you were subtle, but he could feel your intense gaze on him as he continued to look at the dancers. Maybe you were drunk, he told himself the longer you stared. He thought you were drunk, but you definitely were not. What kind of princess would you be if you didn’t know how to control yourself and maintain your tolerance?

“San, you’re really attractive, you know that?” you murmured.

“Princess…”

You brought your hand to his face and traced your finger over his cheekbone, along his jaw, and on his lips. You stood the tiniest bit closer to him as you then placed a thumb on his lower lip and dragged it down slightly, your nail grazing the inside of his lip. San’s heart was racing faster than a horse, and his mind was slowly beginning to melt. You looked so fucking beautiful looking up at him with those doe eyes of yours, your slightly parted lips driving him insane once again. Before his mind could completely lose a grip on reality, San grabbed your wrist and moved your hand away from his face, your arm going limp and resting by your side.

“That’s highly inappropriate, princess,” San said roughly as he remembered his station.

“San, we need to look the part,” you insisted.

“We already showed the prince.”

“What about the castle staff?”

San blinked several times before leaning in and whispering into your ear, “You’re really playing with fire right now, princess.”

You turned your head, your lips so close to brushing past his, and whispered, “Would you rather dance with me instead, Knight San?”

Holding his breath, San moved away from you, trying desperately not to show how flustered he was by your actions. He gave you a tiny nod and held his hand out for you, your hand slipping into his perfectly. He led you to the dance floor and put his arm on your waist as you placed your hand on his shoulder.

You honestly didn’t expect San to be such a great dancer. He was a knight— his heavy armor and broad build should’ve made him super stiff. But no, he was fluid, graceful, light, and everything else a dancer is. He quite literally swept you off your feet the more you danced with him. You looked at his face as he whisked you side to side, around the other couples, and through the ballroom floor. Your heart was already fluttering the more you thought about his firm, rough hand on your waist, and it only got worse when his eyes met yours. In fact, your heart was beating so rapidly that you completely missed a step. You tripped over your own dress and nearly fell backwards, but San caught you in time, his arm wrapped securely around your waist.

When he pulled you up, he held you flush against his chest. Your eyes widened as you felt him hug you the slightest bit tighter.

“Are you okay?” San whispered.

“Y-yes… I think…. I need some air.”

Brushing past San, you went straight for the palace balcony, the cool breeze in the midnight sky snapping you out of your heart-fluttering trance. That only worked for about two seconds because your mind immediately drifted back to the way San was holding you when you nearly fell. You bit your lower lip and started pacing the balcony as you tried to calm yourself down, but the more you thought about it, the more heat pooled inside you. You felt like a goddamn animal in heat with the way you were thinking about Knight San, a man that you would never, not in your dizziest daydream, be allowed to wed, let alone sleep with.

“Princess?” you heard San call for you, his foot barely through the threshold.

You turned around to face him, and San immediately stopped breathing. You seemed to be turning in slow motion, your hair swaying with the wind, and your dress briefly flourishing before settling, giving you a more than majestic feel.

San approached you slowly at first, then quickly arrived by your side, one of his hands cupping your face while the other found your waist, and he kissed you deeply, passionately. He kissed you as if his life depended on it, like if the two of you weren’t connected, the entire palace would crumble to ashes.

“Yes, Knight San?”

It was only when you called his name did San realize that he was still standing right in front of the doorframe— he hadn’t moved an inch.

“W-we should leave soon, princess,” San managed out, his throat dry as he realized his deepest and darkest desire manifested itself into a dizzy daydream.

“Okay, let’s go.”’

The ride back from the ball was hellish. Both you and San were on edge the entire ride back— not that the two of you knew that the feelings between the two of you were mutual. You were staring out the window into nothingness as it was night time and the only things you could clearly see were the moon and the stars, and San was fixated on his balled up fists in his lap, trying to extinguish the fire burning within him.

It progressively got harder for both of you when the carriage arrived at your kingdom. San got down first, and he held his hand out for you to assist you out of the carriage. But, when your skin made contact with his, you felt like your hand was on fire— he felt the exact same way. You both shared intense eye contact that said way more than either of you were willing to relinquish, the tension in the air and in your chest palpable.

“G-good night, San,” you whispered, your heart clenching at the thought of parting with the man.

“Good night, princess,” San returned in the same register, the glimmer in his eyes fading slightly.

With that, the two of you retreated back to your respective rooms, and the second you entered the castle, thunder broke out, and it started raining heavily. You jumped upon hearing the boom, the sound nearly shaking the castle. Oh, how you hated rainstorms. Rain itself was fine, but thunder and lighting? Nuh uh. You had no idea how you were going to get yourself to sleep that night.

San, stripped down to his simple cotton clothing, laid awake in his bed not because of the storm, but because of you. He rested one of his arms across his stomach to try and release the tension building up in his nethers, his other one over his forehead trying to ease his mind. Yet, he couldn’t, because his mind kept flashing to you in your dress, making his pants tighter with every memory.

Luckily for him, it was when someone suddenly knocked on the door was he able to fully calm down. He quickly made his way to the door, and upon opening the door, there was another loud boom of thunder, making the person on the other side of the door jump into his arms— making you jump into his arms.

“P-p-princess!” San exclaimed in a hushed but surprised voice. “What’re you doing here?! You’re not supposed to be here!”

“I’m s-sorry, San. I just couldn’t sl-EEP—”

There was another clap of thunder, scaring you further into his arms. You buried your face in his chest and clung to his shoulders, using him as some sort of safety shield.

San didn’t know what to think of the situation. He knew that whatever the fuck was going on was way out of bounds for someone in his station. He knew that, but in the same breath, he didn’t want to let you go. He loved the way you fit perfectly into his embrace, the way your elegant nightgown swayed when you jumped further into his arms, your trembling arms and legs begging for someone to keep you safe, so on and so forth. Dare he say it, he was in love with you, but he definitely did not dare.

Hugging you securely, San completely closed and locked the door to his room before walking you to his bed and sitting you down alongside him. “Princess, don’t be scared,” he whispered as he pulled himself away from you and brushed your hair behind your ear.

Nodding, you willingly let go of him and placed your hands flat in your lap, your fingers still slightly trembling with fear. “Sorry, I just…” you started with a heavy sigh. “I couldn’t sleep because of the rain and… And because of other things…”

“What other things?” the knight inquired.

“…I meant what I said earlier, you know.”’

San didn’t have to ask about what you were referring to. He knew exactly what you were trying to say, and while he really wanted to accept your interest in him, he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. It was not proper of him to do so, and it would never be proper of him to do so.

You knew this as well, which is why you scooted closer to San and reached for his hand. Silently, with your eyes, you told him to not resist it and just let you touch him, hold his hand, lace your fingers with his.

“Princess, you know that this isn’t right,” San tried to fight his feelings and let reasoning win, but when you rubbed circles on the back of his hand with your thumb, he felt his feelings override logic and reasoning.

“I know,” you said with a sad whisper. “But, I… I don’t want to be with anyone else. I really like you. You’re sweet, considerate, loyal, handsome, and honest, and I don’t know if there are any other princes in this entire world that share your same qualities. You’re… Perfect.”

“Princess, I’m not perfect. You’re perfect,” San reversed your compliment and unlaced his fingers with yours to cup your face. “You’re the most perfect being, and I truly would do anything to be with you—”

“Then do it.”

“W-what?”

“Be with me. Kiss me,” you leaned into him, your hand pressing into his thigh as you neared him. “Sleep with me.”

“…Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Tentatively, San brought your face to his, his thumb rubbing against your ear as he kissed you softly. His hot touch on your cheek and ear only got hotter as his kisses deepened, his lips trapping yours over and over and over again. You held onto his shoulders as he brought you onto his lap, your ass rubbing against his slowly stiffening, shielded cock. He sighed blissfully in between kisses, little grunts and gasps leaving his lungs when you shifted against him just right.

And yet, while he kissed you so passionately, he was still so reserved. His tongue remained in his mouth, non-intrusive, dormant.

“San,” you breathed out as you pushed against him gently, trying to get him to listen to you. “Just let yourself go. Don’t be the self-restrained knight my father conditioned you to be. Be insatiable tonight.”

“I’m warning you— you won’t get a wink of sleep tonight then, princess,” San whispered back, his voice so low it could’ve turned into a growl.

“I’d rather you kept me up instead of the storm.”

With your blessing, San swiftly moved you so that you were laying on the bed while he hovered above you. He leaned down and kissed you once more, but this time, he did let go. His tongue pushed its way into your mouth and swirled with yours, and his hands grabbed the bottom of your nightgown and lifted it upwards, revealing the fact that you had nothing on underneath.

“You sleep without undergarments, princess?” San broke the kiss to ask you his question in shock.

“San, don’t call me princess… Call me by my name,” you told him, completely sidestepping his remark about your sleep habits.

With that sensual, low rumble of his, San uttered your name, and instantly, goosebumps covered your entire body. He sounded so incredibly sexy when he said your name like that, and it just made you want to latch onto him and never let go.

“Y/N, may I?” San asked as he slowly lowered himself, bringing his lips closer to the searing heat between your legs, his large hands gripping your thighs gently.

Hearing him asking for permission so politely while saying your name sent butterflies storming through your insides.

“May I?” San asked again, still waiting upon your response.

“Please.”

The second his tongue made contact with your folds, your fingers and toes curled into the sheets, a long pleasureful sigh leaving your lips. Your back arched as you felt his tongue press and prod into you, his hold on your thighs tightening the more he immersed himself in your wet cunt.

“Oh San… Oh! Mmm,” you did your best to keep your moans to a minimum, but the longer he spent down there, the tighter the knot in your belly became and the harder it became to suppress your noises.

You barely lasted the second San’s tongue circled around your clit and his finger entered and curled inside you. Your entire body shuddered, and you let out a little cry as you felt the tension within you snap.

“San,” you whimpered as you felt the pleasure gradually die down. “I want more…”

“As you wish,” San responded, a slight smirk on his face, turning you on all over again.

San pulled off your nightgown altogether before he slowly started undressing himself, giving you a little show as he did so. The rain was still coming down hard, and there was thunder and lightning in the distance, but you were so entranced by San that you forgot everything. However, you went from being enamored back to being fearful when he revealed the massive weapon he had been hiding under all of the armor, all of the layers. Of course, he was fully erect, so it couldn’t get any bigger than that, but it still made fear course through your veins.

“I’ll start slowly for you, and only when you feel comfortable will I go faster,” San murmured to you as he trapped your body between his arms and knees, easing a little bit of your fear.

His cock head rubbed against your sensitive clit, making you grip the sheets behind your head. Your clit was still throbbing and recovering from your orgasm just moments prior, so when you felt him rub against you like that, the pleasure just soared through you to the point that you came again, the walls of your cunt convulsing, your knees shaking.

“Alright,” you detected a hint of a chuckle behind San’s words. “I’m going to start.”

“H-hurry, San…” you whimpered, your voice trembling.

You knew San was going to be huge, and that it was going to be a tight fit, but knowing wasn’t enough. It felt like his cock was tearing you apart. You bit back a loud scream and reached for San’s arms, your nails clawing into his forearms. He was nearly balls deep inside you by the time he stopped moving, his waist pressed firmly against yours.

“You’re doing so well for me, Y/N,” San validated you with the softest yet sexiest voice you had ever heard. He leaned down and smoothed your hair back before leaving a light kiss on your lips. “So well.”

“San— Ngh!”

Your breathy moan turned into a little cry when San started moving again, his cock pulling out just as slowly as when he pushed it into you. Little dots of perspiration decorated his forehead and started rolling down the sides of his face as his gyrations started to speed up and became more and more intentional. You had to settle for biting your lower lip when San leaned back, thrusting faster and harder. His hands reached for your breasts, and he massaged them, rolling your hardening nipples in between his fingers, evoking the most erotic groans out of you.

“You’re making such lewd noises, Y/N.” San licked then bit his lower lip, his eyebrow raising slightly the more he listened to your melodic moans. “You like it that much?”

“Mmhmm— More— Ah! M-more,” you barely instructed.

The wood of the bed frame creaked as his fast, hard thrusts shifted the whole bed. His eyebrows were knitted together the more he focused on pleasuring you, sweat drops falling from his face and decorating your bare skin and the sheets below. He long foregone toying with your breasts and bent himself over you again, his body practically rolling into yours. His lips kept teasing you, brushing against yours but never fully kissing you, but when he brought them to your neck, his lips would press against your skin before biting lightly, playfully.

Then, he shifted up ever so slightly, his cock starting to rub against your G-spot and hit your cervix in every stroke. Sparks filled your vision as he kept going at the two spots over and over again. You reached for his shoulders and dug your nails into his skin harshly as you cried loudly, the rainstorm drowning out your screams.

San, feelings the walls convulse and tighten around his thick cock, felt pleasure surge through his system as well. He pulled out, but before he could cum, you shook your head and tugged his shoulders, bringing him down so his ear met your lips.

“Inside. Please.”

Shuddering, San quickly re-entered you and did as you requested, his hot load spurting into you uncontrollably. San let out the most toe-curling, pussy-clenching groan, making you thirst for the man once more. It certainly did not help when you felt his cum spill out of you when he pulled out.

When San looked down to see your red, quivering pussy dripping with his cum and your arousal fluid, he gulped and did his best to suppress his perverted desire to keep filling you up with his lineage. That lasted only several seconds because when you outstretched your arms and willed him to embrace you, you also kissed him with enough intensity to make him want to fuck you hard all over again.

“Be the reason I don’t sleep tonight, San.”

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[seroh]

curiosity killed the cat

atsumu, f.reader. angst.

words: 2K

tags: cheating, explicit mentions of sex, brief mention of an alcoholic dad.

notes: this one is a repost from my other blog. i edited a few things, but didn't change much. we're still in the cheaters era, but this time atsumu is the shitty boyfriend.

Ever since you were a child, just old enough that you understood the world around you but not enough to know what to do about it, you had been terrified of being cheated on. The idea of entrusting your heart and soul to someone, doing everything to keep theirs safe, only for them to add yours to a collection you didn't know they had was something that kept you up at night, trembling in deep-rooted anguish.

You blamed your father, as many did when something went wrong in their lives. The man who was meant to protect you, love you and care for you. The man that made you realize, at your short 11 years, that love was nothing but fickle. You still remembered the exact moment when you had this revelation. The date or day of the week you couldn't recall, but it was evening, which meant that your father was drunk out of his mind and yelling around the house about whatever little thing had set him off that day. Like it tended to happen, his yelling was eventually directed towards your mother, wild and unsubstantiated accusations slicing and stabbing her like daggers.

And you remembered thinking, hidden behind a wall and listening to every word, six simple words that shook your view on love: It takes one to know one. A replica of something you had heard your teacher say that very same day, although in a different circumstance. The words came to mind unprompted, and suddenly everything made sense. Why else would he accuse your mother, who was devoted to your home and family, of cheating if it wasn't out of fear of her doing the same things he did? She rarely left the suffocating walls of your house, and when she did it was only ever with her children in tow.

What is a young girl to do with such a revelation?

From that moment and for the rest of your life, it was a weight you carried everywhere you went, to know your father was willing to do that to the mother of his children, to you and your siblings. How could you trust other men wouldn't be the same if the first man of your life had betrayed that trust before it got the chance to be built? If not even having a family could stand in the way of his adultery, why would other men be loyal to one woman? You'd rather die than be like your mother, trapped for years in a relationship with someone who didn't know what being faithful was, till death do you part. Or until the truth hit you, crushed you, with the force of a boulder when you least expected it.

You'd heard horror stories, cautionary tales, about people in years, decades long relationships that seemed perfect in every way. Relationships where they respected each other's privacy with great care, where they were so trusting they would've never thought to breach that trust. Until one day one of them had a moment of weakness, and decided to check what could be so private that needed to be kept hidden from them. They all went in half expecting to find nothing, telling themselves they were being paranoid, only to realize their oh so loving partner had been having an affair for years, sometimes for the entirety of their relationship.

You refused to end up like that.

Instead, you let guilt eat you up every time you had the chance to get your hands on your boyfriend's phone without him realizing it. Each and every time you would hurriedly go through every app, every photo, every call and text you could find. You would sigh relieved when you proved to yourself you had nothing to fear. Then, you would erase the trace and leave the device back in its place.

It was a necessary evil, you believed. Sure, invading his privacy was far from okay, but you had convinced yourself that, at the end of the day, it didn't really matter. What mattered was that you left the phone feeling reassured and at ease. What mattered was that he had nothing to hide. It was a way of telling yourself, "see, there's nothing going on. You're just overthinking." A way to calm your fears. And as long as he didn't find out, and you didn't find anything, everything would be fine. You kept telling yourself that, in the grand scheme of things, if you actually found something incriminating, hiding an affair beat snooping through a phone in the race of bad things. And with that you squashed the guilt of not trusting Atsumu until it was nothing but a whisper.

At some point, going through his phone became a habit, more done out of boredom than actual suspicion or insecurity. So when you stepped out of the shower and out of the bathroom, and Atsumu was still singing under the warm water—he always took extremely long showers—your first instinct was to grab his phone. You got comfortable, made sure the towel on your hair wouldn't fall, and unlocked his phone with your fingerprint.

Almost with apathy, you looked through his photos app, from the images sent to him and by him, to the hidden folder and trash. You snapped a photo of yourself and set it as his background in case he caught you with his phone in your hand, and moved to the next app. There was nothing in his messages, nothing in his calls, nothing on his Instagram app, or anywhere else. As usual, he wasn't hiding anything. You smiled to yourself and let yourself sigh as you got more comfortable in bed.

Before you could lock the phone, your finger hovered over the Google app and a wave of unease crashed into you. You’d never really thought of checking his Google tabs. Without a second to spare, you clicked on it. All air left your lungs as an instagram account, one you didn't recognize, greeted you. Your eyes took in everything all at once: the profile picture, so unmistakably him; the name and last name, so obviously false; the description that displayed his location, age and relationship status—”single.”

As if in a trance, you uncovered every bit of information you could get. The women he followed, the ones he messaged sometimes, the ones he constantly talked to, his reactions to their posts and stories. Absolutely everything. You needed to know it all, craved to find it all. If it was there, you would find it… and there was so much to find. So many women he gave his attention to. Most only went that far, flirty conversations and maybe some pictures exchanged. There were a few, however, that were the last nails in your coffin.

That weekend-long work retreat he told you about? It was actually a trip to Kyoto with another woman. Working overtime every now and then? Actually fucking a plethora of women. In cheap hotels, in their apartments, in god damn parties and events with his colleagues, the ones that knew you and treated you so kindly. His best buddy's birthday party that you weren't allowed to attend because it was men only? Two women. He hooked up with two women there, and then proceeded to talk to them about how hot it had been, how he couldn't wait to put his hands on them again, how each one was the best he ever had. It seemed they didn't know about each other either.

The absolute worst discovery came in the form of his coworker, a manager assistant. Ever so sweet at team events, always so eager to make you feel included. Always so eager to sneak behind your back to suck your boyfriend’s dick and get fucked in your bed. That is, apparently, when they even made it behind closed doors instead of just going at it on his back seat.

You found out you had almost caught them once. In their latest conversation, they made fun of how oblivious you were to the mess in the room, so obviously telling of what had been going on prior to your arrival. You remembered now that Atsumu’s clothes had been thrown around carelessly throughout the room, his shirt waiting outside the bedroom door. His body had felt sticky with sweat when you hugged him, a faint smell of lavender lingering on his skin, on your bedsheets. You hadn’t even noticed anything weird. She had been hiding under your bed as you sat and told your boyfriend about your day before undressing on your way to the bathroom. And while you showered he finished fucking her on the floor before leading her outside, cum leaking on her panties and clothes untidy.

You stared at the screen, unsure of what to do, how to proceed. You had never, not once, thought you'd find something in his phone. Never. 

The sound of the shower cutting off took you out of your trance, and you hurried to close the tab, delete the apps history and connect the phone to his charger. By the time Atsumu walked in the room all dressed and ready for bed, you were combing and drying your hair.

It was hard to smile back at him. His grin no longer excited  the dormant butterflies in your stomach, now it stomped them and tore off their wings, cruel in its every move. How many women had he smiled to like that? It was hard to accept the kiss on your cheek. You trembled under his touch in what he mistook for delight, but was nothing but pure heartbreak. Had he kissed other women that way?

It was even harder to keep the tears at bay, to pretend you weren't falling down a spiral. Part of you thought you were doing a great job at hiding it. The other part thought Atsumu just didn't care. You didn't know which idea was worse.

"Babe, you done?" He mumbled from the bed as he scrolled through his phone. His eyes didn't even look up.

It took you a moment to unplug the hairdryer, too busy looking at the new smile splitting his lips. He was typing. What was he typing? Was he texting someone? Who was it? Were they flirting? Was he asking them the same things he asked you when he was pretending to want to know you better?

You opened your mouth to speak, a question tugging at your tongue. Instead you said a simple "yes." You turned off the light and dragged your feet to the table. Immediately, Atsumu deleted the tab he was on and locked his phone. He opened the blanket for you to jump in and welcomed you with warm arms and a kiss to the forehead. Tears threatened to leave your eyes.

The way your bodies curved into each other felt almost magical. As if that's how your bodies were meant to be, molded up against each other, basking in the shared warmth. His arms around you, legs tangled. Your head on his chest, his heartbeat against your ear. It was where you belonged.

It was also where all of those other women belonged. You weren't special or any different, just more of an idiot.

You found yourself smelling the sheets, looking for her scent and finding nothing but his biting cologne. It occurred to you that might be the reason why he always chose fragrances so strong, to drown out the perfume of his lovers.

With all the strength left in you, you stopped yourself from falling apart and buried yourself deeper in his arms. One last time, just one. You would allow yourself to enjoy your loving relationship for the last time. Once the sun rose and the skies cleared, you would pack your things and leave to never look back, but for the time being you would bask in his arms, delight yourself in the fact that you were in your shared apartment, your shared —and soiled— bed, wearing his clothes.

Tomorrow you could afford to lose it all, tonight you needed Atsumu to hold you tight just one last time.

SEROH 2024

#atsumu angst #haikyuu angst #atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #miya atsumu angst #miya atsumu x reader #hq atsumu

[adrunkskeletonsduck]

hey bestie bae <3 how are you doing? I was wondering you if you could write an neteyam x twin!sister!reader where they are best of friends and did everything together and is heartbroken when he is injured, maybe she saves him or maybe she doesn’t. That would be great! <3 please keep up the great writing and have a great day! <3333

I found this a bit funny bc I actually have a twin brother and we’re pretty close. Not attached to the hip typa close but still close.

Oɴᴇ Lɪғᴇ Eɴᴅs, Aɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ Bᴇɢɪɴs

➜ Pairing: Neteyam & twin!sister!reader

➜ Summary: Two peas in a pod. You couldn’t imagine your life without your twin brother in it, he meant the world to you and there was nothing you wouldn’t do to keep him safe. Including give your life for his.

➜ Warnings: Death, mentions of blood, heavy angst

➜ Word Count: 2.0k

➜ Notes: I almost cried writing this, so respectfully I hope it rips your hearts out &lt;;3

Aᴠᴀᴛᴀʀ Mᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

All your earliest memories included Neteyam, there were very few that he wasn’t in, even the more recent ones. The two of you had pretty much been glued to the hip since birth. Two peas in a pod. You couldn’t fathom a life without him, and he couldn’t fathom a life without you.

One of the earliest memories you had was your fourth birthday. You and Neteyam were sitting together, grinning stupidly as your family (which only consisted of you, Neteyam, your parents, mo’at a baby Kiri and Lo’ak)  sung ‘happy birthday’ around you. Then when they’d finished, Mo’at scooped the two of you up, easily balancing the two of you in her arms and smothering you both in kisses. The ticklish sensation throwing both you and Neteyam into a fit of giggles, while Mo’at continued to pamper you.  

“How big and strong my grandchildren are becoming!” she’d said, smiling at the two of you as she set you down. You remembered the matching wood carved charms she’d gifted you both that birthday; you’d clipped them onto your songcords, and then run off into the forest together, Neytiri following behind you both closely.  

You grew extremely close over the years, almost never leaving the others side as you learnt the ins and outs of life together. You told each other everything, and you could still remember the first secret of yours you’d entrusted him with.  

You’d run up to him grinning wildly, a few teeth of your missing like they would have been for a eight-year-old. You’d plopped down in front of him, whispering – or trying to – to him that you had a crush.  

“But you can't to tell anyone!” you’d exclaimed immediately after the confession, looking at him very seriously. His eyes had widened, nodding in affirmation to his next statement.  

“I won't,” he’d promised like it was the most important secret in the world. At the time it very well might have been, and to this day he hadn't told a soul.  

You built the trust between the two of you through wordily affirmation and experiences until you could confidently say you trusted him with your life, and he intern trusted you with his. You knew, that if there was a need, you’d give your life for his without a second thought, although you hoped it would never come to that.  

But sometimes people just aren't so lucky.  

“Go!” You could barely hear his voice over the deafening berate of gunfire as he yelled the order. Bullets clattered against the metal of the ship as you pressed yourself into the wall. Lo’ak and Spider were quick to comply, running to the railing rimmed pool and diving into the water, but you stood firmly next to Neteyam. Two peas in a pod, you wouldn’t leave him behind.  

He glanced over his shoulder as he ducked further behind the wall.  

“What are you doing here? You need to go tsmuke!” you shook your head, stubbornly.  

“I’m not leaving you!” you screamed over the gunfire. Neteyam grunted, shifting the gun in his hand. There was no use trying to convince you to go by yourself, that would just waste time. The one thing you didn’t have. Neteyam glanced down at the gun in his hand, there wasn’t enough ammunition in it to cover the both of you properly if you made a run for it separately anyway.  

“Okay we go on my count,” you nodded, pushing yourself off the wall and getting ready to run.   

“3,”  

“2,”  

“1.” Neteyam turned sharply, using the last of the ammo in the gun to fire in the direction of the Avatar shooting at you, before discarding it and bolting towards the pool.  

You saw it in slow-motion as you looked back, the sound of gunfire amplifying tenfold and mixing with the ringing in your ears. Bullets whizzed past the two of you, and something in your gut told you he wasn’t going to make it in time. All you knew in that moment is there was no way in hell you were going to let anything happen to him. 

Just as he jumped to dive over the railing, you reached out almost instinctively, pulling his body to the side so you were in front of him as you dove into the water side by side. You felt something collide with you, something small, and fast. You didn’t even have time to understand what had happened before red-hot pain, bloomed right above your breast. 

Your scream of agony was muffled as your body hit the water and searing hot pain overtook your senses. It was blinding, only being amplified with every shift of your body as you pushed your body to the surface. Your brain scrambled to grasp reality, through the feeling of burning nerves and weight of water pushing you down.  

“Neteyam!” you gasped, breaking to the surface and doing your best to stay afloat. One hand cupped your chest that was bleeding profusely, turning the water around you a deep shade of red.  

He turned at the sound of your voice calling his name, and his heart dropped, eyes widening at the sight of hazy red water that surrounded your struggling form. He rushed to your side, eyes raking over you looking for the source of your bleeding until his eyes landed on your hand, right over your lung and panic overtook him.  

No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. He thought, he couldn’t lose you; he needed you.  

As a child he would sometimes find himself imagining a life without his twin sister, he remembers the way his stomach would churn at the mere thought of it, and his mind would move on to happier thoughts. Those same nights dreams of losing you would haunt him. He would wake up with a thin sheen of sweat coating him, before his eyes would settle on your sleeping form and his heart would slow its raging pace. He’d lay down, shaking the contents of the dream away and drifting of to sleep again. 

 He hoped this was just another nightmare that his mind had cooked up to screw with him. He’d wake up and you’d be right there, sleeping soundly by Neytiri and Tuk across the Murui pod like you did every night. Your chest rising and falling steadily against the threaded sea grass top you’d made with Tsireya. No one came to wake him though, and no matter how hard he hoped his mind didn’t pull him out of his sleep, because there was nothing to wake up from.  

“She’s shot! Help me!” He called to Lo’ak and Spider frantically, hoisting you onto the ilu. You hissed in pain as they moved you. Tsireya helped pull you up, holding you against her as you took shallow breaths.  

You couldn’t really focus on anything as the ilu sped away from the Demon Ship, lost to your faint thoughts of death and slow mind.  

Your body slid against the rocks, jagged edges scraping against your skin uncomfortably as they push you onto the sturdy surface. The waves crash against the rock, a sound that you would consider soothing if not for the circumstances. Your face is pale, breath shallow and rapid, your ears are ringing and your adrenaline is starting to fade. Everything is slippery, wet and somehow sticky and even now, when you're bleeding out and dying it makes you feel gross.  

The soft breeze is chilling to your wet form, and the gentleness of it is unfitting for such a scene. Your head bumps against something as your set down, and you hear the screech of an Ikran infront of you, feel the rough wind its wings bring as it lands, and see its head peeking out into your field of vision. Then its gone, replaced by your father's face as he rushes over to you. Your eyes shift to Neteyam who sits next to you looking helpless, and you reach out to him, looking for his hand. He gives it to you, clasping your hand in his.  

Your wound screamed as Jake moved you, curses falling from his lips before he set you back down on your back. You're struggling to breath, eyes unfocused as the dart to each member of your family, desperately trying to memorize their features before you go. The older sister in you notes that Kiri and Tuk are missing but you can't focus on the thought to much. You don’t have the energy.  

“Why would you do that?” Neteyam whispered, and your barley hear his words. If you had the energy you would smile, squeeze his hand and tell him that you didn’t regret any of it, because you don’t. But you can't. So instead leave him without an answer and focus on your breath, focus on the pressure of Lo’aks hand over your wound, and the feeling of Neteyams hand in yours, focus on your mothers' eyes and your fathers worried expression. You can sort of Tsireya in the back, a frown on her lips, just like all the rest of them and you focus on that to.  

You want to tell them it's going to be okay, that there's no need to worry, but you're not a lair, so you opt to something more truthful.  

“I want to go home,” you whimper through grit teeth. Even your own words sound faraway now and you realize this was how you were going to die. But you didn’t to die, you had so much to live for, so much to experience. You had just begun to settle into life with the Metkayina, just begun to learn the ocean and the reef, just begun to make friends. You were only 15 years old; you had your whole life ahead of you, you didn’t want to die. You weren't ready. How was that fair? 

“We’re going, we’re going,” Your father reassures. He sounds helpless, broken. You think he’s lying for a moment, but then they’re faces start to fade from your field of vision and you’re truly to weak to care. Only able to think about the fact that you aren't ready yet. That you don’t want to die, not like this. 

The world fades, all sensations put to a halt and it's like a weight is lifted of your shoulders, despite your reluctance you can't help but feel relief. The heaving of your chest stops, and your nerves aren't burning with pain anymore, and there's no more crashing of waves, there's no bitter chill biting at your skin or sticky blood coating you. 

There's only a blinding white behind your eyelids, accompanied by the chirping of birds, a sunny warmth that touches your skin and warms your soul as soft grass caresses your skin. You feel a deep sense of peace take root in your heart, and you don’t question it as your eyes flutter open to be met with the lush forests of Pandora and clear blue skies.  

“Y/n! Y/n!” A childish voice calls to you. You turn at the sound of your name and rustling of leaves pushing yourself to sit up. Neteyam bursts through the underbrush, young and bright, and smiling like he always was. He’s waving at you to get up.  

“Common!” he says urgently, “I wanna show you what I made!” And then he’s dashing off in the direction he came again, leaving you to run after him with a giddy smile. 

 You were home again.  

Taglist: @cherridile @aonungmybf @aurora-starwars

#adrunkskeletonsduck #asks answered #avatar requests #neteyam x reader #the sully family #sully!reader #neteyam sully #neteyam #avatar twow fic #avatar way of water #avatar #avatar fic #avatar 2 #neteyam x you #neteyam x y/n #neteyam fic #neteyam angst #neteyam fanfiction #angsty fic

[serenescribe]

(For Ficlet Frenzy)

Lilia had to go on yet another long mission but not without entrusting his infant son’s safety to Malleus and his fairy godmother Queen Maleficia. Malleus has to tend to his lessons for the afternoon so the queen watches over the baby.

By the time Malleus finishes his lessons and Lilia returns she does not want to part from the baby she grew so fond of- so much so that she has gone full grandmother mode and tries to keep Silver with her.

(Please make this super fluffy and cute!! I need to be nuked with cuteness)

[✐] ficlet frenzy note: this was written before chapter 7 part 6!

“Malleus. Where is Silver?”

Footsteps echo in the empty hall as Lilia strides down it, heart thumping against his chest as though rattling against jail bars. Even now, so many years later, he cannot help the pinpricks of anxiety that spike his blood at the thought of approaching her Majesty for anything; even if the queen places a great deal of trust in Lilia, continuing to call upon his assistance in spite of his retirement, it is still daunting to stand under her sharp gaze, emerald-green eyes that seem to pierce his very soul.

He’d left Silver in Malleus’ care when leaving for this trip — and to a greater extent, the queen’s as well, for this was her castle, after all.

So how had things escalated to the extent where Malleus was no longer Silver’s primary caretaker?

Before he realises it, he’s reached the end of the hallway. Lilia stares up at the tall oak doors looming over him. For the first time in quite a while, he feels small again, as though he has shrunken to insignificance, his power diluted and severed.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Lilia raises a fist, and knocks three times.

And after a while, he hears it: “You may enter.”

“Your Majesty,” Lilia greets as he pushes open the doors to the old nursery. Once, it had been a space for Malleus, the young prince living in it for many decades until he outgrew his nest and moved into sprawling chambers of his own. But now, a new life has been breathed into it: a cradle takes up the centrepiece of the room, a hand-crafted mobile spinning lazily above it, with dangling charms of dragons circling round and round. The rest of the room is taken up by deceptively simple wooden furniture, minimalistic in their appearance, yet sporting elegant carvings — such as the open toy box Lilia’s eyes flick to, numerous toys spread out across the carpeted-covered floor.

And what a sight it is, to bear witness to the Queen Maleficia, great ruler of Briar Valley, sitting on the floor and cooing at a human infant stacking wooden blocks! She scarcely pays Lilia any mind as he lingers awkwardly in the doorway, instead clapping her hands together as Silver finishes stacking a block. “Oh, how smart you are, my little sunshine!” she praises, reaching to wrap her clawed hands under Silver’s arms — a sight that makes Lilia wince, mind flashing through worst-case scenarios of claws slicing flesh — before lifting him up in the air. “You learn so quickly for a human,” she coos as Silver babbles excitedly, chubby fingers reaching for her horns.

“Ah-ah-ah!” Queen Maleficia raises Silver a little away from her, clicking her tongue. “Naughty, naughty! What have I said about touching my horns, hm, my sweet potato?” It is nigh miraculous that her voice lacks any semblance of anger or irritation, instead flooded with a sickening fondness; to touch the horns of royalty is a blatant breach of boundaries at best, and a crime punishable by death at worst. “I understand that they are quite beautiful,” Maleficia says, voice slicked with pride, “but they are truly sensitive, dear Silver; why not play with this instead?”

He watches as she places Silver down onto the mat before pressing another toy — a wooden dragon littered with scorch marks, making it clear who it used to belong to — into his hands. It is only when Silver is giggling and moving the wooden beast back and forth in the air that Lilia clears his throat, making his presence clear.

The change is instantaneous. As soon as Maleficia lays her eyes on him, her face twists into cool, impassive neutrality, the regal expression of an experienced queen. “Vanrouge,” she greets, her reserved voice a stark contrast to the babbling baby beside her, and her earlier display of sickening sweetness. “So you’ve returned.”

“Your Majesty,” Lilia repeats again. Sweat beads along the back of his neck, but he will not back down; he has to bring his child home, after all. “I thank you and Prince Malleus for taking such good care of Silver in my absence. However, I best be bringing him home now—”

“No.”

He blinks. “I— pardon?”

“Why not stay a while longer, Vanrouge?” Maleficia asks, turning away from him, her face breaking into yet another smitten smile as she reaches for Silver, ruffling his hair as he babbles excitedly at her. Lilia squints; did Silver just call her Malfi?! “There is no rush for you both to return home, is there? Besides, a growing boy like you, my tiny snowball—” She reaches to tickle him, causing Silver to erupt into a giggling fit, tumbling back onto the floor as he squeals excitedly, “—needs excellent food to grow strong and healthy.” Her eyes flick back to Lilia, and he feels pinned to the spot. “Is that not right, Vanrouge?”

“...I could not possibly deny such a generous request, my queen,” Lilia eventually forces out, eyes flicking between Silver and Maleficia.

“Good, good.” With two claps of her hand, Maleficia smiles at him. “I shall see you at dinner then, hm? Do not be late, Vanrouge.”

“I shall not. But… Queen Maleficia—”

“Yes?”

“I would quite like to… spend some time with my child.”

Lilia stares at Silver, silently pleading with him to glance over at Lilia and call out for him, only to be silently betrayed when the infant calls again for “Malfi!” Curses, he thinks, as Maleficia answers the call with a joyful vigour. Silver, how could you…!

“We shall see you at dinner, Vanrouge,” Maleficia answers smoothly, not even looking at him anymore. “Do pardon me for wishing to spend some time with my godson before he leaves, would you?”

And Lilia has no room to reply.

#my writing tag #ficlet frenzy #surprisingly i don't think there's any ch7 spoilers for this #twst #twisted wonderland #twst fanfiction #twst writing #lilia vanrouge #queen maleficia #twst silver #malleus mention but he doesn't show up rip #THIS WAS WRITTEN BEFORE PART 6 DROPPED AUGHGHHGHTHTGHGHFHG #queued posts

[overtaken-stream]

With what that last person requested with spicy king hcs, how about his reaction to his darling wanting to pleasure him and make him feel good to pay him back for how he satisfies her? I feel like the size difference and his lack of verbalness during sex would make it interesting not being sure if what she’s doing is working or not

I wanted to write King getting glock glock 3000 but I could not wrap my head around it, King is so hard to characterize but I try to keep him in character which results in him coming off as threatening or awkward as fuck. Also sorry for the long wait.

! !NSFW! !

Warning: female reader, rough King(mentioned)

King is fond of taking charge in situations that don't require his intruding, like conversations, or taking care of you in the most subtle way possible, it's in tiny details that go unnoticed by you that make it easy for him to indulge in his actions of service. It brings a sense of pride (though most times he will not be able to fully express his motives) and with it comes an emotion he hasn't felt in a long time, happiness. Never would he have thought that caring for somebody was something he'd enjoy, but here he is. And your appreciation of his actions is a bonus, it truly doesn't matter if you don't fancy him, as long as he is in control.

This evolves during intimacy, as much as he loves pleasing you and bringing you over the edge over and over again, letting your whines and moans get to his head, he still has a side that he sees no problem in, while you despise it.

Comfort is something he likes to bring to himself and once in a while, others as well, however, it does not go the opposite way. Once he starts he will do everything to get the said comfort. Even if it means sacrificing your boundaries and ease.

If there was a word that described the sensation he felt seeing your face covered in tears, flushed and sweaty, while you screamed out in pain, from the size and positions which he puts you in, it would be pleasure.

So to have something that is already within his grasp taken away? The chances of that happening are closer to zero, nevertheless, there is a point of weakness he experiences during intimacy and that is at the peak of his climax, the instant his tip spasms and he ejaculates, that is the moment he feels vulnerable and falls victim to his heightened awareness, the sensitivity he can only entrust you with, it blossoms and colors the branches in white.

It's an opening you're willing to take. Even if you're exhausted and sticky with both of your substances, you bring King closer to you, letting him rest before you maneuver his oversized body and coax him into leaning against the cushions, even in the haze of lust, his striking eyes gaze into your soul, making your heart skip a beat. They don't move away from your face, despite the delicious view you're offering him. Your hands touch his oversensitive sex, hard regardless of the fact that he just ejaculated, they move up and down a few times before you sink down and take him in all of his glory, you rest your elbows on his knees as his dick hits that special spot inside you, making you arch your back and start moving sooner than expected.

King is not a vocal man in bed, the closest he has ever gotten to letting you hear his moan is in the form of open-mouthed exhales, gasps of air that he takes while bottoming out or cumming. That stays consistent every time, but at least in the past he closed his eyes and got lost in the pleasure.

You can feel it, even now while he makes you see stars in the dead of night, under a ceiling, you're constantly moving, up and down, yet his eyes stay in one place, starting at every inch of you, it should be impossible, but you would believe he could keep track of your motions in this situation, his piercing gaze could only belong to a predator that's stalking its pray, never letting it out of its sight. And King is much more than a mere predator. He stays still, waiting to pounce yet never committing to the act.

You let him hit every part of you in your guts as you ride him, grasping his skin with your nails, clawing at his abs, while letting out every noise you could think of to distract you from his stare. If you were a lesser woman you might have thought he was trying to intimidate you, might have thought he was angry, but the fact that he hasn't opposed to your actions speaks more than he does.

You bring him over the edge soon after.

It's only after the intimate touches that feelings get involved, now your mind, clear of any lust, thinks of consequences, the awkwardness that was forgotten in the moment, and the lack of any movement from King.

``H-hey King?`` You flinch at your breathless stutter.

You can see his back, now turned away from you, his legs stay rooted on the floor as he sits near the edge of the bed. At your voice, he lifts his head. His confusion underlines the movement, but you cannot help yourself. You have to know.

``Did you... Enjoy it?`` The question rolls off of your tongue with complications, you wished you'd never uttered it in the first place.

A cold sweat rolls down your cheek as King turns to you.

``...I was pleased.`` you exhale a breath you didn't know was held.

``But be sure to cherish the time you were in charge.`` Because you'll never be able to repeat it that easily. He'll make sure of it.

#king the wildfire x reader #one piece #king one piece #king the wildfire #one piece x reader #Yandere!King but it can be read as just King x Reader #yandere!King AU #yandere x you #.my writing. #king the conflagration

[argisthebulwark]

Severed Ties Part Two: Why You Came Back

summary: Time heals all wounds and somehow, you will find your way back to each other. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. Part One: Why You Left feat: Brynjolf, Miraak, Erandur, Teldryn, Vilkas, Farkas, Rune, Arnbjorn warnings: none, bit longer than usual.

Between all your duties and missing Brynjolf, it took time to find a comfortable rhythm. There was no escaping each other even after you put an end to your romantic involvement, only breaks coming in the form of jobs halfway across Skyrim. Through everything you worked together to get the Guild back on its feet. You entrusted Brynjolf solely with its care when Nocturnal came calling, reminding you that the Skeleton Key’s rightful place was in her temple.  The Twilight Sepulcher drained your body and soul. Exhaustion sapped at your strength when you shuffled out, unsure how you were going to get back to the inn. Riften was another beast entirely. Chilly fingers shook at the prospect of your bed being so far away, ready to risk it all for a short nap in the forest.  Brynjolf was planted a few paces away, hood thrown back and worry in his eyes. Your heart stopped at the sight. You’d never seen him so far from Riften. He took one cautious step as if you were a wounded animal, like you'd bolt if he came too close.  Collapsing into his arms felt like home. Strong arms carried you when your muscles failed, tears springing into your eyes when he tucked you safely into his chest. You gulped back the words you hadn’t said in ages when he buried his nose in his hair, turning to carry you home. He'd left all duties behind to be there for you when you needed him most. “I promise, love. Nothing’s gettin’ in the way of you and I again. Sorry it took me so long.”

Tales of Miraak’s reign of terror over Solstheim slowed, the island calming and hesitantly returning to its normal life. It had been years since you’d left Apocrypha and you could only hope that he’d found the answers he’d wanted so badly or at least some form of peace. The last memory of him still pained you but you’d never forget it - robes wrinkled where he crouched over the ancient desk, eyes wild and fingers stained with dark ink.  Being back on Nirn was a blessing and a curse. You had settled quite easily into your life but there was a constant nagging need to hear every rumor about him, to keep up to date on what he was doing. Your home was comfortable but quiet, interrupted by a harsh knock on your door.  Seeing him again stopped your heart. His eyes were wide, blessedly free from the mania you’d come to know. The mask and gloves were gone, robes traded for simple armor. There he stood, the man who had forgotten you suddenly standing on your doorstep, that lovely voice saying words you’d craved to hear.  “I gave it all up. I gave up everything to stand here and ask you for another chance and I’d do it again in a heartbeat, My Dragon.” 

You didn’t recognize him in such normal, simple clothes. Erandur, who lived in robes befitting a priest and Mara’s regalia, took the empty seat across from you in the tavern. His fingers quivered when he offered you a hand, hope bright in his eyes when he introduced himself.  “I had to come over here, I couldn’t stop staring. You’re stunning.” His attempt to sound nonchalant sent a nervous giggle bubbling out of you. “Can we put the past behind us and start over?” “Start over?” You didn’t release his hand and he didn't pull away, heart swelling when you saw his smile. All else was forgotten when you felt Erandur’s tattooed fingers climbing up your wrist.  “I am just a man who very badly wants to kiss someone he saw across the crowded tavern. Nothing more.” 

A compromise. That’s what he’d proposed. Teldryn sat at your table, eyes sparkling when he took in the house you’d built. It was far from the bustling cities, trees insulating you from the noise of nearby farms. After parting from Teldryn it had become a safe haven from the rest of the world. You’d never admit that building it with your own hands was fueled mostly by spite.  He’d come with apologies and offers mingled together in a practiced speech. Some time at home, some on the road, all of it spent together. It was unsettling how easily you trusted him again after all the time spent apart. His helmet rested on the table when Teldryn met your eyes and for the first time he looked unsure of what to say. His mouth opened, closing again and you caught a glimpse of that annoyed furrow between his brows you’d missed. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to settle down in one place, but I could get used to this slow life with you. For a while.”

Loving Vilkas was easy, you’d never truly stopped. Learning to be gentle with one another was difficult. You struggled to learn how to look past your relationship and see Vilkas as more than your partner, acknowledging his role in the Companions. He worked on seeing you as more than his Harbinger, viewing you as his partner once again. It was a slow process - taking breaks and setting boundaries, but he was worth it.  During the day you worked, creating healthier avenues for conversation. At night you were partners, nothing more. No work talk was allowed between dinner and breakfast. In those evenings you found one another again, softening and loving each other as you had so long ago.  “Remind me, Harbinger. Am I permitted to kiss you during working hours? Are we allowed to sit this close, or are you worried I’ll distract you?”

Breezehome had been yours before Farkas entered your life. It was your refuge during the evenings when you couldn’t bear Jorrvaskr’s halls or the memories they held. A cool breeze whipped through your hair when you walked home, masking his footsteps until he appeared at your side. Neither one of you said a word when he took your hand, falling in step with you and allowing you to guide him to your doorstep.  It didn’t happen all at once. Rather, it was small changes that slowly altered your life. It took work for Farkas to summon the confidence to live for himself, extracting his sense of self worth from the Companions. You reminded him that it was a balance, leaving wasn’t permanent. Dinners were often spent in Jorrvaskr before retreating to the peace of your home.  “I didn’t think I was anything more than a fighter. Didn’t think anyone would want me to be more.”

Each day felt like a new opportunity for growth. You watched Rune from a distance hoping that he would make peace with his past. You didn’t want him to give up but it was too painful to love someone who lived entirely in the mysteries of what could have been, as if you were only allowed to love part of him.  Luckily, Delvin and Vex had an endless catalogue of tasks that no one else wanted to complete. Jobs in other holds, jewelry to be stolen in Whiterun and planted on some poor sap in Solitude, the occasional trip to confer with the Dark Brotherhood. All the travel was good for your mind, allowing you time to think through everything far from him. Falling into your cot you stared up at the Cistern’s ceiling. Watery light from the early morning sun reminded you that you’d stayed up all night again. It had been difficult to sleep with Rune cramped into your tiny bed but without him the space felt too empty. His footsteps were silent when he knelt beside your bed, his warm hand on your shoulder the only warning that he was there.  “I’ll never give up, not entirely. But it isn’t worth losing you over. Just give me some time, please don’t forget about me.”

Arnbjorn consumed your every thought. Despite your best efforts to appear cool and indifferent you couldn’t take another moment. It was fairly easy to avoid him during the day, but every evening you struggled to not look at him through dinner. After all the others had left in search of bed or prepping for their assignment you found yourself alone with him, a few drinks deep and blood heating under the weight of his gaze. Too drunk to be embarrassed by the stumbling way you explained how badly you wanted to be loved by him again, how deeply you wanted him to love you. You didn’t want to be a replacement for the love he’d lost. Cheeks burning and tears spilling you gasped out the least graceful declaration of love and how much you missed him.  Your name on his lips had never sounded better. Soothing kisses and careful hands sufficed when words failed. You knew he wasn’t comfortable vocalizing softer emotions. Arnbjorn’s lips were on your forehead, fists balled into his armor when you dragged him closer.  “Just need you to trust me, okay? It’s only you. My past is my past, no changin’ it. I just need some time but I promise it’s only you.”

#skyrim #skyrim fanfic #skyrim x reader #x reader fanfic #writing #brynjolf #miraak #erandur #teldryn sero #vilkas #farkas #rune skyrim #arnbjorn

[wareagleofthemountain]

Tears Of Gold

Pairing: Prince Nuada x fem elf reader

You panted as you ran up steep cliff sides and dodged tree roots and boulders in your haste. But there was no time to stop and catch your breath. Not with him following so close behind. You were Princess Nuala’s personal guard and close friend, her having entrusted you to destroy the third crown piece to prevent her brother from gaining control of the infamous Golden Army. He would surely go after her first, but you knew it was only a matter of time before he perceived the change of hands through their bond. He would sense that she no longer had it, and you would be his next target.

You fully intended to throw it over a mighty waterfall, letting the cursed object become lost in time, until you saw the horrors that awaited you over the next hill chrest.

You gave pause, scanning the scene around you with unbelieving eyes. You saw human men driving big trucks, some with cranes on the back and others with scoopers. They were… cutting down the grove of trees and digging into the soil.

The feeling of dread in your chest increased as you caught sight of something gray laying by the water’s edge. Stepping closer, you slowly removed the overgrown shrubbery off of its form, revealing the creature to be a powerfully built wolf. With… two bullets in her side.

“No…” You breathed, kneeling by her side and stroking her ears with the back of your hand. This forest had been your home ever since the original truce with the humans, where they would inhabit the cities and the magical creatures would prosper in the forests. However, even after the people of Bethmora were pushed into exile when men fought to acquire the forests as part of their kingdom, you’d still visit this place frequently. During that time, you’d befriended this wolf and her mate. Your elvish abilities allow you to communicate with animals and through this link, you’d learned that they’d been blessed with pups. Judging by the state of the wolf now, you could tell that she was heavily pregnant. The monsters must have shot her for defending her home. Your home…

“Oh my friend…” Your vision blurred with tears. The once mighty oceans now littered in filth. The temples built to worship your gods, destroyed. The vibrant trees you so loved dancing under and witness changing in each season… cut down and strapped to the back of a truck headed who knows where.

The earth’s pain was your pain… and you felt it in full.

“What are they doing?” You whimpered, the crown piece long since fallen from your hand to the ground, forgotten.

“They are stripping the land and mining for oil.” The voice behind you was soft, somber.

“They fought us so hard for this land. So they could do… this? She waited years to have these pups…” The hand landing on your shoulder pulled you out of your shock, reminding you of the precarious situation you were now in.

Leaping up, you drew your blade swiftly and tucked the crown piece securely into your pocket as you sized up your attacker. “Nuada…”

The golden elf merely held your eyes, tilting his head back as you pointed your blade at his throat. He made no move to grasp his weapon.

He saw the way your hands shook, breath unsteady and tears still running down your cheeks. “Come, my love, drop your weapon.”

“Don’t! I’m not your anything.” Your voice cracked in anger. “Last I recall, you were the one who disappeared off of the face of the earth before our wedding.”

The prince looked down. “What I did… it was wrong. But believe me when I tell you that not a second went by that my heart was not with you. I knew they would do this. They are not fit to protect this world. My father would’ve let us fade from existence… I couldn’t allow you to suffer such a fate.”

He held out his hand to you, waiting patiently for you to come to him.

“I looked everywhere for you…” The anger was subsiding now, giving way to the hurt that had been plaguing your soul for years.

“I’m here now, and we can save our people. Together.” He tenderly wiped a tear from your face, sliding the sword from your hand. “But I need the crown piece first. You could be my queen. Come with me, please.”

Seeing your doubt, he continued. “The mortals, they don’t care about you. To them, you are a mere shield they send out to fight battles they are too cowardly to fight themselves.”

He stroked your cheek, his breath ghosting over your lips as he leaned in. “You are a legendary warrior who is capable of so much more.”

You looked into his eyes, seeing only the soft gaze you fell in love with many summers ago now.

“Come with me.” He repeated.

“Okay…” You breathed, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulled you in for a deep kiss. He was always so warm, and you’d missed this closeness dearly. He held you there for a long moment, taking in your scent as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“I love you.” He whispered.

“I love you too…” You pressed another kiss to his lips before you pulled apart, holding out the golden crown piece to him.

He reached into his robes and produced the other two thirds of the crown, carefully sliding in its missing segment.

“It is complete.” He handed you the crown, taking a knee at your feet. “I wish you to do it.”

You took a deep breath before reciting the traditional coronation speech of Bethmora. “By the power vested in me, I name you King Nuada Silverlance, leader of the Golden Army. Is there anyone here who wishes to dispute this right?” Hearing none, you place the crown atop his head. As the two of you walk down the mountain hand in hand, you silently vow that the next time you look upon this forest, it will be as queen in the homecoming of your people.

Tag list: @a-world-of-whimsy-5

#Nuada #Nuada x reader

[mrskokushibo]

emergncy request I'm currently undergoing chemotherapy, and as expected, I've been experiencing significant hair loss. I had hoped it would stop after I completed the treatment cycle, but it seems to be getting worse, and I'm worried that I might lose all my hair soon. This is particularly devastating for me because my hair was a big part of my identity, like my personal signature. It's been hard because my friends and family don't quite understand how much this means to me. I understand that my fears might seem trivial in the grand scheme of things, as hair will eventually grow back, but it feels like I'm losing a part of myself.

With that being said, I'd like to request Bakugo, Shinsou, Enji Todoroki, and Dabi comforting their significant other and offering words of encouragement about her hair loss.

Emergency Request: MHA characters comforting their s/o who suffers from hairloss caused by chemotherapy.

A/N: Thank you, my dear @jellandbell for this request. I am honoured that you entrusted me with this. I wish you a quick return to health 💞

Warnings: None.

Bakugo

He is angry. Angry that someone like you, someone he loves and cares for so deeply, is suffering. The world is fucked if good people have to go through such ordeal. The complete and total inability to do anything of value to help you is eating him up. It's as if he was bursting at the seams. He wants to punch a wall, scream, swear, but he knows there is no point in being aggressive. It's just inappropriate right now. He walks up to you, hands in his pockets and his eyes initially fixated on the ground in front of him. He then looks you deep in the eyes, his voice almost shaky from all the emotions that rush through him.

You know I love you, right? No matter what, I will always be by your side. I don't care if you have lots of hair or if you are bald. Who cares? You are so fucking awesome. And if anyone makes a comment about your looks? I will mess them up. I promise you that. And the hair will be back. It just will. I know it. And you know...I'm pretty much almost always right.

Shinsou

At first, he is almost tempted to use his brainwashing quirk to manipulate you into not thinking about your problem. However, on a second thought, his honest nature doesn't allow him to pursue such an action. He genuinely feels for you and empathises from the bottom of his heart. He hugs you tight as he slowly gives you his words of comfort.

My love, I am so sorry to see you suffer, but please know that to me, you are the most beautiful woman on earth. Your hair is just a bonus, but I do not notice the difference in your looks. No matter if your hair comes back or not, you are my soulmate and the only one for me. Because looks fade anyway, but a beautiful soul lasts forever.

Enji Todoroki

He is feeling very apprehensive. A mix of anger, frustration, and helplessness is what he is experiencing right now. He is well aware that, in this case, his enormous strength and fire power are for nothing. It can not come to any use in helping you. He pretends like he is unmoved, but he can barely sleep at night since you got ill. When your hairloss is added to the suffering you have to endure, he sits down next to you and hugs you with his enormous arm.

You will be fine. You are a strong person. Hair will grow back, your health will be restored, and you will be out there showing the world that you never left.

Dabi

If anyone understands suffering, it's Dabi. He has literally caused his body to damage itself through hard training, and he knows very well what you are going through. When you break down crying as your hair starts to come out in bunches, he sits down in front of you and holds your hands. He looks you in the eye and decides to take a practical approach.

Look, your hair might just as well grow back. However, we should be prepared for any option. Ok? I did some research, and in the worst case, it can take a few years. I think you are beautiful; hair or no hair. But I get it. You do feel self-conscious. How about we go and look at wigs? I have seen some amazing ones. Only if you feel like you want to. As for me? Like I said before, you are gorgeous as you are.

Dividers by @saradika

#mha #my hero acedamia #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou #bnha #bnha bakugo katsuki #enji todoroki x reader #enji todoroki #mha enji #endeavour #bnha enji #dabi #dabi x you #dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #hitoshi shinsou #mha shinsou #shinsou x reader #mha x reader #bnha x you #my hero academia #emergency request #mrs kokushibo #astrasolitaris #asked and answered #ask and you shall receive

[chanyeolsbiggestfangirl]

Synopsis:- After your failed attempt at a confrontation with Chanyeol, you decide to do what seemed best at that time, run away. Even with his indifference towards your feelings, you just couldn’t let go of him, the thought of him, the phantom touches he imprinted upon your soul caressing you in ways more than one. But running away is never a good solution in the long run, for unfinished business will always catch up with you.

Pairing:- Chanyeol X Fem Reader

Genre:- Angst, Smut

Author’s Note:- so, it is finally happening, the unnamed sequel to the request i wrote a few days ago. my heartiest thanks to @scuzmunkie for the heartwarming comments that made my day and prompted me to write a second part. also my deepest gratitude to all those who gave their love to the previous piece. this is for you all.

Prequel 

. . . 

You were a coward, a goddamn coward. You still remember that night and the aftermath of it pretty clearly.

Packing your stuff in the middle of the night with impulsive precision, your heart hurt but your mind was clear. The only way to save yourself and end your suffering was to leave, with no trace left behind. The only way to save your heart from hurting at the sight of his beautiful face was to make sure that he isn’t the first thing you see when you start your day. Your heart longed to steal one last look at him before you stepped out of the door, but the sensible part of you that had been ignored so long wasn’t having any of it. The first step is always the hardest and right now the first step was to not give in to the urge to see him. It was hard, but your mind urged you on and away. So you did it. Without sparing even a single glance at the tall male who held your heart in his hands, you stepped out.

Even now you have no idea of how you managed to do it all, but the memory of Chanyeol’s nonchalant shrug was what made you call your cousin and tell her that you’ll be staying over for the few days till graduation. The memory of his empty emotionless eyes was what drove you to block his number and then delete it for good measure. The memory of his cruel words borderlining on a rejection, was what drove your deepest instincts, all of it was what drove you to put some very much needed distance between you and the him.

In the few days that stood between you and the graduation and the ultimate freedom from all of this mess, you spend all your time alternating between gardening with your grandma and taking with Minseok for hours on end.

When the graduation came, you entrusted Minseok and Sehun to help you get through without running into Chanyeol. But even then it was too much for you. Being in the same space with him suffocated you, override all your senses. The possibility of even a single eye contact, a single interaction was enough to make your stomach hurt. You didn’t stay after the official ceremony, didn’t attend the party, you just told your friends that you’re done for the day and headed home. 

You felt a certain pair of eyes on your back, but you took deep steadying breaths and did not look back even once. 

Three Months Later 

There’s always room for improvement in life, only if you put your mind to it. It has been three months since you got your beloved masters degree, three months since you last felt Chanyeol’s gaze on you, three months since you moved across the city into your brand new apartment near your workplace. 

Three months of trying to heal in peace. Trying to wrench your heart away from the handsome giant. You wouldn’t say you’ve forgotten Chanyeol or moved on, you just made yourself busy enough to never have time to think about him, until he was all but a distant memory. 

But seems like the universe was done, done letting you get away with unfinished business. 

The morning started hazy, the sun made it pretty clear that it couldn’t be bothered to come out. You huffed a breathe as you looked out of your floor to ceiling window, you were honestly done with today and it hadn’t even properly started yet. 

You were always in a somewhat hurry to catch the elevator, it was not that you were late, it was just that the building that housed your office also had other establishments in the lower floors, complete with a high class soundproof studio occupying the entirety of the topmost floor. 

As usual, it was packed, enough not to suffocate and yet enough that you grateful for not slacking off. Usually, you’d always have someone else who was heading for the same floor, who’d already pressed the button to the 15th floor, but it wasn’t the case today. Finding that it wasn’t pressed yet, your hand itched towards it, only for your fingers to brush against someone who just entered. 

You looked up at the somewhat towering figure, only to be greeted by a familiar face. 

A painfully familiar face actually. 

There he was, his currently blonde hair swept back, his full lips jutting out in an early morning pout, dressed casually yet immaculately, brown orbs looking back at you with equal amounts of surprise and something that looked painfully like... longing. 

No 

You scolded yourself internally, trying to stop yourself from plunging into an endless abyss filled with thoughts of him and him only. But it was too late. The damage was already done. You pulled your hand back, averting your eyes, willing yourself to not give away the fact that he had initiated a torrent of emotions within you. You withdrew further into the flock of people in the elevator, putting some distance between you and him, head down, waiting until your floor comes up. 

You were breathless when you got on your floor, you massaged your temples with your thumb and forefinger. 

There goes my sanity for the rest of my existence. 

Turns out, the studio on the highest level was his. You were more than tempted to move places, ask for a transfer to another office, anything, anything to save yourself from running into him. A part of you was begging you to run away again, but the other begged to stay, to grow some fucking nerve. You finally discarded your impulsive letter requesting a transfer and prayed that today would be the first and last time you’d run into Chanyeol. 

If only it were the case. 

You stayed late at work, the lights on the worktables around you shutting off one by one as the time passed but you stayed. It wasn’t the work, it was him. You were working late just so that you could avoid running into him in the lift. When the clock struck eight, you finally stretched your arms and got your things and made to leave. The floor was all quiet. 

You stepped into the lift, mentally making plans to make instant ramen and watch your favorite movie. You were so engrossed in those that you didn’t notice that instead of descending, the lift climbed higher, stopping on the floor you dreaded. 

You were pulled out of your reveries when the doors pinged open and you stepped out only to bump into a warm and hard chest. You looked up and found Chanyeol looking at you. 

Oh no no no no NO 

You were fast to turn, but Chanyeol was faster. His arm came around your waist, pulling you to him, your back against his chest, his lips at your ear as his deep voice sounded in the empty area.

“Y/n please... please hear me out. I.. I am sorry. I really am, about that night. Please...” 

He sounded so... weak and vulnerable in those moments. His hand holding onto you, his broken plea. His hard body against yours shook slightly, awaiting your reaction, half dreading it. 

You wanted to scream at him. You wanted to tell him that you didn’t want to hear it. You wanted to pull away from him and say some really mean words and hurt him just the way he hurt you. You wanted to be far far away from him. 

But you were a weak woman when it came to him. You were weak for him. You were weak for his touch upon you. You were weak for the words voiced in that deep voice of his. You were weak with the way that voice took such control of you and your coherence. 

Had it been some other man, you would have pulled away, released your pent up frustration and then left. 

But Chanyeol wasn’t some other man. 

So you didn’t do any of those things, sighing deeply against his body, you nodded wordlessly. 

He turned you so that you faced him, hand still around your waist, holding you close, his face inches from yours, his hot breathe caressing your face. You didn’t realize you were cold until the warmth from his body seeped into yours and you found yourself leaning into it involuntarily. 

His brows were slightly furrowed, he looked at you with a pained expression,  such longing and sincerity in his eyes that the expression made you feel bare in front of him. Your heart was hammering in your chest, letting out breaths in small puffs as you tried to tell your mind to calm the fuck down.

You expected an apology, a half assed explanation perhaps. But what he said caught you off guard. 

“I missed you.” 

The words felt foreign on his tongue, felt unfamiliar to your own ears. Chanyeol had said a lot of stuff to you. But never these words. 

“Liar.” 

The word was out of your mouth before you properly process it, flinching inwardly at the unintentional yet somewhat intentional bite in that singular word which managed to capture your current feelings towards him. 

“I’m not lying, y/n. I missed you. Every single day, every single moment, I missed you.” 

His words and his grip around your waist were laced with fear and desperation, and gods, you wanted it, your heart yearned for it. Yet, another part of you was equally conflicted, whether or not to let him in again and let him destroy parts of you that you were trying to heal so desperately. 

He was making you weak for him all over again, with just a few words. 

You shook your head, “Chanyeol... stop. Whatever you’re trying to get at here, just stop. I... can’t take it! This is just like earlier again. You ask for an in, I let you in and then... and then you leave. Again. So, stop. Please.”

He sighs deeply, pain flashing across his features, his arm around you tightening as he pulled you even closer. His breathe mingled with yours when he spoke.

"Don't go. Please."

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying not to tear up again from the sheer force of all what was running through your mind. A torrent of buried emotions was resurfacing and you couldn't stop it. Your voice broke over the tears you tried to stop.

"You... you're hurting me. Don't you understand that?!? One moment, you want me and the other, you don't. That's so fucking confusing!"

It felt cathartic, to scream those words out to him, you took deep deep breaths, mumbling a little at the end.

"You ruined me. Hurt me. And I thought I was okay but seeing you now, I know I'm not and that's all your fault!

That's when you push him away, trying to put some distance between you both. He reached out with a hand, lips trembling and you could almost see the cogs in his brain moving, thinking on what to say.

"Y/n... I'm.. I'm sorry. I missed you so much. I can't- "

"Stop, Chanyeol. Stop it! Can't you understand!? I hate this all of this. I hate how my heart still holds onto you after what happened that night. I hate how all I've ever wanted is to be yours." You were panting now, head shaking side to side in internal denial, getting worked up at how ridiculous this situation was. When you spoke again, it was nothing less than a whisper, having spend all your energy on the heated exchange.

"I hate how I still want you even after all what you’ve put me through.”

Chanyeol closed the distance, his hands on your cheeks as he tilted your face, his lips crashing against yours, his tongue seeking entrance, which you readily granted in a heartbeat.

Your arms found their way around his neck, fingers tangling in his silky blonde locks, holding him close, pressing your body against his.

Your heart hammered in your chest, but this time there was a twin beat that hammered right alongside yours. There's just something about his touches, the lips that felt perfect against yours, the warmth from his human furnace of a body seeping into yours. 

There was just something about him that made you let go of all pretenses at reason. 

You missed him. You missed him so fucking much. You were just running away. Planning to fake it till you make it, but Chanyeol beat you to it. You missed his lips. You missed his searing kisses that would steal your breathe away. 

Each and every thing about him, whether big or small, made you stupid. It made you want to believe in his words. It made you want to give him chances, endless chances.

You were still very much in love with Park Chanyeol. 

He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, breathing heavily.

“Don’t go, please.” The words were a breathless whisper, a chant in his head and heart. He sounded so broken, so vulnerable, it squeezed your heart until you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think straight. 

. 

He took you home, and you let him. Chanyeol’s lips and touch were like a drug and you’d gladly let yourself be intoxicated by him. You knew it was bad for you, letting him in again so easily, but what could you do? 

The moment you stepped inside the door, his hands were on your waist, turning you around, his lips on yours, his hands pulling you impossibly closer. His lips molded against yours with a fervent need burning in them. It was surprising how he made your head swim and he hadn’t even done anything to you yet. 

You expected it all to be just the way it always happened, the frenzy of lips and tongue and teeth and clothes, impatient hands roving all over you, his touches setting fire to all reason. 

But it all changed when you legs hit the mattress and he did something you weren’t quite expecting. He turned you both, him landing on the bed with you on top of him, he pulled back a little and with the height difference now, he was literally looking up at you. 

This time, it was different. 

It was different when his lips found their way to your neck, leaving a trail of chaste, close lipped kisses. It was different when his hands found purchase in your hips and held you impossibly close as if scared that you would vanish into thin air the moment he let you go. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Those words broke your reveries. They were a breathless whisper against your skin, as if he was trying to imprint the words there, Each and every touch of his upon your heated skin felt as if murmuring an apology. His gentle fingers that explored every curve and plane seemed to echo that apology. As the fabric of your clothes slid off your skin, the lingering touch seemed to murmur in an apology. 

As his clothes and yours found a new place to be on the floor, his arm wound tightly around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest as if scared that you’d push him away and leave without a trace just the way you did three months ago. The heat from his skin seeped into you, you who’d been cold for so long without him. Even as your lips detached from each other’s, they brushed together, your breathes mingling with his. 

You pulled back further, sitting up on his lap, allowing him to adjust the weight, the hooded look in his eyes mirrored yours, his hands were at your sides, fingers brushing against the underside of your breasts, eyes travelling over every bare inch of you with such adoration in his eyes that you could have sobbed. When your lips found his again, his tongue explored your wet cavern like he needed this, needed you more than his next breathe. 

A low moan reverberated against your fingers as you explored the expanse of his chest sculpted from perfection, marveling at each and every plane and curve, his body shivering slightly. His other cradled your head, brushing aside stray strands of your hair.  As his lips leave yours, they began a downward trail, along your jaw and down your neck, down and down to the place between both your breasts.

“I’m sorry.” The words were breathless whisper, brushing his lips tenderly over the spot again and again, as if trying to imprint the words there. He kissed and bit and sucked on that spot, sure to leave a mark. His arm around you tightened, pressing his hips firmly against yours, eliciting a choked moan of his name from your parted lips. “I’m so fucking sorry.” 

Your head was in the clouds, your senses in a haze, you couldn’t bring yourself to either simply nod or say something to him, especially not when his lips on your skin and his hips grounding against yours was enough to make you forget your own name. Your sweatpants weren’t much of a help, rather a nuisance. He pulled away with a final nibble, getting you both rid of your remaining clothes. 

It was fast, yet slow, same yet different. Your breaths were fast, yet it felt as if you couldn’t get enough oxygen in, your mouths moving against each others in a primal, fervent sort of need, in wet, sloppy strokes. Each and every touch of his brought back a part of you that had been lost since forever. You missed him so much, so fucking much. You had been so bleak, so empty without him. You loved how he made you feel like yourself again. 

It was mutual, the need and desperation with which both of you clung to each other, it was mutual. The need and desperation with which Chanyeol held you in his arms as you finally sunk down on his length, his swollen lips parting in a broken moan of your name, head falling back against the pillows, eyes struggling to stay open and maintain contact with yours. The need and desperation with which you moved your hips against his, hands against his chest as you rocked against him. 

“Beautiful. You’re so beautiful, y/n.”

When the words registered against your clouded brain, you wanted to sob and beg, beg the heavens that this at least this meant something. That his words meant something, his apology meant something, his mighty heart thundering against your fingers meant something. That the position you were in, you on top of him and him at your mercy, it meant something. You were lightheaded, with the unspoken emotions coursing through you, with Chanyeol’s girth hitting all the right spots and making you see the stars, with the weight of all these sudden occurences upon your mind. 

Your thighs ached as you tried to keep up the pace you had set, your fingernails digging into his perfect skin and leaving little crescent moons, leaving your mark on him just the way he left his on you. Your skin was on fire as he trailed his hands over every inch of you, mapping it out as if trying to etch it to his memory. He gave you a few moments before he shifted, hands gripping your backside as he thrust up into you. His arms came around your hips, holding you tight before flipping you, with your back to the mattress, his thrusts increasing in pace, your plush lips parting as moans of his name filled the moonlit room. 

You struggled to keep your eyes open, the urge to give in to the pleasure and close your eyes was overwhelming. But you kept them open, looking up at Chanyeol. 

He was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.  

His beauty felt unreal. The way the soft moonlight illuminated his handsome features, skin glistening with a sheen of sweat, every bare inch of his body glowing, literally glowing. As he bend forward and tilted his head to claim your lips in a soft, sloppy kiss, you ran your hands through his silky locks.

You could never get enough of him. You could never move on from him. Just looking at him pulled at your heartstrings, throat constricting with all the unknown and unspoken and unexplored feelings and words you are not yet ready to embrace, even though you knew. He brought his hand to your cheek, tentatively brushing the sensitive skin under your eyes.

“Chanyeol...” Your voice was nothing more than a breathy whimper, he pulled his hand back, rising up and kissing you on your forehead, your name a chant on his lips, his blood, his soul, his existence. He slid his hand between your bodies and rub into you, making your stomach clench.

“Please. Don’t go. Please....” Even with the way he was above you and writhing under, he sounded so broken, so desperate. It was as if all his pleas were slowly but surely banging of the ironclad walls of your heart and with this one, his length filling you up wonderfully, fingers making you clench in euphoric pleasure, this one was the final nail in the coffin.

You rose up on your elbows, brushing your lips against his, breaths mingling as you whispered against his lips, “I’m not going anywhere, Chanyeol.”

That was all what the tall man needed and few more of his miraculous touches, you unraveled under him, his name a string of chants and you spilled all over him. his body jerked above yours, tumbling into the abyss with you, his grip on your hip so hard that you knew it’d bruise.

Your thighs quivered as he pulled out of you, his body fell alongside yours, the room that was filled with moans and pants and whimpers was now silent, yet it was abuzz with unspoken questions and uncertain answers. The silence was broken with his deep voice.

“Please, y/n. I know my track record of dating isn’t that impressive but please... give me a chance. Small steps? Please.”

You turned to look at him, his eyes were downcast, he was fidgeting with his fingers, fear of a looming rejection written all over his features.

You sighed, tilting his chin with a finger, you let your lips brush against his, not really a kiss but rather a fleeting contact. You pulled back as you said, almost fearful of your next words.

“You can start by not leaving, Yeol.”

He heaved an audible sigh of relief at your words, arms wrapping around you as he pulled you close, burying his nose in your neck, taking a deep breath and peppering featherlight kisses. Your fingers moved softly through his hair, eyelids heavy as you found yourself drifting off into the land of sleep to the sound of his steady heartbeat.

Chanyeol held your weak heart in his skillful hands and all you could do was pray that he didn’t break it again.

.

You opened your eyes to the sunlight filtering through your curtains and you found a small smile making it’s way to your lips at the warmth that seeped into you, at the heavy arm slung around your waist, the grip nowhere suffocating rather comfortingly tight, the kind that makes you feel safe.

Yes, the road ahead was uncertain and was filled with a lot of obstracles to overcome, but you’ll find a way.

Together. 

But right now, all you wanted to do was bask in this feeling. In this wonderful feeling of being in his arms, being his.

. . . . .

Final Note:- and it is over. i know i’m perhaps being too sentimental but this fic means a lot to me. The prequel of this piece was my first ever request as a writer. it is very special for me. writing this was an experience i will never forget. thank you all once again. oh and yeah, HAPPY BIRTHDAY EXOLS! Let’s Love for a very long time! ily <3333

#exo #exo fanfic #exo fi #exo oneshot #exol #kpop #kpop fic #kpop fanfic #kpop oneshots #park chanyeol #exo chanyeol #chanyeol #chanyeol angst #chanyeol fanfic #chanyeol fic #chanyeol fanfiction #chanyeol imagines #chanyeol smut #chanyeol series #chanyeol scenario #chanyeol one shot #chanyeol x reader #chanyeol x you #park chanyeol x you #park chanyeol x reader #chanyeol au #exo smut #exo angst #exo scenarios #exo fanfiction

[lament4piligrim]

МК1 AU, where Hanzo Hasashi is not rebirthed

After Ahsoka's ending, I cried my eyes out all over and then thought of my AU.

[Hanzo Hasashi] What if Hanzo became a ghost again? But he was no longer seeking revenge, but peace?

It took him a long time to forgive Lin Kuei, yet even longer to forgive himself.

He quietly watched as Liu Kang restarted the timeline. As the universe breathed life, and with it came death. Thousands, millions of lives drifted away through the eons, and Hanzo realized for a moment that being human was much harder and more exciting. As much pain as he saw in the hearts of humans, he also saw boundless happiness.

He learned to rejoice in the little things and to have a deep understanding of those who had stepped on the path of evil. He learned how to curb anger and hatred.

But the hardest part was learning to let go of those he loved more than his own life.

After many more eons, he finally saw them.

Harumi was still as beautiful and majestic as ever. There was a goodness and strength in her soul that Hanzo could not have had in his lifetime. She cared for other people she didn't know in her previous life. But Hanzo couldn't blame these 'children', they weren't the ones who had hatred and dislike for Shirai Ryu. They were the ones who had created it.

Hanzo would have laughed at the ridiculousness of it. If his Kuai Liang had found out that his counterpart was now Scorpion, he would have definitely frozen with shock. If his Harumi found out that she was now married to someone else….. Hanzo didn't know how his beloved would react.

It all seemed unfair.

But on the other hand, if he wasn't with them, maybe they could have the happiness they deserved. They could give Satoshi a long life full of joy and adventure.

A lot had happened since they had defeated Shang Tsung, defeated Havik….. and made peace with Bi-Han. His worst enemy… and his sin. Watching this man who dreamed of becoming Grandmaster of a powerful clan manage to escape the clutches of darkness, avoid his fate of becoming Noob Saibot, was a true blessing. Bi Han was able to suppress his insatiable greed, learned patience and forgiveness, and restored his clan's honor, once again becoming the protector of the Earthrealm with Shirai Ryu.

Kuai Liang regardless of whether he was Sub-Zero or Scorpion, he was still the same Kuai Liang he had once known. Loved. And still does. He was brave and righteous, knew regret and pain, but unlike Hanzo he was able to muffle it all and not follow the path he himself had once walked. Kuai Liang deserved his title, bestowed upon him by the clan for his strength and heart. Just as he deserved to be Shirai Ryu's Grandmaster and, as bitter as it was, to be Harumi's husband. To be Satoshi's father. With him, his family has a chance to live happily ever after.

A chance they wouldn't have if he was with them.

Perhaps it was time for him to let go and forgive himself.

"You will not show yourself to them, my dear friend?" "They don't need to." "They miss you."

Liu Kang never lied. Not to friends, not to enemies.

The very thought that his loved ones, even without knowing much about him, still missed him warmed his dead heart.

"My place is in the old world, amidst the agony and pain we endured. I will keep them until my time comes." "When they remember, they will be miserable, Hanzo. They will look for you, all of them." "Then I entrust them to you, my friend. You will do the right thing." "That is cruel. But I respect your choice. Farewell, Hanzo Hasashi."

The two once allies bowed to each other.

Hanzo took one last look at the happy faces of his loved ones and disappeared with the falling fire petals of the Fire Garden.

He was at peace at last.

P.S. I'm crying Anakin is so😭

P.S.2 Now I need a fullstory for this AU, but I don't think I could handle this(

#mk1 #mk #kuai liang #bi han #mortal kombat 1 #hanzo hasashi #harumi shirai #hanzo x kuai #hanzo hasashi x harumi hasashi #subscorp #subscorprumi #mk1 2023 #post mk1 #bi han got redemption #hanzo found peace #dead hanzo au #mk scorpion #mk sub zero

[arminsumi]

Hey! I was wondering if you could do armin x Violet Evergarden!reader (where reader is some kind of weapon used by Survey Corps or Marleyan Army)

Drink lot of water and take care :)

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱ protector

Armin x fem!reader ♪

Overview; Levi entrusts you with the task of protecting Armin during a mission.

Wordcount; about 1k

Contents; fluff (sparing), angst, war/battles

Warnings; mentions the reader enduring battle and hardships, reader having a breakdown when she reunites with Armin

Note; oooh it's been a while since i watched Violet Evergarden 👀i hope you like how this turned out hehe!! 💕 ALSO I FOUND OUT THAT VIOLET AND MIKASA SHARE THE SAME VOICE ACTOR OMG

Roughened up by a battle, you trudge upstairs to your bedroom in the Scout's headquarters. On the way you encounter a kind smile from Armin. You look at him blankly and greet him quietly in reply.

"Good morning, Armin." you say monotonously.

"Y/n, you're hurt." he comments caringly, looking over your wounds.

"It's no matter; we were victorious and drove the soldiers away. The headquarters is safe, and I fulfilled my duty." you say.

Armin upturns his brows at you. Not a soul lurks in the corridor, so he takes your hand in his. "Let's get you patched up. Then you need to rest."

"But I'm fine." you assure. But Armin insists. "You look tired. Let me care for you. C'mon, I promise I'm excellent with bandaging." he says earnestly.

He's always treated you gently, and more importantly, he's always treated you like a human. Your distantness and expressionlessness deterred many Scouts, and some treated you as just a weapon. Sometimes even you saw yourself as just a weapon; showering was just polishing the weapon, eating was just reloading the weapon.

But when Armin carefully wraps bandages around your arm, you begin to feel things. Pleasant things. But you can't quite put your finger on what these feelings are.

"My heart is panging." you comment. Armin looks at you concernedly and asks: "Are you alright?" to which you bluntly reply, "I don't know, it started panging when I saw you, and when you're this close it pangs harder. I don't know what it means."

Armin goes pink in the face, and his heart pangs. "Oh, I see..."

Days passed, and old battles became meaningless as newer, more arduous ones emerged. Erwin sent for you one day.

"We're heading into the heart of Marley tomorrow, and I want you to oversee the safety of Armin. He is your priority."

You have your hands neatly tucked behind your back and your shoulders taught like a real soldier.

But what is this pang that you feel in your chest when you hear Erwin's command? Your whole being seems to light up at the mention of Armin's name.

He looks at you with his remarkably intense gaze. "Can I entrust this task to you?" he asks seriously.

"Yes, sir." you reply confidently.

Erwin looks at you contemplatively for a moment before nodding and dismissing you.

When you leave his office and lead down the corridors, you hear passing comments about yourself. Some people call you emotionless, some cruelly question "what's wrong with her?"

But not Armin; he always talks to you like a friend, and comes to your defense when someone says anything hurtful. Even though in reality you deflect their harmful words as if your conscious is made of armor.

As soon as you find Armin, and discuss the recently issued command from Erwin, you treat him with such formality that he stiffens up and blushes. You notice he's stuttering and playing nervously with the hem of his uniform's coat.

"I'm at your service, sir." you tell him.

"Don't say that. We're in this together. I'll protect you, and you'll protect me, okay?" he gives you a little smile.

"...okay."

"Is she there?" a Marleyan soldier asks nervously, looking around in the night.

"I don't know. I can't see."

"There!"

But not a moment after they catch a glimpse of you, they're thudding lifelessly to the floor. To you, it's all swift and agile motions; effortless.

You return to the point where Levi and his squad reside.

"Is that all of them?" he asks.

"Yes, sir." you answer. Armin looks at you as if he's just witnessed Mikasa or Levi in action for the first time again.

"Good work, Y/n." Levi commends you.

Armin comes close to you when Levi goes to communicate the situation with Erwin. "Are you hurt? I have bandages and medicine, if you need..." Armin asks you.

"No. I don't need medical attention. But I am grateful for your concern."

Armin feels soothed knowing you're unscathed, but at the same time, he childishly wishes he could repay your efforts by patching you up. He's really good with bandages, as he said so himself.

Levi returns with a serious face. "We're heading into the heart of the city now. Everyone be attentive and sharp out there. Eren and Mikasa, you're with the Commander, and Y/n and Armin, you're with me."

He bears a heavy gaze at you for a moment, before speaking to his squad. "Don't get separated."

You alone emerge from rubble, pain searing across your body. Through the chaos of explosions and collapsing buildings, it's a miracle that you have survived.

Everything seems fuzzy and distant, but slowly reality comes back into focus; and you realize you aren't at Armin's side.

Wherever Armin is, you're not there to protect him like you had promised Erwin you would. But that's not the only reason you panic. The idea that he's hurt or dead frightens you, it's an all-consuming fear in your chest right now.

You trek over the deserted battlefield, amongst destroyed buildings and fallen soldiers. Searching for someone through tea-blurred vision is hard. Calling out their name is impossible with a strangled voice.

But you finally find him, blond hair dirtied and ruffled, his stature weakened by tiredness and his wounds.

When he sees you, he suddenly reanimates, and comes running to you, but not faster than you, who cries out his name in a scream. "Armin! Armin!"

"Are you hurt?" Armin asks worriedly, but your reply is to collapse into his chest and sob.

You burst out crying for the first time in a very, very long time. And he had never heard you cry before, the sound hurt him more than anything, so he immediately held you.

"I couldn't protect you, I'm sorry!" you keep saying, and his brows furrow more each time you say that.

"It's alright, the chaos separated us."

That only makes you cry harder, so armin looks around in panic for better words. You grip onto his scuffed uniform, crawling up to his chest for comfort, and he let you, embracing your trembling body.

"I'm sorry I failed to protect you." you sob, lips pressing against the the lining of his uniform's coat. "I'm sorry!"

Armin looks at you and tears up a bit when you say that.

"It wasn't your fault, and you didn't fail to protect me, alright? I'm glad you're here with me... I was worried about you." he mumbles against your forehead, lips grazing a small wound.

You continue to weep in his arms while he soothes you. The battle was somehow won come the next dawn, and if it hadn't been for Armin to piece you back together, then victory would have been impossible.

Armin smiles to himself as he encounters you down the same corridor where you two first met. His eyes recognize the new pendant fastened to your collar; a mark of your valiant effort in the war.

"How are you?" he asks in a soft voice.

"I'm tired..." you answer, smiling sheepishly. "I just want to lay down in the grass and watch the clouds pass."

"Why don't we?" he suggests.

You raise your brows at him. "Huh? You mean, right now?"

"Sure. Why not. I'd love to laze in grass with you. Just, uh, maybe don't tell the Commander that I was being lazy when I had errands to run..."

"Of course, sir." you beam. Armin's heart melts when he sees your true smile.

"Please, call me Armin."

#🐬ocean prince #armin #armin arlert #aot #snk #oneshot #angst with a happy ending #angst #violet evergarden #au #armin x reader #armin x fem!reader #fem reader #armin x f reader #armin x y/n #armin x fem reader #attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin armin

[lamemaster]

The Prince My Sister Speaks Of

Pairing: Rog x Reader'

Summary: Rog carries within his heart these stolen pieces of you. He has loved you from the very first moment of meeting you. His affections for you, however, remain a well-kept secret.

AN: I really wanted to participate in this event. So, here's my entry.

Rog pines. He does so as his hammer shapes the seething metal, he does so as he sits in lengthy meetings. He would rather perish pining for you than witness another fate.

For a looming hardy smith, Rog's heart is nothing but the softest cotton for you. It blooms from a single glance by you and weaves itself into a thread to make a tapestry of you.

Even now as you chase after a giggling princess Idril, Rog's eyes follow your every movement. You are Lady Elenwe's sister, thus, Idril's aunt.

You had left Valinor following your sister. Rog wasn't there to witness your journey or your loss. His life had started on the shores of Middle Earth separated by seas, it was a wonder that Rog's path had somehow met yours.

You carry in you the light of Aman. The entire city of Gondolin knows of you. King Turgon's sister-in-law, who resides in the world of dreams.

A romanticist. You are a dreamer. A soul who walks the paths of Gondolin with a skip in their step, crouching among stacks of books all detailing deeds of love. During dark solitary nights when most scurry to light lamps or find comfort in their homes, you are found staring dreamily into the sky that holds all of Varda's creations.

Maybe that is the reason why King Turgon entrusts you completely with his treasured daughter.

You have looked after Princess Idril ever since your sister's death. Not even an ounce of darkness has come to the princess in your wake. It is said when the entire family grieved for Lady Elenwe's death, you were there holding on to your niece, singing her a soothing lullaby.

Rog carries within his heart these stolen pieces of you. He has loved you from the very first moment of meeting you. His affections for you, however, remain a well-kept secret.

The room pulses with an inexplicable heat, perhaps a result of the wine flowing freely among the company. King Turgon succumbed to intoxication long ago, his alcohol tolerance no match for the revelry.

Glorfindel and Ecthelion remain locked in conquest over the coveted loveseat. The others have long abandoned any attempts to intervene, letting the two elves sort out their seating dispute in their own boisterous manner.

Penlod, wisely, chose solitude over the rowdiness of the gathering, seeking refuge in this quieter corner. Meanwhile, Egalmoth has shifted his focus from the merriment to engage in what seems like profound conversations with the sapphires adorning his crown.

And then there's you — comfortably nestled on the chaise, a half-filled glass of wine cradled in your hand, your cheeks flushed from the abundant indulgence.

Yet, amid this chaotic scene, a world-altering event remains unnoticed by the intoxicated crowd. Rog, a pillar of unwavering composure, sits with unflinching poise. His back is as straight as a spear, seemingly impervious to the revelry around him. The wine in his glass ripples with the faint tremors he can barely conceal.

The epicenter of this upheaval? You. Leaning heavily against Rog, your head rests trustingly on his broad shoulder. Your hair cascades like a waterfall down his back, and the warmth of your breath skims his neck as you mumble incoherent words.

For Rog, each beat of his heart resounds louder than the clamor of his own forge. Your hushed, unintelligible utterances, so close to his ear, send ripples of both trepidation and exhilaration through him.

"She said emm she said... that I would marry a prince," your tipsy murmurs reach Rog's ears, your lips brushing temptingly close. He takes measured breaths, attempting to steady his racing heart as your ramblings persist. "Elenwe said that...," the mention of your sister stirs an involuntary twitch from Turgon even in his slumber, though you seem blissfully unaware. "but prince work in forge like Feanor did...then are you the prince? My prince?" you query, your voice a delicate melody that winds its way into Rog's very soul.

A prince...a concept so alien to him, a notion he could have never imagined. You, who were not born of royalty, now address him with a term that feels foreign yet tantalizingly sweet. As you delicately set aside your glass, Rog's world shifts. Your warmth leaves him, though the lingering sensation of your touch remains etched upon his skin.

Turning back towards him, you rise unsteadily, your hands finding purchase on his sturdy shoulders. Your bleary smile, a radiant beacon amid the haze of the room, holds a magnetic pull. Rog's lips twitch, the desire to mirror your expression warring with the taut control he maintains.

Your hands cup his rugged face, drawing his gaze into the depths of your eyes. In this intimate moment, your voice is a whisper, softer than a sigh, "Will you be my prince, Rog? Will you fulfill the prophecy my sister shared? Will you wed me?" The words hang in the air, untainted by the usual lilt of jest or the haze of inebriation. They are a genuine inquiry, vulnerable and heartfelt.

Rog's heart, once a forge that shaped the mightiest of metals, now hammers erratically within his chest. His dark eyes, a reflection of his internal turmoil, search yours for any trace of jest or illusion. But what he finds is unwavering sincerity, a truth that cuts through the haze of the evening.

From the stacked towers of your books to the winding paths of Gondolin your eyes always find him. The Lord of the house of Hammer of Wrath.

You can't help but muse about the way his eyes shine under the light of the Sun. Or how desperately you ward off elleth lingering about his forge.

These days even your darling niece, Idril finds immense joy in rushing into her father's office specifically during meetings with a certain lord. And you can't help but follow Idril with a fluttering heart.

On starry nights with no company in sight, you can't help but ask Elenwe, "Is he the one your stories spoke of?"

#the silmarillion #noldor elves #silmarillion x reader #rog #rog x reader #house of the hammer of wrath #underratedcharacterevent

[alexanderlightweight]

So I know its probably entirely not where you are taking it but my mind can't stop think about Mama-Lilith as matchmaker. Lilith responding to Alec coming out, 'then of course mama will just have to find you the best man'. Eventually deciding on Magnus who will admittedly will bring terrible in-laws, but is powerful, handsome, some experience and is Extremely Committed once in a relationship. So first meeting, Alec thinks blind date, Magnus thinks meet-cute, everyone else... a nightmare! ^-^

you're good! the plan has actually always been that Lilith accidentally gives Alec to Magnus and by the time she realizes it, it's a little too late to do anything and she's stuck with a son-in-law she didn't want. however he's still better than most options so thats okay.

it goes something like this and i hope you enjoy <3

-

“Valentine isn’t going to hide away for the rest of his life.” Lilith says with a sigh as she reaches out and presses her fingers to Alec’s jaw. “My sweet son, can I not convince you to come to Edom?” She asks, wishing more than anything that she could simply steal Alec away and bring him back to Edom where he could live with her and Jonathon in safety and comfort.

“Mama,” Alec murmurs and he leans into her touch and his eyes soften from the coldness normally in them. “We can’t be sure I’d survive yet, and it would crush you, if I died.”

Lilith hisses at the reminder and pulls him close, wishing she could just pick him up and hide him away in her power until the danger passed. However, there are prices to pay, and Lilith has not yet found a safe way to bring her sons back and forth from Edom, or Alec would already be with her.

“If things get too dangerous, if Valentine or the clave has even the slightest suspicion of our connection, you must run.” Lilith reminds him and she wishes she’d planned for this better, but mortal years pass so quickly that Lilith didn’t even realize Valentine could still pose a danger to her children.

“Where?” Alec asks her, trusting and so sweet and always willing to listen to her. It breaks her heart that she has to entrust him to another, but protecting him herself will only lead to unwanted eyes and attention on her son.

“Magnus Bane—” Lilith bites out, keeping her voice calm despite her rising anger, “he is son to Asmodeus. The only kin to Edom that still lives, and he and I are on better terms than he and his father. If you go to him and request aid in my name, remind him that I will reward him greatly. That I will ensure he is compensated tenfold for his protection of you.”

Alec nods, because his mother is serious, and he’s never seen her this worried. “Tell Jonathon I’ll be fine.” He reminds her, because while he has yet to actually meet his little brother, he knows the antics the youngest of their family gets up to when bored and worried.

—

“Who are you?” Magnus asks, despite the fact that his wards are giving him very mixed signals and the cold facade of a bloodied warrior melts as soft confusion and awed eyes meet his own.

“Alec—” he’s told, almost haltingly as he’s swayed towards and a light dusting of pink shadows the shadowhunter’s cheekbones. “I, are you Magnus Bane?”

The abyss glints Alexander’s blown pupils and Magnus greedily draws near, recognizing the spark of lust hidden deep within. Alexander is a nephilim, there is no doubt of that, but he’s also something more. Something has tainted his soul in such a way that Magnus’ own magic finds delicious and Magnus steps close and reaches out, a large, calloused hand taking his own cautiously.

“Lilith—” Magnus muses as he gets a better taste of the possessive magic surrounding Alexander, “I wasn’t aware she had a son outside of Edom.”

“I was the first.” Alexander tells him with a small shrug, as if he doesn’t care how big a deal it is. “She sent me here. I’m no longer safe in the Institute with Valentine making so many waves and going so far as to harvest mundane blood. There’s too much of a risk of the clave and he is figuring out things I can’t afford to have them know yet.”

“Valentine is alive?”

“Yes?” Alexander asks him, somewhat confused, “didn’t mother explain that’s why she needed you? Valentine sent her his heir, as a second son and didn’t bother trying to send him in one piece.”

“She conveniently left that part out.” Magnus seethes but he calms himself as he steps closer, because Lilith is flustered enough that she’s given Magnus a very enticing opening. Such as, Lilith’s extremely gorgeous and delightful son who has been sent over like a particularly delectable present. “So, Lilith sent you to me, to take shelter with me, to be under my protection and my authority?” Magnus asks, letting the oath settle between them and he waits as Alexander realizes what he’s said and blushes even deeper.

“I— yes.”

“Then darling, what are you waiting for?” Magnus croons and he lets go of his magic and drapes it across them both with avarice. “I will be your home and your protection, Alexander. For as long as our magic binds us.”

The bond clicks into place greedily, as if it delights in snaring its prize and Magnus feels the difference as Alexander accepts Magnus’ protection and authority.

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #shadowhunters #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters au #my fics #my fanfics #my ficlets

[kylobith]

Engraved on my Heart (Éomer x femOC)

Part 3 of 6

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Summary: Confronting the stark reality of their disparities, Éomer and Éorhild resign themselves to the belief that their paths shall never intertwine again. However, unforeseen developments at Meduseld present Éorhild with a fresh opportunity—one that has the potential to either elate her or become the wellspring of profound sorrow.

Ship/Pairing: Éomer x Original Female Character

Trope: Prince x Maid, Forbidden Love

Word count: 8,888

Note: This feels a bit more like a filler chapter, but I promise that it's important!

Read it on AO3 here.

Unlike most mornings, Éorhild was not roused with ease when Tidrun nudged her awake for her to assume her shift.  With a groan, she withdrew her head beneath the sheepskin, tousling her locks into a matted mess. She harboured no desire to emerge from the comforting isolation of her straw bed, longing for nothing more than to evade conversation with anyone. Aware that she was entrusted with a position at the royal household's breakfast service, she anticipated that the mere sound of Éomer’s voice would shatter her composure.

After all, the flow of tears shed the previous night rendered her eyes so tender that opening them seemed an unsurmountable endeavour. They stung and itched, instigating a longing for ice to deflate and soothe them despite her limbs and joints already stiffened by the biting cold in the servants’ quarters. The hearth’s fire had been neglected by the night maids, and the stooped silhouettes bore witness to it.

Every fibre of her being ached — her body, heart, soul. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. Why rouse from slumber to meander through the day and yearn for the sweet respite of bedtime when all feelings are dulled and dimmed? Why exert effort when nobody would take notice? Why, oh why, love when her heart was fated to be torn asunder by the forbidden?

As pragmatic and assured as she had been when reminding the prince of their reality, emphasising his duty to wed Lady Lothíriel to secure Rohan’s future with a queen and heirs, she now regretted her grounded perspective. A profound despair boiled within her, prompting her to cast aside all traces of reason and crawl to Éomer’s quarters, where she would implore and beg him to flee the realm with her. Away from Meduseld, away from duty, away from the social fortress dividing them. They could forge a new abode together, a sanctuary where they would be granted the unrestrained expression of their affection. Gone would be the fear of beholding him! No longer would she be plagued by the dread of being discovered holding his hand. They would be liberated. Free to touch. Free to love.

Tidrun hushed something to lure her from the embrace of her bed. The syllables swirled and danced across the gap between the two maids but dissipated long before they graced Éorhild’s ears. Without deigning to request a repetition, she stirred with a nonchalant grunt, shedding the sheepskin from her figure with a swift flick of her foot. At her sight, there was a subtle recoil from the other servant, who tried vainly to contain the involuntary gasp passing her parted lips.

‘By all that is sacred, Éorhild, what has happened to you?’ she enquired, her genuine concern etched onto her traits and a hand veiling her ample bosom. ‘You look as though you have not found rest in centuries!’

Irritated by Tidrun’s comment, which only intensified her wish to withdraw from social interactions, Éorhild offered a shrug as a sole response, stifling a yawn. As her fingers traversed through her hair, they encountered stubborn knots obstructing their passage. With feeble momentum, she dragged herself upright, shuddering as the soles of her feet were met by the iciness of the stone floor.

After retrieving her clean uniform from the wardrobe that had been replenished overnight, she tiptoed to the shared washroom, mumbling greetings to her friends who were winding down after diligently scrubbing, sweeping, ironing and folding all night. She handed a well-worn bar of soap that had been forgotten on the table to one of her colleagues immersed in bathwater. The other maid sat with her legs hooked over the edge of the wooden tub, her calves dripping onto the floor.

Indeed, the sole distinction between that morning and all the others from the past sixteen years lay in the silent yet devastating heartbreak that gripped Éorhild. The passing of the torch from the night maids to the cooks and morning servants unfolded as it always did — an everlasting design, unyielding to change. A gentle nudge from the next occupant of her bed would serve as her wake-up call. One or two of the servants would parade or bathe in the nude in the washroom as they unwind before retiring for some well-deserved rest. Balwinë, perennially forgetful, would seek her soap or towel — when not both at once.

Éorhild’s ritual had long been bereft of spontaneity. It operated with unsurprising precision, each step occurring almost at the same hour as the previous morning. Anticipating the night maids’ sloth, she unfailingly bathed before bed, also driven by a desire to keep the straw bed neat between uses. Upon awakening, she would make a brief visit to the privy, followed by a thorough wash of her hands, mouth, and face. Then, once adorned in her uniform, a mere pass of a comb through her hair was required before she proceeded to feast on seasonal fruit in the kitchens.

Always the same cycle. Never anything new.

For the past moons, Éomer had been a delightful disruption in this routine. Not that he would partake in it, of course, but his haunting Éorhild’s mind provided another reason for her to rise every morning. The sole thought of pouring his wine, laundering his tunics and ensuring their impeccable care would make her heart flutter with excitement. Even more vigorously would it beat later in the evening when she would enter the Golden Hall and find him by the hearth, eagerly awaiting to exchange pleasantries and laughter.

But those days were gone. Now, she had to live in fear of their embraces and kisses being discovered, even though they would exert every effort to maintain a distance between each other. There was dread in hearing footsteps near the door of the maids’ room, preparing her for the prospect of surrender if the visitor happened to be a guard arresting her before her execution. The image was clear as day: the gleaming blade of Herugrim poised in the sunlight above her exposed neck, followed by its swift descent that would sever her head from her slumped shoulders in one clean slash.

As Éorhild’s fingers crept up around her neck, she cast a defeated glance towards the window, behind which a vibrant sunrise was unfurling. Was he thinking about her? Did his sleep mirror the turmoil that troubled her own? Did he lie in his bed reminiscing about their first kiss? Did he shed a tear for her?

Or had he briskly cast her from his thoughts altogether, erasing any semblance of their friendship from his memory?

Catching herself with tears brimming in her eyes, she drew a sharp breath and followed her routine. When he exited the washroom, a group of maids stood by the revived flames in the hearth, palms extended for warmth, as they gossiped in hushed tones, careful not to disturb the others.

‘… not found?’

Éorhild trudged towards the door, apprehending her duties at the breakfast service. She yearned to negotiate with one of her fellow workers, willing to shoulder another day of work on top of her own if it meant that she could evade being in Éomer’s presence at breakfast. Yet she had to resign to face reality. One day or another, she would have to cross his path again. What difference did it make, whether it was on that day or within a month? The pain within her heart would remain unchanged.

Kneeling on the floor to lace up her leather slippers, which she retrieved from a row of shoes by the door, one of the maids engaged in the conversation around the fire called out her name. Refusing to partake in any gossip, she ignored her, pretending not to have heard her at all. As she spoke anyway, she deflected her attention to the common bristle brush, running it against the tip of her shoe to rid it of dirt and grime. And with it, pieces of moss from the hillside escapade with Éomer.

‘… guard exiled!’

Tapping the bristles against the doorpost, Éorhild placed the brush back where she found it before leaving for the kitchens. On her way, she overheard whispers and gasps from the household staff, yet she found no inclination to listen. With each step, her pace weighed heavier, as though she was marching inexorably to her own doom.

‘… a replacement?’

‘Oh, Béma preserve her!’

Using the edge of her hand, she pushed the door to the kitchen open. Inside, several cooks were already engrossed around the stoves, seasoning meat or toasting bread in sizzling oil. Others stood hunched over cutting planks, slicing fresh bread whose aroma filled the air, and arranging the slices into a lavish woven basket. Éorhild nodded at one of them, who greeted her with a brief hand wave. Pulling her headscarf from her pocket, she kept her back to the wall and concealed her hair underneath the thin linen.

‘It is going to be a normal day,’ she silently attempted to comfort herself as her heart thundered inside her chest and her stomach churned. She was aware that upon exiting the kitchen, Éomer would be seated in the hall beside his uncle. ‘There is no reason to worry. Nobody will know we ever kissed if we do not speak to one another.’

Yet once she came to face the fruit basket from which the maids were allowed to help themselves, a lump formed in her throat. A violent heave in her stomach seized her, causing her to stumble back. All colours drained from her cheeks as she pressed the pads of her fingers against her lips as if to stave off the urge to retch. All sounds from the kitchen were dulled by the overwhelming pounding of her heart echoing in her ears. Her fingers clawed at her shirt, but much to her relief, the nausea subsided as promptly as it had come.

‘Éorhild?’ a voice called out to her. Her eyes searched frantically for its source and locked with Mildrid, one of the senior maids tasked with setting up a presentable fruit basket for the royal family. The woman rushed to her side and held her firmly by the waist, touching her forehead with the back of her fingers. ‘Dearie, you are as pale as the first snow! Are you feeling well?’

‘Yes, Mil,’ she responded with an audible gulp, fearing that her dizziness might return. ‘I believe that I moved too fast. My night has not been the most restorative.’

‘Obviously not; your eyes are red beacons. Well, if you say that you are fine, I will trust you, but if your state persists, you must inform me right away.’

‘I promise, Mil. But you know me, I am too tough for any ailment.’

Mildrid chuckled and patted her shoulders before returning to her task. At least, she had believed her. Éorhild sighed and eyed the untouched fruit she had intended to eat. Visibly, her sorrow was such that it affected her appetite. Contemplating sinking her teeth through the skin and indulging in its juicy flesh triggered another wave of nausea.

She resigned herself to the prospect of hunger. She could endure an hour or two more of it; surely, she would regain some of her ravenousness once duty would disperse the royal family from the table.

Éorhild assisted Mildrid with preparing baskets and arrangements destined for the hall once the table was set. Before long, the kitchen door opened, and Edelmer, the chamberlain, made his solemn appearance.

‘Their Majesties King Théoden and Lady Éowyn have graced the Golden Hall,’ he heralded. ‘Before you enquire about the rumours that have spread among our kin this morning, we must await further orders from the king. No decision can be made without his approbation. Now, their breakfast service must commence.’

Before Éorhild could seek an explanation from Mildrid, as she found herself unsure of what Edelmer could mean, the older woman thrust a pitcher of cider into her hands.

‘Oversee the serving of beverages this morning, dearie,’ she chimed. ‘If the sight of food makes you swoon, I will not have you do so in front of the king.’

She nodded in response, steeling herself before marching out. Thankfully, only the king and Lady Éowyn were present; Edelmer did not mention Éomer. Would he attend at all, or would he forgo his meal to avoid her?

Oh, how she longed to chastise herself and deliver a resounding strike across her own cheek for entertaining such ideas. She had existed merely as a backdrop in Éomer’s life for so long. It was quite implausible for her to occupy his mind and trouble it with her absence as much as she was distraught by the end of their friendship.

When she entered the hall with her head low, she instantly discerned the tension in the king’s demeanour. His fists rested heavily on the wooden table, his thumbs twitching and repeatedly pressing against his curled index. Somehow, the prolonged silence bore a heaviness more pronounced than on ordinary days. It was rare that the king would utter a word at the start of the maids’ morning parade, but his stillness was usually ceremonious. But this time, it was disturbed by the muffled gritting of his teeth as he clenched his jaw. He did not pay the servants much mind when they lined up and bowed respectfully before covering the table with the various treats and delicacies prepared with utter devotion. Only Éowyn thanked them.

Éorhild approached the table and poured cider into the lady’s cup, careful not to spill it onto her fingers. She retreated to the frame of one of the arches behind her, awaiting any shift in the king’s demeanour that would signal his desire for a drink. It would not happen for a few minutes; King Théoden always made a point of devouring meat and a slice of bread before indulging in a beverage to quench his thirst and soothe his parched throat.

‘Uncle,’ Éowyn spoke, ‘please tell me that the gossip in our halls is false. Surely you did not administer such harsh judgement!’

Théoden picked a slice of bread and tossed it into his plate.

‘Our law is our law, Éowyn,’ his voice echoed throughout the lofty hall, carrying its sternness. ‘If anything, I have been nothing but merciful.’

Éorhild stared at the table’s feet, her curiosity piqued. Listening to the king’s conversations was always something she did, but it was merely to detect any shift in his tone or words that would betray thirst or hunger, which she could solve by filling his goblet or presenting him with food. This time, it appeared that something was amiss in Meduseld. Something ominous and noticeably troubling the Lady of Rohan.

Her speculations drifted to Éomer’s absence at the table, and her heart raced anew. Could it be that the guard had, in fact, detected her presence under the prince’s mantle the previous night and denounced her? If any punishment had been meted out against the king’s nephew, then it would explain his niece’s anxiety.

It could also signify an impending risk of her being arrested at any moment.

As her throat constricted with the weight of what this dreadful notion entailed, footsteps resounded beneath the opposite arches, prompting a visible relaxation in the king’s body language.

‘Ah, Éomer, there you are,’ he exclaimed.

Éorhild stiffened, meticulously counting every breath she took to anchor herself and keep another wave of nausea at bay. A chair was drawn out from underneath the table in a screech, and the prince sat with a heavy sigh. A moment passed before Mildrid gently elbowed her with a subtle chin jerk to alert her to him holding out his cup. Éorhild murmured an apology and stepped forth to tip the pitcher over his goblet with a trembling hand. She pressed a folded napkin against the container’s beak to blot any stray drop and joined the servants’ rank again.

‘So,’ the king started, ‘did you oversee what I told you to?’

‘Yes, uncle. The girl’s room has been cleared of all her belongings, and she has vacated the premises.’

‘Very well,’ Théoden said before marking a pause to savour his relief. ‘Tell me, had you observed any similar impudence from the girl?’

‘No, uncle. I was just as surprised to learn of it as you were.’

A sharp thump caused by a raging fist made all the cutlery laid out on the table clatter, and cups threatened to tumble. Servants, king and prince jolted from Éowyn’s outburst as her strained breathing disrupted the ensuing stillness.

‘I cannot believe that you are letting this happen! Both of you!’ she chided. Éorhild could perceive from the uncomfortable shuffling of Éomer’s feet that his sister’s reprimand humbled him. ‘She is but a girl, not yet eighteen if I am to trust Dúnhild!’

‘Éowyn, be still,’ the king’s voice rose in irritation. ‘She betrayed her oath and, as such, she must face the consequences of her actions. I showed enough mercy considering that he was a guard and not a courtier.’

A scoff escaped the lady’s throat.

‘There have been much worse affronts committed in this court that were not met with such drastic and cruel measures, uncle. Do you not remember Lord Gammer, who struck his wife unconscious for merely drinking more mead than he had allowed her during our annual banquet? You pardoned him with little more than a slap on the wrist!’

‘This was a different situation entirely.’

‘Indeed, because I found myself stitching the wound on her scalp that night. She could have been gravely injured had her son not caught her!’

‘Precisely. She could have. Yet she did not.’

Éowyn groaned in frustration and seemed to turn to her brother as if to bid him an unspoken plea for his support. Éomer did not respond. He evaded eye contact, sipping at his cider.

‘I know that all our maids swear an oath upon entering our service,’ the lady conceded through gritted teeth, toying with a piece of fruit on her plate without ever bringing it to her mouth, ‘but there was nothing inherently wrong with her action. Éomer had relieved her of her duties when it occurred, and Fréagar had already left his post. None of it was disruptive to their work!’

Théoden slammed his fist on the table in turn, mirroring his niece’s indignation. She froze and stared at the king, anticipating his following words.

‘An oath sworn is ineffable, and it is about time that you understand it if you are to marry Faramir,’ he retaliated, raising a finger to halt her from speaking before she could even open her mouth. ‘Our tradition is simple. Maids are not to take lovers of any kind. Neither affairs nor husbands. They pledge to remain celibate for a reason. I should have had her executed for her betrayal, but I decided to opt for leniency, considering that Fréagar was but a guard.’

‘How dare you call their humiliation and banishment from Edoras lenient? Théodil was but an orphaned girl when Hilda presented her to us when her previous employer passed. She was born within our ramparts; she has nowhere else to go.’

‘Let it serve as a warning to all the other maids who might wish to commit the same crime.’

Éowyn’s chair dragged against the stone as she rose to her feet, tossing her napkin onto the table.

‘Times are immune to change in this wretched land, it seems,’ she hissed. ‘I no longer wish to speak of it. You know my opinion on the matter, and I have no say in your decisions. I will not share your meals for the rest of the day. Good day.’

With these words, the Lady of Rohan stormed out of the hall, returning to her chambers with her maid, Dúnhild, in tow. Once she was out of sight, the king sank back against his chair and sighed, tapping his cup as a cue that he desired to indulge in some cider. While Éorhild tended to him, another servant carried Éowyn’s chair back to the kitchen and cleared her unfinished plate.

‘Do not mind your sister’s antics,’ Théoden huffed, waving a dismissive hand. ‘You are well aware of her proclivity for overreaction. As much as I love her, I find myself wondering whether I have indulged her too much over the years and inhibited her maturation in the process.’

Without emitting as much as a sound, Éomer responded with a mere shrug, holding his cup before his face. From where she stood, Éorhild could discern his white knuckles as he clasped the silver receptacle, which seemed to elude the king. Underneath the table, the prince’s leg shook up and down, attesting to his disapproval of his uncle’s stance and the insult against Éowyn. Yet, he did not voice it.

Fright gripped Éorhild now that she comprehended the situation. Later that morning, Mildrid explained that Théodil, Éomer’s chambermaid whom Hámer sought the previous night, had neglected to attend a small gathering in the servants’ quarters to celebrate the birthday of one of the younger girls employed at Meduseld. It could have remained unnoticed had the chambermaid and the girl not been close friends. Assuming that Théodil might have lost track of time, one of the maids visited her private chamber on the opposite wing of the Golden Hall, only to find the room empty and the bed untouched. After an unfruitful hour-long search, the servants had alerted some guards, who aided them in their endeavour. It took them another hour to discover Théodil and Fréagar in the throes of passion behind the stables. Éomer had been instantly notified, and the king was sent for.

Within just a few moments, the chambermaid and the guard had been banished from the capital for life for their actions. They were allowed the night to collect their belongings and return equipment and uniforms. By the early hours of the day, they were expected to disappear from Meduseld, forbidden to bid farewell to their fellow maids and guards.

Fear surged into Éorhild’s veins as she stood there, eyes riveted to the ground, and perspiration forming in the hollow of her palm rendered her grip on the jug of cider unstable. To remain inconspicuous, she had to clench her teeth to muffle their clattering as her whole body quivered from her sheer mortification at the odds of being denounced for what happened between her and the prince. All hope dwindled as she surrendered to panic and imagined Éomer incriminating her should she ever do something that displeased him — a prospect now heightened by the sudden pressure she shouldered. Flashes of her vision for her execution resurfaced, nearly blinding her and almost prompting the pitcher to slip from her fingers and shatter at her feet.

Éomer would never do that. Hopefully, he had appreciated her enough to spare her life. At least, that was a comforting thought.

Théoden held out his goblet, and Éorhild summoned what she perceived as a tremendous effort merely to advance and pour the amber-coloured nectar.

‘Now there remains one issue on our plate,’ the king spoke, raising his hand when the cup was only about half-full. The maid bowed and stepped away again under the prince’s stern yet fond watch. ‘We must find a replacement for that foolish girl. I will ask Edelmer to survey the maids and choose the most apt one. We must only hope that the new servant will be up to the task and not let herself be corrupted by frivolous guards.’

Furtive but knowing glances were exchanged between the maids, who endeavoured to maintain their composure. This was no ordinary opportunity for them. Becoming a chambermaid to one of the royals entailed several benefits. Allowances were increased, thus enabling them to afford more than the simplest products at the merchants’ stalls. For the younger ones who were still bound to a family, it meant sending a portion of their wages to support their parents and siblings and, therefore, honouring their name. Tasks were fewer and demanded less time, provided the maid displayed efficiency and thoroughness, granting her more moments for recreation. Her status within the hierarchy of household staff was favoured, as some daunting duties could no longer be demanded of her. If, after one month in Éomer’s care, he still found satisfaction in her service, she could renounce her previous oath as a regular servant and swear a new one.

Many were the speculations surrounding this new oath. Unlike the vows that Éorhild once made, those of a chambermaid were never pronounced publicly. Royals often tailored their demands from their new personal servants based on the relationship they developed with them and their own needs. As such, no oath resembled another. For this reason, they were usually made to the royal and, if permitted, a magistrate who could produce a written record of what was promised, should the need arise. Tales of old once spoke of a prince who instructed his chambermaid to vow to strike him if he ever came to be too harsh on his children. Legend had it that the maid only raised her hand once on the prince, and he never again displayed such behaviour towards his heirs, such had his guilt been.

Of course, this was but a legend. Whenever a chambermaid position would open, many of the younger servants would seek to claim it in hopes of securing an arrangement with the noble they served and ridding themselves of their celibacy vows. Many harboured dreams of dalliance with noblemen from distant towns in Rohan and Gondor during their visits, while others would find satisfaction in encountering a handsome ostler and guiding them through the city during their leisure hours before stealing kisses in the hall’s shadows.

But all of that required the royal family’s approbation, and the chance for it to happen was meagre. Not that the royals found it a revolting thought in itself, but rather because they bore weightier concerns on their minds than the celibacy — or lack thereof — of their maids. Some rulers who were more bound to traditions categorically refused to let it happen, for they believed that a good servant was unmarried, childless, and solely devoted to the care of the royal house and its children.

In the peculiar case of Théodil, no new oath had been sworn due to the war, when she assumed the duties of her predecessor, slain during the Battle of the Hornburg. Consequently, she remained bound by her earlier vows, and her liaison with Fréagar yielded disastrous consequences.

Éomer drank the last of his cider and placed the goblet on the table, his gaze fixed upon it for a fleeting moment, lost in contemplation.

‘There is no need to trouble good Edelmer, uncle,’ his baritone voice rose. ‘If you will allow me, I want to choose my chambermaid. One whom I can trust.’

‘That is certainly a strange request,’ Théoden scoffed. ‘Edelmer knows them better than anyone in this palace.’

‘And I do not deny it at all. Only there is one servant in particular whose talents are wasted here. She has been happily serving us for a long time and has done so outstandingly. In all sixteen years of her tending to us, I have never noted a single mistake on her part. She is most excellent.’

Éorhild’s complexion lost all its hues, and she stood frozen. This time, her trembling hands were too unstable to maintain a firm grip on the jug’s handle. Before she even realised that she had let it slip, Mildrid caught it just in the nick of time, saving it from shattering on the floor. The older woman placed it back in her hands and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, a silent indication that she was ordering her to return to bed once the king and the prince finished their breakfast.

Yet she paid no attention to her, offering neither nod nor acknowledgement. Éomer’s words echoed within the walls of her mind, reverberating and filling her with newfound dread.

This could not be happening.

She must have misunderstood.

Béma, please let it be a delusion.

Théoden reclined in his chair and eyed his nephew over a slice of cheese.

‘If you are so sure of yourself, then name her, and we shall fetch her.’

Éomer glanced over the king’s shoulder and witnessed the panic exuding from the young woman’s demeanour. Despite her averted gaze, he knew her well enough to sense that his desire to bring her closer to him again was instilling fear within her. She needed not to speak nor move to convey it.

No harm would befall her. He would ensure that. Any soul audacious enough to stand between them or lay a finger on her would never know peace until Éomer dealt with them. Jealousy and possessiveness were not ingrained in his nature. However, in the course of the previous months, a profound connection had formed between them, one that he cherished to the extent of willingly sacrificing the whole world for her well-being. Within a heartbeat, he would forsake throne and crown. He would relinquish his wealth and armour for a single night in her arms. He would crawl through the mud and soil his name to build a home for her to enjoy with his blood, sweat and tears.

Valar, she needed only ask.

The prince held out his hand towards her, although she remained unaware of it.

‘Her name is Éorhild. She is behind you.’

Théoden raised a discerning eyebrow, and his pupils followed the direction indicated by his nephew. As he scrutinised each maid, anticipating the right one to step forward and introduce herself, Mildrid discreetly nudged Éorhild in the ribs. Lost in thought, her mind was reduced to little more than entangled questions and what she pictured to be the worst outcomes of becoming a chambermaid. The tap extracted her from the mess of it all, and she advanced, bowing ceremoniously.

She could not allow it to diminish her. Though uncertain of the next step in her fate, she resigned herself to this unexpected turn of events. Answers would come to her in time.

‘Your Majesty,’ she spoke with the usual solemn tone she reserved for the House of Éorl.

‘Speak your name again, child,’ Théoden demanded.

‘Éorhild, my liege.’

The king inspected her without leaving the comfort of his chair. A heavy silence lingered for a few moments as the young woman remained bowed in deference.

‘I recognise you,’ he uttered with a deliberate nod, ‘although you have grown since our last encounter. You are the orphan from the Westfold that Hilda insisted on taking in, are you not? The woman nearly begged me. Well. As much as I trusted Hilda, it seems that one of her former pupils caused quite a stir at court last night. I hope you are intelligent enough to abstain from causing such trouble again.’

‘Indeed, I am the child you speak of. If Your Grace grants me a position in the prince’s care, you can rest assured that he will not lack anything. The discomfort of a bed shall never haunt his slumber, for I shall always strive to keep it neat.’

A fond smile graced Éomer’s lips; much to his relief, it remained unnoticed by the king. Théoden considered the servant’s words, running his thumb along his beard.

‘Are you aware that the role of chambermaid is rather different from what you might expect at this court, young Éorhild?’ he enquired with an eyebrow raised. ‘In addition to overseeing the cleanliness of the prince’s chambers, you would also serve as his lady-in-waiting. Your responsibilities would extend to rousing him, dressing him and tending to his attire. Remind him of the duties ahead and accompany him if he demands it. Should his meals occur at a different time than ours, you must ensure he receives his sustenance.’

As Théoden detailed the expectations for the role she was being thrown into, the lump in Éorhild’s throat swelled, making every new breath an ordeal. Her shoulders slumped underneath the weight of what was to come. Upon hearing Éomer name her, she had dared to hope that her contact with him would be confined to the mundane tasks of changing his bedlinen and tending to his chambers. The prospect of becoming his lady-in-waiting, however, brought forth a tumult of anxiety manifesting in a violent churn of her stomach. Nausea, the likes of which had seized her in the kitchens, resurfaced, and the pinching of her lips stood as the only obstacle to her heaving over Meduseld’s floor.

Éorhild’s sanity drowned under her raging thoughts, each capricious wave bringing a heavy burden of anguish and uncertainty that submerged even her pleading hand reaching out for safety. She felt like a ship steering into a storm, at the mercy of the tempest within her heart. Being so intimately involved in Éomer’s daily life was both a dream and a nightmare, and she struggled to bring her feet back to solid ground where she had to fear neither heartache nor losing her head.

Oh, what to do?

Théoden cleared his throat upon her lingering silence, growing impatient as the girl remained hunched over her knees. His fingers drummed on the table as irritation tinted his eyes and tensed his traits. As for Éomer, his concern grew as he discerned the encroaching pallor upon her face. Her petrified demeanour tugged at the strings of his heart as he conceded the delicate decision before her.

All he wanted in this instant was to draw her into the comfort of his arms.

‘Well, girl, do you accept this task?’ Théoden urged. ‘Speak!’

Éorhild drew in a sharp breath and clutched the jug.

‘I accept, your Majesty.’

‘Ah, I was beginning to think that you were mute! Very well. As with any chambermaid, your initiation involves a one-month trial period, effective immediately. If my nephew is satisfied with your service, then he will have you swear the oath. If not, you will be allowed back as a simple maid.’

‘Thank you, your Majesty. I shall work hard not to disappoint the prince.’

Théoden gestured with his hand, signalling for her to stand upright. The young woman obeyed, keeping her head bowed.

‘Edelmer?’ the king summoned the chamberlain, who promptly appeared at his side. ‘Accompany Éorhild to her new quarters and guide her through what is expected of her. Show her all there is to know.’

‘Yes, Your Grace.’

‘And Éorhild,’ the monarch continued, turning to her instead, ‘it is no longer required of you to avert your eyes in our presence. Behold your prince.’

There it was — the moment when she was granted permission to gaze upon the man she coveted. She lifted her chin with gradual deliberation until her eyes met Éomer’s. Rosy hues dotted her warming cheeks as her pupils traced the delicate lines of his face, which she had believed she would never have the chance to admire again.

And just before she caught herself staring, she bowed once more.

‘At last, my prince graces my view,’ she spoke up in appreciation, prompting Théoden to grin in utter amusement. ‘It is an honour I shall never take for granted, as it is to behold my king.’

‘This is certainly devotion if I have ever witnessed it,’ the king laughed. ‘Go and start your initiation. I will have you replaced for the tasks you were initially assigned to.’

‘At your command, Your Grace.’

Mildrid retrieved the pitcher from her hands and offered her arm a congratulatory squeeze. She observed Éorhild as the latter followed the chamberlain to the servants’ quarters to collect her scant belongings. As the maids lounging on the straw mats caught her sifting through the folded uniforms, searching for those adorned with her designated colours embroidered inside the hem, they congregated around her, curious about her impending departure. When Edelmer proclaimed the good news, a blend of celebration and envy emanated from the women. Some displayed authentic joy at her ascension to a better function after so many years of selfless and arduous work; others, more restrained, buried their hopes of liberating themselves from the celibacy vows and the curiosity of gazing upon the royal family.

Éorhild, still rattled by this unexpected change, hardly uttered a word. While the others swarmed her with their questions — especially curious about why the prince would name her in particular — she freed her blond mane from the headscarf and flattened the fabric upon the icy tiles. Setting the uniforms and a few possessions at its centre, she then tied up the corners, forming a bundle. Edelmer carried it for her as she let her fellow maids drown her in warm embraces and well wishes while she humbly thanked each and every one of them, holding their hands or pressing her forehead to theirs as they so often did to support one another through the years.

She departed with a heart divided, torn between the promise of a new opportunity at Éomer’s side and the wrenching sensation of leaving the life she had led since she was twelve.

If only Hilda were still there to guide her. In her typical ways, she would fondly pinch her cheek and punctuate her sentences with léofeon, an antiquated Rohirric term akin to ‘darling’. All the while, she would coax her to the kitchen for a hearty feast of comforting delights she would craft from loose ingredients, some you would never expect to go together so well and yet would taste divine. Hilda’s culinary talents remained unmatched, missed by maids and royal family alike.

In the stillness beyond the reach of curious ears, Hilda would tenderly cradle Éorhild’s head upon her lap while combing her hair and weaving braids into it. A patient listener, she never let her interest waver as the young woman would unburden her heart, and she would never disrupt the thread of shared confidences. Then, once Éorhild brought back to the sanctuary of reassurance, Hilda would impart her wisdom.  She would encourage her to pursue what her heart desired and bestow upon her the most precious counsel life could offer.

No soul was ever lost if sheltered beneath Hilda’s wing.

How might she have perceived her former protégée now entangled in the allure of the prince? So desperately enamoured with him that she broke sacred rules in the king’s back?

There was no doubt that she would have strongly disapproved of it. She not only condemned her heart to endless suffering from an impossible love, but she was also losing sight of what truly mattered. A perilous path that would inevitably cause her downfall.

Yet, Éorhild kept following Edelmer to her new quarters, located merely two doors from Éomer’s. While far from luxurious, they offered privacy at the very least. Upon seeing the solitary bed nestled against the wall, elevated on feet and enclosing an actual mattress, the realisation struck her. In sixteen years, she had never spent a night alone.

She wondered if she was even capable of it. How does one find the relief of warmth without companions to huddle together with? How does one awake without the gentle nudge of a chambermate? Can one surrender to the enticing embrace of slumber when there is no sound to be perceived, whether it be groans or snores?

Éorhild had to figure it out on her own. Novelty certainly did not limit itself to the duties at hand.

As Edelmer stepped outside to grant her time to settle in her new quarters, she stood there in bewilderment, with nothing but the clothes on her back to accompany her. Her old uniforms had been taken away, and the chamberlain only needed to retrieve Théodil’s chambermaid clothes in hopes that they, too, would fit her successor. So, having nothing to do, she idled away the minutes by observing her new surroundings.

For a maid’s chamber, the main bedroom was wide enough to allow movement. With its headboard pressed to the wooden panels covering the wall, the bed faced a chest of drawers with ornate brass handles. Placed on top, two handheld candle holders adorned with half-burnt white sticks awaited their new owner. Trickling drops along their lengths were momentarily immortalised once touched by the cold until they would eventually vanish in the flame's heat. They rested upon a linen doily embroidered with traditional Rohirric patterns in golden thread. Éorhild admired it, brushing her fingertips against the curves and overlapping lines, smiling as she recalled watching Hilda create it when she was younger.

Opposite the door, a narrow window overlooking the valley enabled just enough light to penetrate the room and enfold anything or anyone standing in its beam with its warm mantle. A potted flower graced the thin windowsill, its drooping petals visibly as delighted about the arrival of winter as Éorhild herself. It was probably one of Théodil’s belongings, one discarded or forgotten in the rush of her departure.

On the left side of the room, the nearest corner encroached a sturdy chest, while, next to the window, a simple door opened onto a cramped washroom. Barely enough room existed for a tub, sheltered beneath a shelf adorned with a few towels and a supply of soap bars swathed in leaves. Behind the door, carved into the floor and digging underneath the palace, there was a pipe covered with a hatch through which she could dispose of her waste, a feature that the servants’ quarters lacked. Tossing the contents of chamber pots through the tiny windows that seldom allowed their arms to go through without spilling now seemed a thing from the past.

Life was about to change in ways she had not anticipated. It had all come so fast, at absolute breakneck speed. As she stood by the window to admire the view, Éorhild sighed and wrapped her arms around herself.

Behind her, the door creaked open, and Edelmer appeared with a stack of different uniforms balanced on his forearm. Once they ensured they were comfortable enough for her to wear, the chamberlain showed her all she needed to know about her new duties. She proceeded to strip the prince’s bed from its sheets, replacing them with clean bedlinen that Théodil had scented with dried flowers from the valley. The following hours she spent washing, hanging, dusting, wiping, and sweeping, regarding each task with the utmost seriousness. With a resolve she did not imagine herself capable of demonstrating, she forbade her inner turmoil from disrupting the thoroughness of her labour. Not a single surface was left with so much as a speck of dust. Not an inch of the wooden floor was left unpolished and dull. Not a wrinkle from the pressed bedsheets was allowed to persist. She departed the prince’s room in no time, leaving chambers more immaculate than they had ever been.

Soon enough, there were no more tasks for her to complete, considering that Éomer had been called out to survey the garrison at the city gates. In such circumstances, Edelmer sat her down around a cup of steaming herbal tea and detailed the lady-in-waiting part of her role, patiently answering her questions and advising her on how to proceed.

A few hours later, Éorhild emerged from the washroom, enveloped in the lingering fragrance of perfumed bathwater. Dressed in simple brown robes, she sat on the windowsill and rested her head against the icy glass. Outside, the world had come to a standstill as the moon rose into the sky, a beacon of light and hope in an otherwise cold and lonely night. Unable to quell her cruel thoughts, she could not help but remember that at the same hour a mere day prior, she was safe in Éomer’s embrace, her lips pressed against his. And there she was, thrust into a dance she was not quite sure she could follow, stumbling on her own feet.

A soft knock on the door interrupted her brooding, instantly bringing her solace. Solitude was clearly not her natural state. Shifting her weight to her dangling leg and standing up from the windowsill, she readjusted the belt around her waist and turned to the door.

‘Come in.’

Her relief was short-lived. At the doorstep stood the prince himself with his breastplate tucked under his arm. His brow glistened with perspiration in the halo of the candlelight as he stepped inside.

Éomer retained his striking handsomeness.

‘I hope that I am not disturbing your peace,’ he murmured. ‘I was merely wondering if you would grant me a moment to speak to you.’

With a tightening sensation gripping her chest, she stiffened and offered him a bow, which seemed to displease him.

‘You are the prince, my lord; if you wish to speak, you need only say the word.’

‘Éorhild, please…’

The new chambermaid stood upright again and stared at him with pleading eyes, growing mistier by the second as he graced her sight.

‘What have you done, my lord?’ she blurted out as he shut the door behind him and placed the breastplate on top of her coffer. Her voice quivered with an unyielding tremor, laying bare the concealed pain within. ‘Do you revel in causing me such torment?’

Éomer recoiled in surprise at such accusations.

‘How dare you indict me for such nonsense!’ his voice retorted, bearing a similar trace of anguish to her own. He did not raise it out of fear of being overheard and condemning her with his own indiscretion. ‘Éorhild, if you believe for a moment that I would wish to cause you pain, then perhaps you do not know me nearly as well as you claim.’

‘Then why summon me to your personal service when fully aware of the grief it inflicts upon my soul?’

As tears descended upon her cheeks, he could not restrain himself. He drew near and tucked her head under his chin, holding her close to his heart. Unable to maintain her composure any longer, Éorhild wept openly against his chest, leaving damp marks on the collar of his padded shirt. Heartbroken yet striving to console her, the prince wove his hands through her hair, fondling her scalp and shoulder.

Éomer squeezed his eyes shut until colourful spots danced under his eyelids. Even after allowing his vulnerability to be exposed in front of her the night before, he was determined not to appear weak in her presence again. Partly a matter of pride, having been raised with the harmful idea that men never weep, his main concern was that he did not wish to further her agony. If she were to witness how devastated he indeed was, would it not compel her to tend to his wounded heart, casting aside her own pain until it became too burdensome for her to bear? Éorhild was inherently selfless, and he wished not to exploit it or permit her to neglect her own well-being.

He had inflicted too much pain upon her already.

Éorhild clung desperately to his shirt, tears soaking the fabric as she found herself too feeble to cease her sobbing.

‘I cannot do this, my lord,’ she hiccupped. ‘Spending every moment by your side when my heart desires you so! Torment. It is truly nothing but torment!’

Éomer pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head, then leant back, his gaze locking onto hers.

‘I should never have named you; I realise this now,’ he sighed, wiping her drenched face with his thumbs. ‘How selfish of me! All I intended was to keep seeing you without the court’s scrutiny while keeping you safe from gossip, should the events of last night be discovered and denounced. Quite stupidly, I believed that by keeping you by my side, I could offer you my protection against the consequences they would entail, but I did not consider your pain.’

His arms enfolded her anew, and salty drops dotted her hair as his apparent serenity collapsed under the weight of their situation. Sinking his teeth into his lower lip, he joined her in weeping, unable to hold back.

‘Forgive me, beloved Éorhild. I cannot breathe when you are far from me.’

And so, they stood in the middle of her chambers, broken heart to broken heart. Their knuckles hurt from holding each other so dearly, unwilling to restrain their strength in their embrace, reluctant to let go. Despite all that had occurred, both admitted that taking this moment to grieve their stillborn love brought much-coveted balm to their souls.

When they parted, hurriedly drying their faces with the cuffs of their sleeves, Éomer took her hand and brought it to his lips, placing a light kiss upon her knuckles.

‘I shall not force you to accept this role that I forced upon you. This choice remains yours and yours alone. Should you refuse the opportunity, I would not hold it against you.’

With his sight still blurred by his tears, Éomer loosened his grip on her fingers, letting her hand naturally slip out from his grasp. Before bowing to her, he collected his armour from the trunk in the corner and tucked it under his arm.

‘All I demand from you, Éorhild, is to consider it.’

Leaving these words lingering in the air, the prince exited, closing the door behind him. As he moved to his quarters, his steps bore the burden on his heart. Meanwhile, as Éorhild’s world crumbled, she sank to her knees, cradling herself. She bowed over her knees to press her forehead to the cold floor as tears flowed freely once more.

It was a restless night, as it was to be expected. It was odd to lie in a bed without being inadvertently kicked by a squirming neighbour while the other was snoring into her ear. Of course, it was not the sole reason for such agitation. Twisting and turning upon the mattress, she pondered the benefits of her new position, disregarding the advantages that held no importance to her. Changes in her social status and the possibility of renouncing her celibacy vows she deemed dreary matters.

Éomer raised a good point when he mentioned being able to provide her with his protection if anybody found out about the embraces and kisses they shared on the hillside. So long as their accuser lacked the king's support, the prince’s testimony would prevail, as would his blade should anybody attempt to carry out justice without proper trial.

On the other hand, spending all this time by his side would undoubtedly prove to be a challenge during the first weeks, at the very least. Éorhild wondered whether she could summon the strength to be in such proximity to him while attempting to forget him and move on. So far, her upcoming nights seemed destined to be induced by the exhaustion from shedding tears in the cold embrace of her lonely bed.

Luckily, she could always refuse. Éomer granted her the opportunity to do so, and perhaps that was better for her. She only needed to alert the chamberlain, who would then notify the king. A temporary chambermaid would be appointed until Théoden and Edelmer agreed on her and Théodil’s succession. She would retrieve the maids’ chamber and blissfully complete the mundane tasks she had grown so fond of, even when they were not always pleasant to tackle.

When the morning sun ascended from behind the mountains, Éorhild swung her legs off the bed and meticulously arranged the linens. She adjusted her morning routine to the unfamiliar quarters, a temporary dwelling that she was not fated to occupy for long. Clothed and clean, she braced herself for a regular day; her thoughts gravitated around the tasks initially assigned to her.

As she marched towards the kitchens, her step was lighter, as was her heart. At last, she had settled her mind on what she deemed the best choice and was determined to adhere to it. When she opened the door to the cooks’ station, she saw Edelmer overseeing the planning for the royal family’s upcoming meals. With a decided step, she approached the chamberlain.

Shortly after, an elated Éorhild grappled with a door, her hands laden with the result of her first completed duty. She deftly balanced her burden against her hip, swiftly turning the shiny brass knob before slithering inside the room. Halting merely a few steps in, she gazed fondly ahead of her.

Éorhild admired the sleeping form in its lavish bed, huddled underneath the covers. Cascading golden locks streamed upon the pillows, wild yet still silky — she could tell. A soft snore filled the room, prompting her lips to twitch into a beaming grin.

Tiptoeing nearer, she placed the tray she held between her hands upon the nearest nightstand, cluttered with letters and playing cards. Carefully nudging them away with the wooden platter, she ensured that the latter was stable enough on the surface before walking away. She bypassed the bed and drew back the curtains, inviting the sunshine to spill into the room, illuminating the face of the deep sleeper.

‘Good morning, my good prince,’ she chimed, instantly causing his eyes to flutter open and his lips to curve into a grateful smile. ‘You must awake. There is a long day ahead of us.’

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