#I don't expect/want an echo chamber

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

I am blocking jikookers everyday now ever since AYS aired. I don't care if someone wants to answer all the trolls, akgaes, ex-jikookers. Whatever, do what you want. But keep it on your blog and don't clog the jikook tag with all the bullshit. And for what? For a snarky remark as a reply? As if that actually puts the anons in place? They achieved their purpose, you gave a platform to trolls. Well done.

[arolesbianism]

Sigh. It begins (being forced to see the worst aro hcs I've ever seen in my life because ppl have a talent for finding the absolute worst characters to be their token aro hc)

[ttsukiimi]

❛ A CONCUBINE’S DUTY! ❜

୨୧⋆ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬  ⎯ What you didn't expect was for the king of curses to place you on his throne and drop to the ground. Sukuna grinned mischievously up at you. "You're the first I've kneeled before. You should revel in that."

୨୧⋆ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬  ⎯ trueform!sukuna x fem!reader, smut (mdni), fingering, implied size differece, overstimulation, slight choking, slight nipple play, sukuna uses a tongue on his hand, multiple orgasms, reader passes out for some minutes, oral (female receiving), sukuna referred to as lord, reader referred to as (woman)

Your legs seemed to tremble under you with each nervous step you took, threatening to give out under the weight of unease settling into you. And there was no denying it, after weeks of your initial arrival, Sukuna had finally summoned you--though your heart felt heavy and skittish in your chest.

Some have described him as immoral, wicked...malevolent even. How would he treat you? A lowly concubine, not to mention he had countless others.

In the midst of your thinking, you failed to notice you had arrived to his chamber. You opened the door and met with the sight of Sukuna, sat on his throne and deliciously manspread.

His eyes lit up as he saw you, interested, his mind already racing with thoughts of what he'd do to you.

Quickly, you bowed to the ground, your ears perking at the unusual sound of his deep yet rich laughter.

"How amusing. Up," he ordered, and you complied. You awkwardly stood at the foot of his throne, your neck craning up just to have a look at him, and though you felt so small, as if you were prey, you slowly began to admire him. It's the first time you've seen him this up close, and you’re not afraid to say that he’s devilishly handsome.

Sukuna patted his thigh, now your personal seat, and you sat. “You seem uptight.” He rasped in your ear, his upper hands fondling with your chest while his lower held you in place. “Let's fix that.”

And after came the sound of your top being ripped to shreds, a gasp leaving your parted lips as he began to play with your nipples. You failed to stifle the moans that poured out of your mouth, embarrassed as he hadn’t even really done anything yet.

He noticed this and grinned. “I think I’ll enjoy you,”

One of his hands snaked down to the innermost part of your thigh, his long fingers swiping up and down your sopping folds, collecting your slick. Sukuna inwardly groaned at the wet feeling and pushed a finger into your hole, gritting his teeth in resistance at how tightly you clamped around his digit.

"Fuck, don't think I'll fit." he sighed smugly, adding another and beginning to slowly move them and out. "But I think you can take it, can't you?"

You nodded. That was all you wanted in the moment--the hard cock you could feel rising under your ass--but you knew not to speak until spoken to. Your hands moved on their own to his lap and palmed his erection, an amused look blooming on his face.

Sukuna removed his finger from your cunt and shoved them into your mouth, reaching your throat and causing you to choke. "You don't have permission to touch me yet, woman" he hummed. "But I guarantee your pussy will determine if you get to or not."

Tears welled down your cheeks as you gasped for air, chest heaving, and your heart rate only skyrocketed as you felt the tip of his cock lined up to your entrance.

He thrust himself in, not giving you any time to adjust to his abnormally huge size. Sukuna sucked his teeth--just as he thought--you were too tight for him to move.

"Relax some," his voice boomed in your ear, and you tried your best to do so. But he was impatient, dying to feel you sucking around him, and began fucking up into you soon after.

Sukuna had this...thing of his. He was known for 'sometimes' being too rough on his concubines, leaving them unable to walk and passed out after he was done--but those were for his pure amusement. This time, he thinks, he won't be able to hold himself back from breaking you.

Your moans echoed throughout the spacious room, eyes closing shut in a mix of pain and pleasure. "Lord Sukuna!" you mewled, feeling wetness slide down your thighs, trembling as the intrusion of his cock left your back arched in pleasure.

"Tch. I don't remember giving you permission to talk either." he gritted his teeth, a hand cupping your cheeks and forcing you to look up him. Sukuna held eye contact with you, occasionally breaking the contact to stare at the way your tits bounced as he fucked you.

He felt so deep, reaching the spots you didn't know could even be touched, his tip brushing past your sweet spot every so often. And you felt so overstimulated, quivering in his hold, but Sukuna's hand slid down to your thighs once more, and there was suddenly a tongue lapping at your pussy.

You had forgotten he could do that.

"mmf--!" you were cut off by a hand squeezing your throat. Your orgasm came crashing down onto you, swooping you off your feet and it had you seeing stars as you came on his cock.

Though, until he was done, nothing was done. You came two more times until he finally pulled out, spurting his hot seed on your tits and face, admiring his work after.

What you didn't expect was for the king of curses to place you on his throne and drop to the ground. Sukuna grinned mischievously up at you.

"You're the first I've kneeled before. You should revel in that." he spoke before he began to eat you out, slurping at your wetness and sucking on your puffy, red clit. Something in him was enjoying this a bit too much.

He watched you break down in front of him, trembling, trying your best to keep your eyes and legs open for the man under you, but by your sixth you were spent, unable to control your limp limbs anymore.

Sukuna's face covered in slick was the last thing you saw before your vision dotted black, and you were out. When you finally came to, you weren't in your room, and by the way his cum still dripped from your body, you could tell it wasn't long after you passed out.

Your vision darted around; the lavish bed you woke up on, the intricate details everywhere--it couldn't be.

But a door opened and there was Sukuna, a towel hung loosely over his hips, his blush pink hair wet and dripping onto his skin. He walked towards you, drying his hair before he sat down on the opposite side of the bed. "You'll be sleeping here from now on."

[psychopomping]

do i believe we'll get the behind the scenes recording for let me in or is that asking too much of sm?

[a-s-ter]

"𝑫𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆"

— 𝐒𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: If you don't want your butler to reach a breaking point and take matters into his own hands by 'disciplining' you, perhaps refrain from behaving like a spoiled brat next time.

— 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: rough sex , unprotected sex , brat!reader , overstimulation , bttm male reader , blowjob , smacking , swearing , dirtytalk , praise , manhandling , dirty talk , age gap , virgin!reader , making out , degradation , petnames , non con , public sex.

PART 1 , PART 2

You were furious. Shattering objects around your room, you turned your once pristine chamber into a chaotic mess. Your anger overflowed onto everyone around you, shouting and unleashing abuse.

After that, you broke down. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you gripped the bed sheets, sprawled on your royal bed still clad in your sleepwear.

You were M/n, the prince! How could you have stooped so low as to beg someone, especially a butler? It was utterly humiliating! What would your father and mother say if they discovered your shameful behavior?

Your father had placed a heavy burden upon your shoulders, entrusting you with the future of the empire. He had envisioned you as a paragon of strength, resilience, and dominance. However, you found yourself succumbing to the influence of a mere butler. His admonitions reverberated in your mind like a relentless echo.

"Do not disappoint me. Be strong and wield the sword with skill, just as your brother does. My time wanes, and the throne shall be yours upon my passing. Fail me not, M/n, lest I consider another heir."

These words were etched into your very being, a constant weight upon your conscience. You vowed not to falter. You would rise above this moment of weakness and prove yourself worthy of the crown he had bestowed upon you.

Your cries were silent, hidden from the world. You couldn't bear the thought of anyone discovering your weakness, fearing it would tarnish your reputation and redefine how others perceived you. You couldn't afford to be seen as anything less than the strong and dominant M/n they expected.

You couldn't let your mother and father see this side of you. No one could know your vulnerability. But that butler had already glimpsed your submissive nature, a betrayal you couldn't forgive.

Clutching the bedsheets tighter, you vowed to exact punishment upon him. But how? The question gnawed at you as you plotted your next move.

"Your Highness?"

Your eyes widened as you recognized that voice. It was that damned butler! Quickly, you got up from your bed and hurried to the door without thinking. With a rush of irritation, you swung it open and came face-to-face with that annoying face you despised.

"You asshole! How dare you show your face in front of me!? Get out of my sight, I never wish to see you here ever again!" you yelled, your voice trembling with anger.

He stared down at you, his yellow eyes cold and calculating as they scanned your face. "That's such a shame, Your Highness," he replied, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "You'll be seeing me more often."

"W—what the heck do you mean by that!?" you demanded, your bewilderment evident in your tone.

"Your mother," he began, his tone dripping with smug satisfaction, "heard about your recent behavior and was quite shocked. When she saw that I possess the proper manners and decorum you seem to lack, she decided I would be the perfect candidate to be your new etiquette teacher." His words hung in the air, leaving you stunned and speechless.

You chuckled nervously, hoping it was some twisted joke. "H-hey... Tell me you're joking. Y-you're joking, right!?" Desperation seeped into your voice as you grabbed his collar harshly, trying to shake the truth out of him.

"I'm afraid not," he replied calmly, his smirk unwavering. "She found out about your behavior towards the maids and your lack of manners, Your Highness."

Anger flared within you at his words, and you tightened your grip on his collar. "So what if I have no manners!? I couldn't care less about those worthless maids! Those 'foods' are nothing but garbage. We don't eat slop like that; it's disgusting! They should've been kicked out of this castle ages ago! Just like you! Just a lowly butler who's probably good at nothing, maybe just some trash my father picked up!" you spat.

"Your words only confirm why I'm here. Perhaps it's time you learned the value of respect and humility your highness."

"No! Fuck off asshole!" you exclaimed, but he paid no heed to your protests. With a swift motion, he forcefully removed your grip on his collar and seized your wrist in a tight grip, his hold unyielding.

You struggled against his grasp, but it was futile. With a determined stride, he barged into your room, his grip still firm as he flung you to the unforgiving floor. A sharp hiss escaped your lips as pain shot through your body upon impact.

As you lay there, vulnerable and in pain, you watched helplessly as he closed the door behind him and locked it, sealing you both in.

He glared down at you, his eyes a piercing yellow that sent shivers down your spine.

"Shall we begin the lesson with your mouth, Your Highness?" His words were laced with a commanding tone as he strode towards you.

"My mouth!? What do you mean by my mouth? Stay away, you filthy vermin!" You attempted to rise, but your legs failed you, leaving you vulnerable on the floor.

With a smirk that sent a chill down your spine, he loomed over you, seizing your chin to meet his gaze forcibly.

"You have such beautiful eyes your highness. Staring at me like that turns me on." he declared, as your gaze involuntarily dropped to his pants, where a noticeable bulge had formed.

"Do you want to see it? See how I'm going to lecture that mouth of yours?" His tone was both mocking and tantalizing as he began to undo his belt, the metallic clink resonating in the tense silence of the room.

"N-no, no! I don't want to see your icky meat!" you protested, but your words fell on deaf ears as he proceeded to remove his belt and push down his underwear.

Your eyes widened in shock as his erect member was revealed before you, Tall and pale white with a crimson hue at the tip, it stood proudly before you, veins pulsing along its length as it throbbed with anticipation.

"It's yours," he declared, his voice thick with desire, "all yours for you to see anytime and anywhere, Your Highness."

"W-wha—?" Your attempt at a coherent response was abruptly stifled as he seized your head, thrusting his cock into your mouth with an aggressive force that left you gasping for air. The sudden intrusion hit the back of your throat, eliciting a choked gurgle of surprise as your eyes widened in shock.

Instinctively, you reached out, grasping onto his thighs for support as you struggled to accommodate his size. Sweat beaded on his brow as he grunted in satisfaction, relishing the sight of you adjusting to his relentless penetration. His grip tightened on your hair, adding to the sensation of his control over you.

"Mhmm, that's a good boy... Taking me all in," he murmured, his voice thick with lust as he watched you with a predatory gaze.

"Ngh... Let's begin the lesson, Your Highness." With a deliberate motion, he began to withdraw his cock from your mouth, only to slam it back in with a force that stole your breath away. Your grip on his thighs tightened as tears welled in your eyes, a mixture of pain and submission washing over you as you surrendered to his will.

He moaned in ecstasy, throwing his head back as the overwhelming sensations consumed him. The warmth of your mouth enveloped him, the slickness of your saliva adding to the intensity of his pleasure. With each thrust, he felt himself sinking deeper into bliss, utterly lost in the euphoria of the moment.

As he gazed down at you, he couldn't help but marvel at the sight before him. Your furrowed brows, the blush that painted your cheeks, the subtle bulge he noticed in your pants – it was all too much, too perfect. In this moment, you belonged to him and him alone.

"Kick and claw all you like. Scream. Hit me. Curse the fuck out of me. Only you can do that to me and not to anyone else, i don't want your attention to go to anyone but me. You don't belong to anyone but me, M/n. Only me." he declared, his words laced with a possessive fervor as he continued to thrust into your mouth, each motion driving him closer to the edge.

As you gasped for breath, he withdrew his cock from your mouth allowing you a moment to recover. Relief flooded through you as you gulped in air, your chest heaving with the effort while a smirk was playing on his lips as he observed your struggle.

With a cruel chuckle, he grasped his cock firmly in his hand and lightly slapped your flushed cheeks with it, Your glare met his amused gaze. Chuckling softly as he seemed to revel in your reaction.

"Day to dusk, I'm going to fuck that bratty attitude out of you, so you better be ready, your Highness."

[frostdayz]

Kings expectations

Aegon x reader (f! reader)

Genre: fluff once again LOL!!

summary: Aegon has recently become king and with the overwhelmingly large shoes he has to fill he tries to find comfort in his loving wife.

wrds: 804

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The grandeur of the Red Keep had always been imposing, but now, with Aegon on the throne, it felt even more overwhelming. The days since his coronation had been a whirlwind of responsibilities, decisions, and the weight of expectations pressing heavily upon him. As I wandered through the echoing halls, I thought of the man I married, not the king he had to become.

I found Aegon in his chambers, slumped over his desk, a sea of parchments spread out before him. His shoulders were tense, his brow furrowed in concentration as he pored over the endless reports and decrees that demanded his attention. My heart ached at the sight. This was not the carefree man I had fallen in love with; this was someone burdened by the crown he wore.

"Aegon," I called softly, stepping into the room. He glanced up, and the exhaustion in his eyes was evident. "You've been at this for hours. You need rest."

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I can't afford to rest, Y/N. There's too much to do, too much expected of me."

I walked over to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You can't pour from an empty cup, my love. You need to take care of yourself too."

He reached up, covering my hand with his. "I know , but... I'm trying to be the king my mother wants, the king the realm needs. It's just... ever since I was a kid this cloud has been over my head and now its finally covered me whole." He sighed and looked at me with his sunken eyes.

I moved around to face him, kneeling so that our eyes were level. "Aegon, you're doing your best, and that's all anyone can ask of you. There is no need for you to be perfect. You just have to be you."

He looked at me, a mixture of gratitude and despair in his gaze" Y/N. I feel like I'm drowning."

I cupped his face in my hands, forcing him to meet my eyes. "You are not alone in this. You have me, and together, we can face anything. You are stronger than you think, my love. And I believe in you."

He closed his eyes, leaning into my touch. "Thank you," he whispered. "I don't know what I'd do without..." He takes a deep breath and smiles at me.

"I thank the gods for making you for me every waking hour."

I smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. "And I thank them for you."

He pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly as if I were his anchor in a storm. I could feel the tension slowly leave his body as he took comfort in my presence. For a while, we simply stayed like that, wrapped in each other's embrace, finding solace in the quiet moments away from the demands of the crown.

Eventually, I pulled back slightly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "Why don't we take a walk in the gardens? The fresh air will do you good."

He nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. "That sounds wonderful."

We left the burdens of the throne behind as we wandered through the gardens, the evening air cool and refreshing. The flowers were in full bloom, their fragrance a soothing balm to the soul. Aegon laced his fingers with mine, and for the first time in days, I saw a hint of the man I had married.

"Do you remember our wedding day?" he asked suddenly, his eyes sparkling with the memory.

I laughed softly. "How could I forget? You were so nervous, you nearly tripped over your own feet while standing still"

He chuckled, a genuine sound that warmed my heart. "And you looked so beautiful, I forgot how to speak."

I blushed, nudging him playfully. "It was a perfect day. And despite everything, we still have each other." I chuckled and gave him a playful push.

As we continued our walk, the pressures of the throne seemed to fade away, replaced by the simple joy of being together. We talked about everything and nothing, finding comfort in each other's presence. The stars began to twinkle in the night sky, casting a gentle glow over the gardens, and I felt a sense of peace settle over us.

Not knowing what would come tomorrow, next month, or year I knew I'd want to be by his side no matter what. To others, he is King Aegon but to me, he is so much more.

[ervotica]

liam mairi x reader where he literally loses it during the torture chamber over seeing her hurt

pairing; liam mairi x fem!reader

warnings; torture lol, graphic depictions of violence and injury, liam is a little unhinged (as much as a golden retriever can be) and also the best bf ever. also xaddy makes an appearance <3

a/n; for argument's sake, liam is alive and well (also for my sake bc he's my baby and i adore him) this is a little different to the plot in the books as liam isn't *technically* there during the torture chamber scene, so this diverts from the original plot. this is gonna get like 4 whole notes but idgaf because liam is taking up my entire mind atm i just want that boy to smother me in love and i can kiss his perfect face<3

Knuckles crack against the already swollen expanse of your jaw and your neck whips sideways awkwardly as blood fills your gasping mouth. Your ears ring, vision beginning to blur and blacken at the edges as Liam roars.

You can't see him for the soldiers crowding your line of vision, but the guttural sound that rips its way from his throat is unlike anything you've ever heard before. It's raw, full of untethered fury that no one would expect from a kind soul like Liam. But, then again, no one's seen the lengths he will go to to keep you safe.

"I'm fine, Li," you murmur, neck cracking as you wrench your head upright to reassure him. The swarm of bodies part somewhat, and they back against the wall; you watch him thrash against the restraints, teeth bared like a predator; it's a stark juxtaposition to his usual - docile - countenance.

“Touch her again and I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill all of you!” he bellows, voice permeating the otherwise relatively silent chamber. It cuts through you like glass, and you wince as another blow collides with your cheekbone. You feel it shatter, growling through grit teeth at your attacker.

“You have all the power here,” he croons. “Tell us what we need to know, and I’ll let you go.”

“Fuck you,” you seethe. “You really think I’ll break that easily?”

He cracks his knuckles slowly, one by one echoing through the empty room as he paces, his head tilting curiously as though he's enraptured by your resilience. “No. But he will.”

Your nostrils flare, eyes darting to where Liam’s still struggling to break himself free. His eyes are dark, cerulean replaced with black onyx as the rage consumes him.

“You underestimate us,” you say simply; your chin juts out indignantly. “We’re not telling you shit.”

Your ribs are next to break with a sickening crunch, and when you scream, the sharp yell of your boyfriend takes up all the space left in your brain. It's all you hear, all you can decipher through the thick cotton wadded into your ears, the only thing you can manage past the searing flames that set your body alight with agony. Your lids start to droop, lips parting to croak something indiscernible; and Liam's begging, pleading with you to stay conscious, but even as you gaze up at him through sticky, tear-soaked lashes, the darkness wraps its cruel fingers around your throat and you can't fend it off.

You don't know how many days it's been when your eyes peel open, glued shut with sleep. Every nerve ending in your body ignites, set aflame with pure, unrelenting excruciation. Your chest heaves and the movement triggers another cataclysmic inferno; a sob claws its way from your throat almost involuntarily, your body relying purely on survival instincts.

Xaden's standing over you in an instant, a warm palm cradled against the curve of your jaw to keep you still when you shout and thrash, trying to rid yourself of the unyielding pain that courses through your veins like liquid fire.

"Shh, shh." He's doing his best to placate you, but you're manic, eyes wide and frantic as you attempt to orientate yourself in the room.

"Liam," you croak. "Where's Liam?"

"He's okay. He's fine. I need you to stay calm, okay?" A tear slips past your clogged waterline and runs over Xaden's knuckle, his thumb following its downward path to brush it away.

"I want Liam," you wheeze, a pain that transcends physicality blooming into your aching chest. "Please."

There's a scuffle and a flash of blonde before Liam is crouching at your side, a thick fingered hand anchoring against the top of your head.

"I'm right here, my girl. You didn't think I'd leave you alone, did you?"

You shake your head vehemently despite the throbbing in your temples, your own fingers looping around his wrist to keep him close, to keep him touching you.

"It hurts, Li," you whimper, and it's the first sign of true weakness he's seen you expose in this long, painful week. You're safe to fall apart now, safe with the knowledge that he'll help you put yourself back together.

"I know. We just need to get you fixed up and you'll feel better."

He tips forward on his toes to press his cheek to yours, and the warmth of his breath tickles at the shell of your ear. His face turns, nose squishing into the soft flesh of your cheek, lips puckered in a kiss against the corner of your mouth. You feel the scab, long dried over, and the groove in his lip where it's split; when he tilts his head sideways to watch you, your eyes fix on it.

"You're hurt," you sniffle. "It's my fault."

"Oh, this old thing?" He waves you off, flippant as the tip of his finger prods at the dried skin. "Doesn't even hurt, angel. Don't you worry about me."

"I do worry about you."

You use the little strength you have left to turn on your side, tuning out Liam's abrupt protests until there'e enough room for two on the bed. He knows what you want from no more than a pleading glance.

"I can't-" he starts, and the complaints die in his throat when your fingers dig into the worn fabric of his uniform.

"I need you," you admit. His shoulders slouch in defeat.

"You promise to go to sleep?"

He lifts your tender body, propping you against a muscular forearm as he slides beneath you, and settling you between two thick thighs, your back to his chest. His warmth seeps into your pores and he feels you sag, only succumbing to the exhaustion now you know he's safe.

Fingernails scratch at your scalp and dimples crater into the centre of his cheeks when your head tilts to nuzzle deeper into the touch. The flaring pain resides to a dull - but manageable - ache.

"I'm tired," you say, muffled.

"I know, my girl." You don't miss the thrum of his pulse, the way it picks up when he catches sight of the deep bruises that mar your skin, the swelling from broken bones. He's angry.

And he's going to make them pay for this.

[seospicybin]

DON'T THEY KNOW IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD?

PART I

Lee know x reader. (s,a)

Chapters: Part II

Synopsis: Making a contact with an ancient object, you meet a demon who takes form of the man you desired and forces you to commit terrible acts to stop the world from ending. (14k words)

Author's note: I indulge myself with a spooky fic and demon Minho in it. Read with cautions and enjoy x

Based on an episode of Black Mirror. Content warnings: Violence, gore, mentions of abuse, assaults and graphic imagery. Reader's discretion is advised!

"Carving is easy. You just go down to the skin and stop." - Michelangelo

-

Oh, no! You're doing it again.

When you think you're talking in your head, you're actually talking loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. It's even worse that your voice is echoing in the big chamber of the empty gallery.

They seem to not care about it or pretend to because Kim has just walked in to check everyone's work. She's your friend from art school turns an art dealer and she has a way to control everyone around her.

"I told you to let us do it for you," she says, clicking her tongue at you and crossing her arms in front of her chest.

The gallery is having some of your pieces of art displayed for the exhibition tonight and you want to make sure that they're presented the way you envisioned it.

You carefully step down the ladder and stand next to Kim, looking at the sculpture you made of a man holding an arrow with an apple stuck at the end of the arrow.

You hear Kim dreamily sigh then look at you, "You're going to sell..." She pauses to emphasize the word she's going to say next, "Big!"

Money isn't the reason why you create these sculptures but you need it in order to keep being able to do this. You have no idea how expensive a block of stone is!

The reason why you made these sculptures is because this is what you love doing: envision your imagination onto a block of stone and you carve it to bring it to life.

Why did you choose stone as the medium? Because they're durable, stubborn yet resilient. It takes time to create one sculpture but once you've seen the result, you forget about the hard work behind it.

Kim puts her hand on your shoulder and snaps you out of your reverie, "Stop worrying about your sculptures," she says.

She turns you around to force you to face her and puts her other hand on your shoulder, "Go home. Get dressed. Put some color on those cheeks. Have a pre-party with a glass of wine or two."

Dressing up sounds like a lot of work, you'd rather stay in your dungarees and striped top, "Can I just wear these?"

It's like she has just heard someone dies, Kim's hand flies to her temple and screws her eyes shut for a second, "Trust me when I say that the people coming tonight wouldn't expect the artist behind these magnificent sculptures to look like Chucky," she says with a sneering smile.

She squeezes your shoulder and tilts her head to the side, "And that's me putting it the nicest way possible because you're my friend."

It's still a mystery how you ended up friends with someone like Kim, she's the opposite of what you are, an extrovert, a tolerable narcissist, she likes attention and is forthright to the point it's borderline insolent. You're so used to her audacious way of treating you and the blunt words that come out of her red-lipped mouth.

She's been like this even before you met her and you are the friend who likes to suffer in silence, you think that's why you became friends. Nevertheless, Kim treats you better than she treats anyone else for that matter.

That explains why the gallery staff are so afraid of her. It's always best to get out of her way unless she wants you to be there. You pick up your bag from the floor along with your jacket.

"I'll go then," you meekly say.

She grabs your elbow before leaving, "Go home," she says with a glare.

"Home. Not your studio," she says again, making it clear to you.

She knows you well enough to know that you like spending your days in your studio instead of your apartment. You sling the strap of your bag on one shoulder, "Go home. Get dressed. Come to the exhibition late," you repeat the things she wanted you to do.

Kim smiles and gently cups your cheek, "Good girl. Now go!"

Once you get home though, you spend hours just sitting in the emptiness that lingers in your apartment that is too big for one person to live in it.

This is why you prefer to stay in your studio, you like to keep your head occupied rather than being alone with your thoughts like this.

And your thoughts, they're mostly of unkind things and...

Your phone rings from inside your bag and steers your mind back to your head. Without having to look at it, you can tell who it is. There are no other people who call you daily except, well, if it's an emergency call.

"Are you getting ready yet?" Kim goes straight to the point.

"Uh... yeah, I just showered, I—" you jolt awake from lying down on the sofa.

"I'm having problems picking what to wear," you add a laugh in the hope of sounding convincing.

There's a wave of laughter from her end of the phone call before Kim talks to the phone, "Stop joking. Do you like it?"

You get completely confused because she suddenly compliments herself out of the blue, "Huh? What?"

You can hear her dramatic, low sigh and you can imagine her subtle eye roll as she's doing it, "The dress. The one I hung in your closet," she tells you.

You quietly trudge your way to the closet and open it to find the said dress.

"Yes, it's beautiful!" You hurriedly say, not wanting to let her get suspicious as she waits for a response.

"Aren't you lucky to have me as your friend?" she exclaims, sounding so confident with her words.

"I am the luckiest," you tell her as you observe the dress and already regretting hastily approving the dress as you notice it has a plunging neckline.

"I know," she brags and her smirk flashes through your head.

In the background, you hear something is calling her and Kim answers with a shout, "I'm coming."

She dramatically sighs before talking to you, "Work is calling. I'll see you tonight, okay?"

"Yeah, sure, see you tonight!" You're more than relieved to end the phone call with her.

It's too early to celebrate as she hasn't ended the call yet and she always ends the call first. You have an inkling that she'll call your name.

Indeed, she is.

"Hey, don't forget to take your meds, okay?" She says.

That's probably the only yet the most endearing thing she does to you and what makes her your friend.

"Yeah, don't worry about it," you tell her.

It's time to fully assess the dress and you're in awe of how much skin you'll show if you're wearing this. Of course, you have the option not to wear but it all comes down to wearing the dress or facing Kim's wrath.

The former seems to be the safer choice and also because you're not a confrontational person, you like to avoid conflict.

Not wearing the dress means you're going straight into conflict and you don't want that.

With a defeated spirit, you put the dress on even though you have no idea how to move in such a tight dress. You summon up your below-average make-up skill for tonight and put some colors on you.

Not forgetting Kim's words, you take your medicine and wash it down with a long gulp of water. You give yourself a few minutes as you wait for the medicine to work while you sit on the couch holding a glass of water in both hands, staring out at the view from your apartment.

Kim insisted you take this apartment when you're okay with living in the studio. Not only that it's too expensive of a place to live on your own but a big place only makes you inexplicably lonely.

However, after seeing the view from up here, you feel like you're not part of this world in the most humbling way. Seeing the city and the buildings look like pieces of block makes you realize that they don't matter that much. They're all just... material things.

You sigh as you get hit by a wave of melancholia and you take it that the medicine is working.

-

Uncomfortable walking out of your apartment in your dress, you put on a coat as you leave the apartment with the sounds of your heels clicking against the floor.

The owner of the building passed away yesterday, there are so many guests visiting the penthouse where he lived. The first elevator that arrives on your floor is crowded so you skip on getting on that one. You patiently wait for the next one to arrive while clutching your purse in front of you.

A minute later, the other elevator arrives and the doors slide open, you see there's someone else inside. You believe he's been from the penthouse from how he dressed in all black.

You look down to avoid eye contact and step inside, standing at the back of the limited space while trying not to look at the man's face on the reflection from the mirror that walled the elevator.

Arrived in the main lobby, the elevator dings open and the man doesn't waste time but walks out with hands shoved inside his coat pocket.

You fix your coat before stepping out and you feel your feet kicking on something, it's clattering across the floor. You bend down to pick it up, something that you guess is a pocket watch.

Your first thought is that it belongs to the man and you look around to see if he's still around to give it to him, but he's nowhere. It's as if he's gone with the wind.

"Miss, your driver has been waiting outside!" The concierge informs you from behind his desk the second he sees you.

"Yes. I'm coming!" You hurriedly shove the pocket watch inside your purse.

As Kim instructed, you come late to the exhibition and it's already filled with people dressed so impeccably for the occasion. You take a deep breath before entering the scene that is the least you wanted to be.

You take your coat off and hand it to the girl handling the coat check, along with your purse. You feel naked even though you're not, but it's not just the dress, being in the crowd is not your forte.

The first thing to do in a situation like this is to find Kim. You avoid making contact with everyone you're walking past as you look for her in the crowd. It's not hard to spot her when she's always the center of attention anywhere she is.

"There she is!" She gasps the moment she sees you're coming her way.

She puts away her champagne flute and walks up to you, embracing you like the trophy you are, "My rising star!"

Kim puts her hand on the small of your back and smiles brightly while discreetly judging your look.

"Isn't she amazing?" She brags you off to the group of people she's talking to.

You can only sheepishly smile next to her and avoid everyone's eyes.

"She is the artist behind those magnificent sculptures," she adds with that saccharine smile of hers.

They're starting to throw praises at you and you can hear all of them talking at once, making you more uncomfortable staying in there.

You take a step back but Kim's hand does not allow you to escape, she glances at you and takes the cue.

"Excuse us," Kim says to everyone, "Enjoy the exhibition!"

Kim steers you away and pulls you aside, before you can comment on her choice of dress, she snatches the chance from you.

"You could've picked nicker shoes," she whispers through her gritted teeth at you.

You automatically look down to see your heeled shoes which you think match the dress you're wearing.

"I–I think it's—"

She cuts through your words, not giving you a chance to explain. She grabs you by the elbow, "We have no time to change it," she says, then steers you somewhere.

As Kim continues to brag you around like you're the art piece instead of the artist, you start to get that feeling that she's using you.

As a matter of fact, she used you to propel her career as an art dealer. Ever since you agreed to let her sell your art for you, her career took off.

You're more than happy to be of help but she does everything extra and she's been taking you to meet a lot of people that their faces started to blur and it's getting overwhelming that you need to get out of it.

"I'll just—" You barely finish your sentence when you walk away and find somewhere to gain some composure.

You keep walking until you find the restroom and push yourself inside, lock yourself in one of the stalls just sit on the toilet, and just breathe.

You hear the ruckus outside the stall and someone probably needs to use the toilet, you reluctantly get up to start heading outside.

The plan to leave unnoticed comes to a failure when Kim is already there right outside the restroom, "Where have you been?"

You take a deep breath to calm yourself and try to explain, "Kim, I don't think I can do this anymore. I—"

Then again, she never let you finish your sentence, "One more. I need you to meet your new potential buyer."

You grip the side of your dress and you feel like tearing it apart, "No, Kim. You know how I do with people, I don't— I just want to go home," you desperately tell her just to let you go when you're an adult and can do whatever you want.

Kim lets out an exaggerated huff and sends her fringe flying off her forehead, crossing her arms in front of her and you know what's coming for you.

"You think I'm doing this for me?" She asks.

Actually, yes. The initial plan is to sell your art but in the end, she makes it all about her.

"I'm doing it for you!" She says, turning it all on to you. She always finds a way to turn it all on to you, making you feel guilty and defeated.

Talking back to her means that you're saying yes to war and you don't want to fight a losing fight. You fist the fabric of your dress trying to suppress the anger brewing inside you.

"Just one more person," you meekly say.

Her face softens at the sign that you're once again giving her the power, "That's right. Just one more and I'll let you go."

You finally let go of your dress and you wipe your sweaty palm down the back of your dress as she guides you back to the gallery.

"All you have to do is stand next to me, smiling and explaining your art to people," Kim instructed like that wasn't what you've been doing all night.

Except that she forgot that you need to fake all of that.

Kim takes you to one of your sculpture displays and three people in suits have been waiting, talking with drinks in their hands.

"Hello, gentlemen," Kim says with an extra polite voice that makes you shudder at how fake she sounded.

"Heard you're looking for the amazing artist behind these beautiful sculptures?" She continues, presenting you like you're the one who's about to get sold, not the sculpture.

One of the three seems to be the one in charge with a stance that oozes confidence and power, a smirk that only someone who grew up with a silver spoon stuck to his mouth can master. He looks years older than you but his face shows no fine lines but that's just because he never had to frown in his life.

"I adore your art so much," he praises with a teeth-baring smile.

Kim turns at you and introduces him, "This is Nicholas de Ville from the de Ville family."

The way she enunciated his last name only means that this person holds importance and she expects you to impress him.

He holds his hand out next with an expensive, shining wristwatch decorated his wrist, "I'm Nicholas de Ville. You can call me Nick."

He may seem nice and polite because all privileged people learn manners but they only apply that lesson in real life occasionally.

You take his hand or else Kim will force you to do it. You shake his hand for a while and accidentally meet his gaze as you try to take your hand back.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. de Ville!" You say as politely as you can.

"Nick, please!" He insists with a smile.

"And the pleasure is all mine." He adds with a smile that says so many things and they send a chill down your spine.

Kim lets go of her hand and lightly touches you on your arm, "Mr. de Ville wants to know more about your sculptures so..." she quietly pushes you his way.

Nick courteously laughs and says, "Would you be kind enough to give me the tour?"

You consider it for a moment but seeing Kim's glare, you know you have no option.

"Yes, sure, I would love to," you answer with a strained smile.

"Great! Please, lead the way!" Nick says.

When you think the other two are coming with you, it's just you and Nick, walking through your sculptures and you explain each one without trying to bore him like Kim has taught you a few times.

"... it's inspired by the Greek mythology. The apple in the arrow means that when it comes to love, we know no rules, we follow our desires—"

Nick is too busy looking at you instead of looking at the sculpture you're tirelessly explaining to him. Guessing that he isn't interested, you stop talking altogether.

"I'm sorry if I'm rambling," you sheepishly say to him and keep looking at the sculpture.

"No, no, that's okay," Nick says with a smile and takes a stand close to you, also looking at the sculpture.

"Your art is as beautiful as you," he says.

You're getting uncomfortable at how close he is with his elbow brushing yours. You nervously swallow air and lowly mutter, "Thank you."

Nick takes it the wrong way. He takes it that you're replying to his flirtation when you thought he was earnestly complimenting you, he starts to place his hand on your shoulder.

You reflexively shrug his hand away but that only sends his hand down to your back where he can touch your exposed skin. As his fingers make contact with your skin, you take a step back until his hand drops.

"I'm sorry," you regret apologizing for something that you didn't do wrong.

He looks at you as if he didn't just do something wrong or touch you without your consent. You feel repulsed by yourself and take another step back, "I'm sorry, I just need to—"

You keep walking away, away and never looking back.

-

The musty smell and dust that hang in the air welcome you to the studio.

You take your dress off the first thing you do when you get there and put on any clothes you can find in the dresser, a black T-shirt and worn-out jeans.

You put your earrings inside your purse and the pocket watch you collected earlier spills out of it, falling onto the couch.

You're intrigued to see inside the locket to get a hint on who the owner is, you're trying so hard to open it with the strength you have but it won't budge.

Exhausted from trying to open the antique-looking object, you give up and walk over to the sculpture you're working on. You put the pocket watch down on the table next to your carving tools, then pick up a chisel and a hammer.

For every hit of the hammer, you feel like unleashing something that makes you feel lighter and lighter and makes you hit the chisel harder and harder.

You eventually get exhausted and take a step back, leaning against the table while looking at the unshapen block of stone in front of you.

You grope around for a bottle of water and take a sip, putting it down as you wipe your mouth after. Your fingers nudge something as you place your hand on the table, it's the pocket watch blinking under the fluorescent light.

It seems to be calling for you, inviting you to try and uncover the mystery inside.

Looking at the small chisel next to it, you decide to give it another try by prying it open with the chisel. You slip the sharp end in the crack and use your strength to push it open only for the chisel to slide to the slide, cutting the side of your finger.

You drop the pocket watch as blood drops from the wound onto the table. It's not the first time you injured yourself, you know what to do. You go to the bathroom, wash your finger under the running water then grab your first aid kit from the drawer.

After tending to your small injury, you decide to not continue working when you're angry. You take another sip of water and lie down on the couch.

With the quiet that hangs in the room, you slowly drift into sleep.

-

SEVEN DAYS TO THE END OF THE WORLD.

The darkness greets you even though you have opened your eyes.

Pretty sure you kept one of the lights on when you went to sleep but it's all dark now in the room, you can't see anything but lights that shine through the cracks of the blinds.

You slowly get up from the couch to turn the light on, carefully walking to where the switch is, and once you flip it, lights flood the room.

The first thing you see is the pocket watch that is now open, you walk over to the table and pick it up to see inside that it's just a normal watch but it doesn't have numbers on it like all watches have.

You close it and see that your blood tainted the lid, this time, you can easily open it without a hassle.

"Hello!" A voice says.

Surprised to hear a voice coming from it, you drop it back onto the table. A moment later, you laugh it off, thinking that you misheard it considering that you just woke up from sleep.

With hesitancy, you pick the pocket watch again and look at it. Your thumb wipes the glass cover of the watch.

"Hi, Hello, I'm Minho. I'm a demon. You anointed this talisman with your blood so now we're bound together and—"

It speaks again and in response, you hurl it across the room until it hits the wall and drops onto the floor. You stand there, frozen on your feet, and wonder...

"Look, I've got a whole introductory speech here," the voice says again, coming from the part of the room where the pocket watch is.

For protection, you stand behind the open bathroom door and look at the pocket watch talking like a lunatic you are.

"We got to work together," it says.

You whimper hearing the voice again and you know that it's real, you're not making this up.

"Can you pick me up? Just pick me up. Come on, pick me up! Please?" It demands.

You take cautious steps to get to where the pocket watch lies on the floor.

"That's it, come on. Come on. I won't bite, I promise. Come on," it says as if it could see that you're coming to pick it up.

You swallow air and slowly bend down to pick it up from the floor, holding the pocket watch in your hand.

"As I was saying, you anointed the talisman and the rules are you've got to carry out three human sacrifices over the next seven days or else the world is going to end," it speaks again.

That's a lot of information to take in, not to mention that you're already having a hard time wrapping your head around the fact that the pocket watch is talking to you.

"W-what?" You breathlessly say.

"If you want me to help you, you need to permit me entry."

Entry? That sounds like a bad idea. You just stand there and look at the pocket watch.

"Do you permit me entry? Yes or no?" It asks.

You shake your head and convince yourself that maybe it is not real.

"You have to say yes. Just say the word yes."

This is not real, you tell yourself out loud.

"Or let's do this, if you say yes, I'll... I'll stop, okay? I'll go away. You'll never hear from me again like this didn't happen." It persuades.

This is not real, this is not real, you chant in your head.

"Just say yes. Say it! Say it. Say it. Say it," it chants louder and it starts to fill your head, endlessly echoing.

You want it to stop so you impulsively say, "Yes."

The chants stop and the light flickers off, filling the room with darkness again. You whimper in fear as the pocket watch starts ticking in your hand.

You hear something deeply breathing a few feet from behind you. Curious, you spin around on your feet to see what it is, but you can't see it as it's lurking in the dark

However, you feel good about not being able to see it as fear creeping up inside you. You walk backward until you hit the wall behind you.

"Hey, come on, what's the matter?" The thing says as he takes a step forward, revealing his form to you.

The first thing you can make out the shape of that thing is two long horns on his head and two red eyes.

"All right. I lied about going away," he says in a deep, growling voice.

"My regular appearance is a bit too much for this realm."

He takes a step back and disappears in the dark. After a while, he takes another step to the front and has already taken a different shape. He looks normal now, as in looking like a human and not just any human, he looks like...

"I peered into your soul and apparently, this is a physical look you find appealing so..." he says with his arms spread out and a proud grin on his face.

"I don't know. Let me have a look!" He walks over to the mirror hung on the wall next to you.

He looks just like the sculpture you made, he has a sharp nose, chiseled jaws, and a hair color as intense as red roses go. You feel a mix of fear, awe, and confusion inside and it's getting overwhelming.

He leans close to the mirror and fixes his hair, "Wow!"

He seems impressed by how he looks, "Okay, isn't it what you want?" He turns to you.

Not getting an answer from you, he smiles, then says, "Uh... I mean, I can work with this."

You can only whimper with your mouth parted open, having a hard time wrapping your head around this situation. If it's happening or not, is he real or not, did you take your meds or not?

"You have to calm down so we can talk. Just talk to me!" Minho says, noticing that you're in a state of panic.

For a split second, you see his eyes flash like those belonging to feline creatures, gleaming like two marbles in the dark. You can feel cold sweat on your back as you slump down against the wall until you're sitting down on the floor.

He squats down in front of you and reaches for your head but you're quick to dodge away from it.

"You know, we have got to work together," he assures you.

It's not fair that he has a face that came from your imagination, it gives you a sense of familiarity that lures you to give in. However, you're not sure if you should be giving in to him.

You bang the back of your head to the wall, close your eyes, and repeatedly chant like it's a mantra, "You're not real. You're not real. You're not real."

But that is not enough to expel him. You open your eyes and still find him there. hand and a grin.

"Like I said, we have got to work together," he tells you again.

To give you the space to gather your thoughts, he walks around the studio while talking, "You marked the talisman. I don't make the rules."

With the lights turning back on, your eyes can easily follow his figure going around the room and looking at the sculpture you're working on.

His fingers slowly graze the rough surface of the carved stone and then he turns his head at you.

"Basically, we need to deliver three human sacrifices by next Friday or else it's..." he informs you again as if you haven't heard him the first time, "burning skies time."

You can feel anxiety rising inside you and your throat is closing up, making it harder for you to breathe.

"I sense you need convincing. Uh..." Minho walks up to you again and offers his hands to you.

You look at his hands for a moment before letting him help you to get up from the floor. You imagine your hands reaching for fragments of your imagination but instead of that, you feel his warm skin and firm grip as he hoists you up until you're standing on your feet.

If he's not real then how can you hold him?

He looks at you for a second to make sure you're okay then nods, "Let me show you how this will play out, alright? What will happen if we don't succeed," he says.

He walks to stand behind you and puts a hand in front of your eyes, "You ready?" He asks, his hot breath fans your neck as he speaks.

You're not sure what he's asking you to get ready for. You're not even sure if you're living the reality right now.

"Ready?" He asks again and once again his breath tickles your ear.

"3, 2, 1!"

As if you're being transported to another time and place, you open your eyes to see fire. It's the studio but it is on fire.

"This is what we're dealing with!" Minho says but you can't see him anywhere.

Fire is everywhere and you can feel the heat of it burning your skin and thick smoke filling your lungs that you start coughing, retching for air.

"Scorching wall of flame. It's agonizing death for all and so on," he continues.

You're flailing around to get air, walking to the window to open it only to find it hot to touch and you see that the whole city burns with you. You hear people screaming and sirens blaring everywhere but anywhere you look, it's just blazing fire.

You get away from the window until your back hits the table behind you and snaps you back to reality. Your head turns to the side and see Minho there, leaning against the table next to you.

"See, burning people they smell like... a burnt slice of meat on a griddle. It's better if you dissociate from it," he coyly says.

The images are so vivid that you feel the need to escape it, run away from here and so you do. You make a run to the door and he's already standing there next to it.

"If we're being honest, I don't want the apocalypse to come about any more than you do," he says.

You turn the knob and open it, running through the hall that leads to the exit door. Yet Minho is already there too.

"So let's stop it happening, you and me, mmh?" He says to you.

"All we have to do is deliver three sacrifices in seven days," he pops at the end of the hall.

You yank the door open and find him standing outside the door.

"It's only three killings," he says with a malicious laugh.

You rush to climb down the steps trying to escape what you know is like trying to get out of your head, it's inescapable.

"Animals don't count. You have to do humans," Minho informs at the base of the stairs.

You hurriedly unlock the iron gate and pull it open, running into the street in the middle of the night but of course, he's already there too.

"We can do like one kill a day but I'm good with one kill in two days and—"

You decide to go the other way from where Minho is standing and just aimlessly walking to avoid him. You know the neighborhood but not as good as when it's at night.

You walk down the stairs that lead to the riverbank, feeling more afraid of Minho instead of being mugged at night.

"That is fewer people than die falling off ladders in the same time period," Minho magically appears on the stairs, leaning against the railing.

"You'd be less lethal than a ladder," he adds with a sly smirk.

Your eyes are watery either from the cold wind or the anxiety taking over you. You sniffle before talking to him, "If I talk to you, you're real so I'm not going—"

You walk away before you can finish your sentence and walk along the riverbank, hugging yourself.

"Well, we started conversing already so that ship has sailed."

You can't believe that he's still following you when he knows exactly why you are trying to get away.

"No, it hasn't," you persist when you know he's right.

"Oh, oh yes it has," he talks back with a mocking tone.

You stop on your track and grunt in frustration, bending down to pick whatever is close to you.

Minho stops walking as well and says, "Don't worry. We're a team. I'm on your side, you know?"

He takes a step forward and keeps talking, ignoring that he's the reason why you're so frustrated.

"Let's just get kill number one under your belt, mmh?" He says in a softer tone.

You turn at him, your finger pointing right at his sharp nose and sternly tell him, "You can stop it because I am not killing anyone!"

You take a deep breath to calm yourself down and try to face him again, "You're not real so I don't why you keep talking to me," you snarl.

Minho coyly smiles at you and calmly responds, "That's what I'm here for. Moral support!"

He takes even a closer step to you and lowers his voice, "So, just hold on to that rock and hit someone with it!"

You get confused by what he said, "What rock?"

He eyes your hand on your side, "The one in your hand, love!" He answers.

You don't even realize you've been holding it until he pointed it out. The moment you know, you can feel its weight in your hand.

You gasp in surprise and glare at Minho, "I'm not doing what you say."

You hear footsteps coming from under the bridge and turn around to see a middle-aged man, "Are you alright, Miss?"

But Minho sees it as an opportunity, he stands and looms behind you, whispering evil things into your head.

"Mmmh... yeah," he hums in victory.

"He's perfect. No witnesses. Talk about beginner's luck," he whispers to you so close that it feels like he's living inside your head.

You feel his hand resting on your shoulder as he further persuades you, "Just one quick pop to the head and you're done."

For a second, you wanted to do what he said just so he could stop bothering you. However, the conscience in you is talking you out of it.

You walk toward the man and try to seek help from him, "Please, make him stop!" You say, gesturing to Minho who's standing right next to you.

The man looks confused by what you said and asks, "Make who stop?"

Disoriented by what's real or not, you keep looking back at Minho, then at the man, getting pushed to where you hit your limit.

The man walks up to you, feeling more concerned for you that he asks again, "Is everything alright?"

The relentless demon he is, Minho stands close next to you and whispers, "Would it help if I told you I can see into this man's soul and he absolutely deserves to die?"

This time you know it's his way to get what he wants, to get you to do the deed. You look away and hastily shout, "Shut up!"

Yet Minho keeps talking about the man as he's giving you a stare, one that you're way too familiar with, and convinces you that he thinks you're crazy.

"He has a wife and a daughter, you want to know what he does to them?" Minho's words hold intense hatred in them like you can feel the bitterness of it on your tongue.

You look at him to see if he's just tricking you to kill the man, "Don't trust me? Well, get a load of this!"

Minho covers your eyes with his hand again and this time, images of the man abusing his wife and daughter over and over again that you can't bear to watch anymore.

He snaps you back to reality again and says, "You'll save them both from years of pain, shame, and guilt."

Fueled by the rage from what you've seen through Minho's vision, you launch yourself at the man and hit him hard on the head, sending him tumbling to the side and into the river.

You stand there watching his body sinking into the water until the air stops bubbling to the surface of water and that's when you're certain that he's dead.

The man is dead.

Despite the shock, you manage to walk away while still carrying the rock in your hand, and once you realize you've been holding to it long enough. You throw it into the river then break into a run back to the studio.

You vomit everything into the toilet bowl once you're back in the studio, retching nothing but saliva and air.

Minho is standing at the doorway of the bathroom as he says, "It takes some used to but a couple more of that and I'll be out of your hair," he says.

You flush the toilet and sit on the bathroom floor, looking at him with teary eyes and the shock that hasn't left your body yet.

He pulls out the pocket watch and shows you that the Roman number written inside has gone one line, "See? One line has gone which means one sacrifice registered. Two to go."

You get up from the floor and drag yourself to the couch, feeling so drained by whatever has driven you to do unimaginable things, one that you thought you'd never done in your life.

-

Morning has passed but you can't find the energy to live for the day.

You're lying down on the couch watching the sky turn brighter with every hour passed. It hasn't sunk in yet what you did last night. It feels like a dream but at the same time, you can still feel the weight of the rock in your hand.

Minho has been quiet but you know he's lurking in the room and he decides to interfere by standing in front of you.

He tips his head to the side and asks, "How long are you going to stay like this?"

He then sits on the other end of the couch and says, "Well, you have to, at least, do whatever it is you do as a sculptor. You can't have people getting suspicious."

How come he takes it lightly? How did he get so calm after telling you to kill a man and watch you doing it?

"Fucking shut up!" You shout at him.

Talking to him makes everything unbearably real and it makes you recollect what happened last night. The guilt, the disgust you feel for yourself, the blood on your hands, you can see everything now under the daylight.

"I killed a man," you croak, saying it hurts that tears start to crawl out of you.

"I've killed someone," you meekly say with a tear rolling down from the corner of your eyes.

"Yeah, but that was hours ago," Minho nonchalantly says.

"I keep feeling the crack of his skull on the rock," you pause to sniffle and turn to look at Minho, "I did that."

But he wouldn't get what you feel because he's not a human in the first place. Minho is a demon.

"It's your fault. You're not even—" You stop talking because it's no use to talk to an entity that knows no compassion.

You brush your hair to the back and deeply sigh. Turning your head at Minho again to ask, "Why is this happening to me?"

You use the heel of your hand to press on your eye to stop crying, "I'm not a bad person."

"No, no, no," Minho quickly denies.

He moves to stand behind the couch and leans close to you, "It wouldn't work if you were. It has to be someone corruptible," he explains.

Your forehead wrinkles and forms a questioning look on your face, trying to make sense of what he said.

"If you think about it, what's happening here, it reflects really well on your character," he says with a smile.

What he said only assures you that you are a bad person. What you did is the reflection of what you truly are, a bad person.

You nod and wipe your wet cheek with the back of your hand. You get up to sit on the couch and grab your purse, rummaging inside to pull out your phone.

"What are you doing?" Minho asks with a panicked voice.

You dial the police line on your phone and show it to him, "Calling the police."

He jolts on his feet and sits next to you on the couch as you hit the call button.

"But why?" He asks.

You can hear the dialing tone ringing so close to your ear, "So they'll arrest me," you simply answer.

Minho nervously chuckles, "Then you won't be able to do the other sacrifices," he reminds you to rethink your choices.

"Good!" You shortly respond, trying to stay in your right mind this time.

"Then the Apocalypse will happen and billions will die. I know, I know, I get it. You don't want blood on your hand but if it saves billions..." He's babbling, desperately trying to stop you from turning yourself in.

The way he puts it that way, he makes you choose the lesser between the two evils. 

"Hello, police department, may I help you?" The operator speaks on the phone.

Kill three people who deserve it or save billions of innocent people?

You find yourself hanging up the call and putting your phone away, once again failing to do the right thing.

"See? You're a good person!" Minho says as he exhales in relief.

To be honest, you don't know what's good or bad, right or wrong anymore. It's one big blur to you.

You feel frustrated once again, you feel like a failure but on the bigger picture, you're trying to stop the world from ending.

But can you really save everyone?

-

You can't wait to dwell on everything in the comfort of your apartment. Before you can do all that, you need to set boundaries with him. You face him and look him right in the eyes, "I have six days to kill two more so please, give me a break for now."

Minho gets quiet for a moment before nodding in agreement, "That's fair."

Feeling the need to wash yourself from whatever it is clinging to your body, you get a shower and take your meds to help you decompress while sitting on the end of your bed in your bathrobe.

"I don't know why you take those pills," Minho says as he enters your room.

You quietly sigh at him and say, "Can you at least give me a few minutes until it's working?"

"Want to wash it down with wine?" He offers, showing the bottle of red in his hand.

You shake your head, "I can't drink alcohol after taking antidepressants," you answer, not sure why bother answering him.

"That sucks!" He says and puts the wine bottle down on top of your dresser, "I was thinking we could celebrate our first kill."

You feel a little faint at the mention of the word kill and celebrate being put in one sentence. You climb onto the bed and pull your duvet, "I need to rest."

Minho appears at the end of your bed, looking down at you with his dark, wide eyes, "That's right. We have a lot to do tomorrow."

"Can you turn the lights out for me?"

"Certainly."

The room turns dark but you get a newfound comfort in it.

"Goodnight," Minho's voice caresses your ears like a spring breeze.

You don't want to get used to this but you feel inexplicably at ease that there's someone else with you in this vast emptiness.

"Goodnight, Minho."

-

SIX DAYS TO THE END OF THE WORLD

You jolt awake to the sounds of your phone ringing on your bedside table and you know who it is without having to look at the contact name. Your fingers are tapping the phone screen as you squint your eyes to make sure you hit the accept call button.

"Yeah?" You ask as you put the phone on the side of your face while you're lying on your side with your eyes closed.

"You're still sleeping?" Kim asks, noticing the sleep in your voice.

"Mm-mmh," you hum in answer.

"You know what time it is?"

"I don't know. Nine or ten?" You wildly guess by how badly you want to go back to sleep.

You hear her sighing from the other line of the call, "It's almost 2 in the afternoon," she says.

You force your eyes to open to check the time yourself and see that it is indeed two in the afternoon.

"Oh?" You innocently gasp.

Realizing that may piss her off, you hurried to shift the conversation elsewhere, "Yeah, uh... why are you calling again?"

You fear that she's going to be mad about you abruptly leaving the exhibition or worse if she knew about Nick. You hold your breath, anticipating her answer.

"Oh, yes, I have good news," she says with a smile that you can feel from your end of the line.

"You sold four sculptures, darling!" She squeals.

That's exciting news but you don't have it in you to participate in that excitement, yet you feel relieved you can properly breathe at ease.

"That's... That's great!" You meekly say while raking your hair to the back with your fingers.

"I've been calling you since yesterday, you know that?"

"Oh? I, uhm..." You take a moment to think of an answer.

Summoned a demon? Found out that you have seven days to the end of the world? Killed someone to stop it?

"I needed—"

"Never mind!" She rudely cuts you off, "Guessing from how tired you sounded, you must be going straight back to work, huh?"

The sculpture is still a chunk of unshapen stone but yeah, you worked on it just a bit. Well, a work is a work.

"Yeah, I-I did," you sputter your answer yet thankful that all of her guesses are off the mark.

"I'll come with the paperwork tomorrow. For now, you can rest now or work some more, knock yourself out," she says, couldn't care less about what you're doing now that you've made money and she got to feed on a few percent of it.

"Thanks, Kim!" You say, because it's better to always be on her good side.

"Oh, come on! We both working hard," she kindly refuses but you know she feels entitled to this.

"Let's have a dinner to celebrate," she suggests.

"Yeah, yeah," you half-heartedly answer.

"Talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay."

"Bye!"

You don't even bother to say it back knowing that she'll hang up right after she said her bye. Since you've woken up already, you sit up on the bed and pull your knees up, hugging your feet as you gather your thoughts.

In your peripheral vision, you see a flash of red from the doorway of your room. You turn to look and see Minho standing with the side of his body leaning against the doorframe.

The all-black outfit he's wearing makes his honey skin glow and his hair look like a blazing fire under the sunlight. He smiles once he notices your eyes are on him.

"Morning, sunshine!" He sweetly greets you with a smile that is a little unsettling but a whole lot attractive.

He crosses his arms in front of him, exposing the veins coiling his forearms, "Oh, wait, it's way past noon," he says with a grin.

Looking at him only reminds you of the responsibility you're carrying on your shoulders: saving billions of people from being incinerated.

"Are you always like this or...?" Minho asks, breaking the silence that hung in the room as you think of the dire situation you're in.

Minho approaches you and stands at the end of the bed, "You can't stay in all day. We only have five and a half days left," he reminds you of the time-sensitive quest you're in.

The only way to save those billions is by killing three people. That's the only thing on the pro list, there are just too many cons, mainly on the killing part. The only good thing that comes out of it so far is that you only need to do two more killings.

God! What have you become?

"What should I do?" You hopelessly ask him even though it's a bad idea to ask a demon such a question.

"Just carry on as usual so the people around you don't get spooked," he answers.

It's you and him, him and you, there's no one else you can seek help from.

Minho is right. You can't just sit here and watch the day goes by or else the thing you've done would come to a waste.

You slowly scoot over to sit on the edge of the bed and rub the sleep of your eyes, not ready to face the day when you know you only have six days left to stop the end of the world.

"And while we're going on about the day we can decide who to kill next," Minho adds.

The devilish grin looks beautiful on his sculpted face but everything he says sending a chill down your spine.

-

"Oh, an old lady!" Minho exclaims as an elderly lady enters the elevator.

You silently watch as he scoots closer to her and smells her head, "She smells like... oh! She's sweet."

You silently groan in the corner watching what he's doing.

He places his hand on the lady's shoulder and says, "She can't stop thinking about the end though. She can't wait for it to come."

He looks at you with that wild grin plastered on his face, "You'd be doing her a favor."

You lightly shake your head at him to make him stop playing around the poor lady but he doesn't get the clues.

"She dreams of death. Even now—"

"Shut up!" You say through your gritted teeth.

The old lady turns to look at you, "What is it, my dear?"

You quickly put on a smile for her, "Oh, nothing," you politely say.

Minho walks up to stand next to you again and whispers in your ear, "Just do it. No one will miss her."

"Shut up!" You whisper back while throwing daggers with your eyes at him.

"She's nearly dead already!"

Thankfully, the elevator dings open and shoots his idea down as you step out of the elevator.

"We need to start to pick someone!" He persists as he follows you walking in the lobby.

Minho is such a nuisance.

It's hard to ignore him when he keeps talking, making remarks about everyone he sees, and constantly around you the whole time.

It's when you're working on your sculpture that you get to immerse yourself in your work and disassociate from reality.

All you hear is the slamming sound of your hammer on the chisel and pieces of stone falling onto the floor. Looking down at the mess you made, you spot one particular piece of stone lying close to your feet. You stare at it for too long you get the recollection of that night.

The weight of the rock in your hand, how you bashed someone's head with it, and the splashing sound of the man falling into the water, all of that vividly playing in the back of your head.

You stagger backward and drop your chisel onto the floor, the clattering sound echoing in the spacious studio.

"I've been meaning to tell you this," Minho appears from behind the sculpture, startling you.

"We should order food," he suggests.

You put away your hammer and take off your mask, walking to the mini fridge to get a bottle of water.

"You're a demon. You feed on..." You think for a moment to finish your sentence as you unscrew the cap of the bottle.

He snatches the flyer stuck to the fridge door and asks, "Pizza?"

You close the fridge and walk over to the couch, plopping yourself down before chugging some water into your system.

"You need to eat so you can—"

"Kill?" You finish his sentence.

Minho scrunches his nose and sits on the armrest of the couch next to you, "I was about to say think but yeah, that too," he says.

You untie your pinafore and throw it aside, he isn't wrong to say that you need to eat. What's the point of saving the world if you're going to die of starvation?

You let out a sigh and grab the flyer from his hand, typing the numbers on your phone screen.

"Cheese pizza, please? With a lot of pepperoni!"

How can you believe that he's a demon when his choice of pizza topping is like a toddler's?

-

"Good evening, Miss!" The concierge greets you as he sees you enter the door.

"Hi," you greet back, impatiently wanting to get back to your apartment to dwell on your fate again.

"Miss Kim came by and dropped something for you," he informs, taking out a big envelope from your mailing box.

There's a faint sound coming from the small TV tuned to a news broadcast when you come to the desk to collect it.

"Here it is, Miss," he slides the big brown envelope across the shiny surface of the desk. There's a note on top of it which you immediately recognize as Kim's.

You open to do a quick check on what's inside when you hear a glimpse of the news from the TV.

"...man found dead in the river has been identified as Ben Watson, a financial officer of a bank company, leaving a wife and a seven-year-old daughter who has been notified about his tragic death..."

You glance at the small screen and see the photograph of the man you killed that night. You can't possibly be wrong about this when you remember the horror on his face as you lifted the rock before swinging it hard to his head.

"Is there anything wrong, Miss?" The concierge asks.

You snap yourself out of your daze and put the envelope close to your chest as if someone about to steal it from you.

"No, no," your voice is quivering in panic at the sight of the man you killed.

"Thank you," you abruptly the conversation with gratitude and walking fast to the elevator.

The warm water doesn't work to calm you down when you're tainted inside. You feel filthy, inside and out. You feel sick seeing your reflection in the mirror.

You've been holding your medicine in your hand but you need something stronger, you ditch the pill and run to the kitchen.

You pull out the wine you have in the kitchen cabinet and drink it straight from the bottle, chugging it like it's water. You gasp when you stop drinking, taking the bottle with you as you sit on the sofa while you're still in your bathrobe.

"This is how you're going to end the day?" Minho asks, taking the bottle of wine from you to take a sip.

"Can you stop talking about killing for just—" You choke on air as anger bubbles up inside you.

Minho holds his hands up in defeat and leans back on the sofa next to you, "I'm just saying..." he meekly says.

The silence only resides for a minute until he speaks again, "Look, the earlier you get it done—" he stops talking when you shoot him a glare.

You take the bottle of wine from him and take a long gulp, a drop of wine escapes the corner of your mouth, dripping down your chin.

You aggressively wipe it with the sleeve of your bathrobe and recline on the sofa, looking out at the city lights that look like pinpricks in the dark of the night.

"I'm crazy..." you sadly remark.

Those words remind you of a sobering fact that what people think of you: crazy.

Ever since you were still an art student, people often found you talking to yourself in class, always in your little world with your imaginary friend. That leads you to this solitary life because normal people avoid crazy.

"People are right about me. I'm crazy," you state again, and saying it out loud makes your heart aches.

Minho turns his head and looks at you with his dark eyes that weirdly provide you warmth, "You're not crazy."

But why would a normal person kill a person because a demon told him to? You don't even know if he's real and not a product of your imagination.

"I'm a murderer..." you say with a heavy sigh and an even heavier heart.

He scoots closer until he sits close next to you, his shoulder bumps with yours on the big sofa that could fit five people. He looks at you and gently says, "Yeah, but not a crazy one."

Minho has a way of looking at bad things positively. You chuckle at the irony of his words. You can't tell if you should be happy that you're not crazy or sad that you're indeed a murderer.

He slumps down on the sofa to be on the same level as you, also turning his head to look at the view, "Want to know something?"

Instead of answering, you take a sip of the wine. You know he'll keep talking even if you refuse him.

"This is actually my first assignment," he shares.

He drops his hand on the space on the sofa, merely inches away from yours, "It's more of an initiation, sort of earning my wings."

You look at him and get a little taken aback by the proximity you can see yourself in his eyes. You almost forget what you were trying to say to him, "What are you trying to say?"

You look away because he looks exactly like the one you envisioned on your sculpture, divinely beautiful that it's hard to comprehend.

"I'm saying that I'm new to this too," he answers.

Again, you can't tell if you should be happy or sad to know that. Strangely though, you find comfort in his words.

You look at his hand splayed so close to yours and it evokes the curiosity in you that needs to be fed. You gently flip over his hand and gently slip your fingers on the spaces between his fingers, you can feel the warmth and the roughness of his finger pads on each finger.

Minho is real, he's real, you perpetually assure yourself.

You glance at him and he's looking at you, your eyes meet in a tender gaze.

"Are you real, Minho?"

You're aware of how much that question weighs. If the answer is no, you know the insurmountable pain you brought onto yourself.

He slowly blinks and you can see his dark lashes fanning out so beautifully. His crimson-red lips open and says, "I'm as real as you want me to be."

Words aren't enough to convince you. With the despair filling your heart, you lean in and innocently put your lips on his. It's a kiss that feels more than just a physical act, one that you didn't know you needed.

After getting the reassurance that you need, you pull away. However, the hand lingering on your jaw tells otherwise. He touches your face with just his fingertips yet it's enough to send a tingle inside.

Slowly, he leans in to kiss your closed eyelids ever so softly and before you know it, he brings your face closer to place a tender kiss on your lips. 

And for the first time in your life, you feel the warmth no one has ever given you.

-

FIVE DAYS TO THE END OF THE WORLD

"You wake up early!" Minho says as you dress up to get ready for the day.

You ignore his words, continue collecting your things around the room, and put them into your bag.

"Are you trying to match your clothes with me?" He says, looking at your all-black outfit while sitting on the headrest of the sofa.

This morning, you woke up on the sofa still in your bathrobe and a blanket covered your body. The first thing you remember is you kissed him last night and somehow, it convinces you to keep going with the quest.

However, you still feel conflicted with what you do. You need to make sure of one thing.

"How about this handsome fucker?" Minho asks, pointing to the other person riding the elevator with you.

The man looks indeed handsome, he dressed so impeccably when it's only ten in the morning. He catches you looking and smiles at you.

You politely smile back and look away only to face Minho who's standing on the other corner of the elevator.

"He'll be losing his hair at the age of 32 and spends the next 29 years taking it out on his wife," he whispers even though no one can hear him but you.

The taxi ride to the hospital only takes fifteen minutes and you know where to go right away from the array of flower arrangements outside the separate building from the main hospital.

"Please tell me you're not doing what I'm thinking?" Minho asks in a concerned voice.

You wish to be able to shut him up for a few minutes until you can find what you're looking for. The hall is packed with people in black attire to what you can safely assume are the guests of the mourning family on the two funeral services being held by two different families.

You read the sign that leads to the Watson family yet pretend to be the one visiting the other family. Before you can sneak into their funeral service, you see someone taking the daughter outside.

"This is a bad idea!" Minho panickly says.

It's kind of alarming to hear because it's the first time he sounded genuinely concerned. You follow where the little girl is being taken and turns out, she's being taken to the park outside, probably to avoid her feeling overwhelmed.

"You're not a relative. People will get suspicious of you!" Minho nervously whispers.

You come over to the two men chatting and kindly ask for a cigarette even though you don't smoke. You stand at the other side of the door and take a drag of the smoke to be seen convincing.

"I know you're worried..." Minho sighs.

He stands next to you with his head hovering close to your ear. He takes a breath before talking, "She's not in mourning. She's not not mourning," he says as you both quietly watch the girl sitting on the bench and drinking a juice box.

"Happy that it's finished but sad that he's dead. But it has finished!" He emphasizes the last word.

You take another drag and accidentally do it excessively, sending you into a coughing fit.

"You spared her another five years of it. A lifetime of therapy," Minho explains, "a lifetime!"

You look at him to see if he meant what he said. He's a demon after all, the vision he forced you to see could be misleading, a trick to make you do what he says.

He looks back at you and smiles, "She's a mom at 29. A nan at 57," he shares.

See? He knows how to comfort you even though you don't ask for it. You give up on pretending to smoke and stab the cigarette butts onto the big ashtray. You shove your hands into the pocket of your jacket and start walking away to the parking lot.

"Why are you telling me this?" You curiously ask.

He nonchalantly shrugs as he walks next to you, "I just thought you'd like to know."

-

"Did you see that?" Minho shouts as he leisurely watches TV with his feet up on the couch.

You pretend not to hear him and continue sculpting, hitting the hammer harder, louder to drown out his voice. As if he read your mind, he appears behind you and places both of his hands on your shoulders.

"You should see this!" He insists, steering your body and making you watch the TV.

It's a broadcast of night news about climate change and he magically changes the channel to show news about nuclear testing.

"It's manifesting. Do you understand?"

Minho keeps switching the channel to show you every bad there is happening in the world, everything that shows the sign that the world is close to ending.

You lightly shrug him off and say, "We got this kind of news a few years ago but—"

Minho holds you by the shoulders and shakes you awake, "This is real. We don't have much time and you're the only one who can stop it!" He reminds you of the harsh truth.

Somehow that only makes you question why you have to be the one to bear such responsibility. Billions of people on earth and they chose you?

"I'm not ready yet. I'm—"

"Don't you want to see that little girl live her peaceful future?" Minho asks.

This is where you know he's being the demon he is, using your weakness to his advantage and making you give in to the temptation.

It's not so much a temptation when you have no other options, it's killing or being engulfed in flames on Friday. You muster up your courage and think of something to do.

The first killing was what Minho said it was: a beginner's luck, the man happened to be there and an abusive bastard, even in his grave, he shall not rest in peace.

This time, you plan to do it meticulously and without mistakes. You walk to the kitchen and pull open the drawer, taking out a knife you occasionally use to cut your sandwiches.

Minho shakes his head in disapproval of your choice of weapon, "You're not a knife person," he concludes.

You look at him, demanding an explanation behind that haste conclusion.

"It's messy. You could hurt yourself," he explains.

That sounds right. You put the knife back into the drawer and look around the studio to find potential killing weapons.

Minho leans into your side and whispers, "Let's choose something that is more you!"

You look at him and see that he's eyeing the table full of your sculpting tools.

You pick up the medium chisel and show it to him to seek his approval. You meet another disapproval as he strongly shakes his head.

"It's too specific. They'll know it's you. You're the only sculptor living in the area," he gives you an insight into how the devil's mind works.

You must admit that he just saved you from making a mistake. You pick another weapon that you're familiar with but also gives you the upper hand to do the killing. You pick up the hammer and turn around to show him.

A smile rises on his face as he nods in approval, "That's you! You're a basher!"

You bring the hammer close and observe it, it feels good around your hand since it's a tool that you work with most of your life.

"You've had the practice now. It'll be easier this time," Minho says with a sinister smile.

You want to believe his words so much but the nerves get to you. Your breathing becomes erratic once you realize what you're going to do with the hammer.

Minho puts his hand on the small of your back and holds you steady, "Liquor courage! That's what you need! Booze!" He suggests.

"I don't keep any alcohol in the studio," you meekly say.

Considering that sculpting involves a lot of sharp objects, it's wise to not keep anything that would dull your focus.

"Also, I just took an antidepressant an hour ago," you inform him.

"Oh, shit!" He curses and leans his body to the back, against the table.

Minho crosses his arms in front of him, then rubs his chin as he thinks of something. He then leers at you with a smirk dancing on his face, "Well, do you want a drink?"

-

There's a bar a few blocks away from your studio.

You got here in need of liquid courage and there's plenty of them here. You plan to only consume enough alcohol just to calm the nerves but not too much to lose your focus.

It gets you anxious to step into a new environment. You decide to go straight to order drinks.

"Whiskey, please?" You say to the bartender with a handlebar mustache.

Bartenders tend to remember the faces they have seen and yours must not have registered into his memory bank. He puts away the cloth he's holding.

"You want ice with it?" He asks.

"I'll have it dry," you answer since you came here for the alcohol, not for refreshment.

"Easy, love. We have work to do," Minho reminds as he props a hand against the countertop.

Knowing that one drink wouldn't be enough and you don't want to bother the bartender again for a drink, you decide to double.

"Make that two, please!" You hurriedly say before the bartender starts making your order.

"You don't have to get one for me," Minho grins at you.

The bartender takes another glass with him to finally fill them with your choice of potion.

"I didn't," you whisper back at him.

You immediately pay for it and bring your drinks with you to the empty spot in the corner of the bar, hidden behind the pool table.

You slowly sip your drink and feel it running through your system, stripping a layer of senses off of you, making you less aware of your surroundings.

"Okay, you see anyone tasty?" Minho asks as he sits next to you.

He cranes his neck looking for the next human sacrifice among the people who are enjoying their concoctions. His finger points to the guy with a beanie and drinking a pint of beer.

"Oh, that one perfect!" He exclaims.

He stacks his hands on top of the table and leans forward as he further speaks, "Burglaries. Mostly target the elderly. What do you reckon?" He turns to you for opinions.

The alcohol is not quite there yet so you take a longer sip. You feel the alcohol burns your throat and you wince from the bitter aftertaste.

"No?" He asks as he looks at you.

You know he's asking about the human sacrifice, not the alcohol but the answer is the same, "No."

Minho moves on. His eyes are pacing around the room to study people and check their backgrounds with his evil power.

He taps your shoulder as he finds his next candidate, "See that girl with the pints?"

You can easily spot the girl with curly hair, carrying two pints of beer in her hands.

Minho leans in close to your ear to give his intel, "She went on holiday when she was 12 years old and saw her sister drown in a swimming pool."

He suddenly lowers his voice as he tells you the rest of the story, "She could have pulled her out but she just stood there and watched."

Maybe it's true that people are the scariest.

They may look ordinary and good and all yet inside, lies this darkness that they buried deep inside them. If Minho hadn't told you, you would have taken her as a pretty girl with a nice smile and nothing more.

Minho pulls at the sleeve of your shirt and points to another guy, talking to his friend by the pool table. You're about to wave him off again until the guy turns his head and you know who it is.

"How about him? He likes to secretly film girls by drug them and once he—"

"Sent a girl into overdose," you finish his sentence.

Everyone knows who Tim Shaw other than a student in our faculty and more importantly, people know what he likes to do to innocent girls yet no one dares to make him take responsibility for what he did.

Until one night, he drugged a girl and left her on the cold floor of a club, unconscious. There's no evidence that he drugged her or it was he drugged, ended up with him getting dropped off of all charges.

You have one more drink to finish and you gulp it in one go, wanting to use this opportunity to get back for what he did to that poor, innocent girl.

Minho triumphantly smiles, knowing that you have set a target on Tim's head.

"I think we have a contender," he concludes.

-

Tim is exiting the bar and you take it as an advantage.

You don't need to lure him out, you wait a minute before you follow him outside to not seem conspicuous. Once you're outside, you look side to side to see where Tim is going.

"Perfect location. No witnesses," Minho answers as you both find him turning to the back of the bar.

Tim seems to hear your rushed footsteps and turns around to see you. He seems to be taken aback and you doubt that he'll recognize you. Being crazy has its advantages, you're off the asshole's radar.

You nervously laugh as he looks at you. You quickly think of something to say, "Oh, my God! It's really you, Tim!" You say with fake enthusiasm.

"I'm sorry but who..." he gets all defensive.

"I'm—" You don't know how to explain yourself other than 'the insane one from art school'.

"Oh, wait, you're that girl, the sculptor, the... uh," he brakes before he can say the infamous title of yours.

"The freaky one?" You playfully say.

He bursts into laughter and nods, "Hey, don't get me wrong. I like freaky," he says.

Minho points to the carts of empty bottles and gestures for you to use them instead of the hammer inside your bag that weighs your shoulder the longer you're carrying it.

"I was just getting a drink but it doesn't feel good drinking alone," you lie even though that's how you prefer to enjoy your poison.

"Yeah, I bet," he says with a grin that showcases his whitened teeth and malicious intent.

"How about drinking at my place?" He offers.

"Home turf. Even better," Minho comments, appearing behind you.

You don't want to seem desperate to be with Tim because honestly, you're just stalling to find the perfect opportunity to kill him. It's time to put what you learned from Kim into practice.

"I, uhm..." you rub the back of your neck and shyly smile at him, "I don't think that's..."

As you pretend to consider his offer, he's secretly checking you out. His eyes travel up and down your body, you bet he thinks of lewd things even though you're dressed like a bible salesman with the same outfit you wore to the funeral service.

He takes a step forward and smiles at you, "I live not far from here. You can easily crawl back here if you think I'm a bad drinking partner," he seduces.

Tim must have thought you were as gullible as the other. Oh, he has no idea the surprise you have for him!

"If you don't mind, yeah," you say with a low giggle.

"Okay," he says with a triumphant smile.

His house is indeed only two blocks away from the bar and he keeps boasting about how he owns a house from his inheritance and the rising price of property these days.

"Please, come in!" He lets you into his house.

You step on a crumpled beer can as you enter the living room and are horrified at the amount of trash littering the place.

"A few friends and I watched a football match last night," he concisely explains.

He takes off his jacket and hangs it on the coat rack, "How about we drink in my room?"

You uneasily glance at Minho and he nods. You look back at Tim then put on a fake smile for him, "Yes."

He leads the way up the stairs and you follow him, climbing the steps with the hammer getting heavier and heavier inside your bag.

Tim turns around and sees you being hesitant, "There's no need to be shy now," he says with a lopsided grin.

You respond with a smile, keeping your head tilted up, and continue climbing up the stairs.

"Now!" Minho orders.

"Hit him with the hammer now!" He says again so close to your ear.

Your head snaps in his direction and hisses through your gritted teeth, "Shut the fuck up!"

Tim catches you talking and looks over his shoulder, "What's that?"

"Can't wait to see the bedroom!" You lie and add a giggle to sound convincing.

He smirks at you before pushing the door to his bedroom, "Come on in!"

His room is less messy than his living room in which he helplessly tries to make it seem tidy by flattening the pile of his duvet.

"You can sit down here," he says, patting the space next to him on the bed.

"You're not really going to have sex with him, are you?" Minho asks as he quietly watches you from across the bed.

A deadly glare is enough to answer him and he immediately refrains from pressuring you.

"I was just checking," he adds.

It's when you're in his bedroom that you start to fear Tim, not when you know what he is capable of. But at the same time, it fuels your hate fire, it reminds you of the reason why you need to eliminate scum like him.

"You keep your alcohol in your room?" You ask.

It's obvious that he took you here for different intention. He's taking you here for the sole reason that is to ruin your life.

"Oh, yeah, the drinks," he smacks his lips together and awkwardly paces in the room.

He reaches for the portable speaker on top of his dresser and turns it on, "You can wait for the drinks while listening to music," he says.

You nod, "That sounds nice!"

He gets out of his bedroom and heads back downstairs. While he's doing what you believe is spiking your drink with substance, you think of a plan on how you're going to kill him.

First, you take the hammer out of your bag and practice your swing. You get panicked with each second passed and haven't found a way to catch him off guard.

The footsteps on the stairs signal you that he's on his way here. You decide to do the classic way by hiding in the back of the door, planning to strike him from behind.

You see his figure entering the room, carrying two glasses of drinks in his hands, "It's your lucky day because I found a bottle of—"

Without thinking, you swing your hammer hard and hit him right on the side of the head. It's a weak blow and you can see that from how he's staggering backward, still conscious.

There's no turning back now that you have done it. You come charging at him, attacking him while he's still disoriented from the first blow.

He collapses onto the bed and not giving him time to recover, you keep hitting his head with the hammer with blood splattering the bed and wall with every swing of the hammer going onto his head.

You whimper as blood gets on your face and see that Tim is lying cold on the bed, dead. However, you land another blow just to make sure you've done it and leave no room for mistakes.

"You're good, you're good," Minho says from across the room.

That's when you stop and take a step back. It feels like your soul has left your body, you suddenly feel drained and the hammer drops onto the floor.

You look at the mess you made, the bloody mess and dead body, your life that is once far from all of it. Your throat suddenly closes up and you find it hard to breathe.

After a moment, Minho gets to your side to say, "You can't have that lying around," he's eyeing the bloody hammer lying on the floor.

With your mouth gaping for air, you bend down to pick it up and shove it back into your bag.

"Cleans anything you touched," Minho instructed.

You take a handkerchief from inside your jacket and use it to wipe surfaces you probably made contact with even though you're sure there aren't any.

You leave the bedroom after wiping the handle of the door and make a turn to the stairs when you hear the front door creak open.

You peek from the top of the stairs and someone is turning the lights in the kitchen.

"Get out before he sees you," Minho whispers.

It's bad when he needs to whisper like that even though no one can hear or see him, but you. The adrenaline is still pumping and you make the most of it by bracing yourself to make a run down the stairs and to the front door that is only a few meters away.

You take a deep breath before quietly descending the stairs without making any noise. You can feel your heart beating in your ear yet you keep going as the door is only a reach away.

You successfully land on the base of the stairs when your bag accidentally hits a flower pot, sending it breaking into pieces on the floor.

"Tim?" The man calls.

He looks at you with confusion drawn on his face, "Who are you?"

It's too late for you to break into a run as he sees your face and officially makes him an eyewitness. You can't leave an eyewitness, at least, not until you've done all three human sacrifices.

Is it necessary to kill him though?

You can think and consider as much as you want but it all comes down to the one question: kill or end the world?

-

Support my blog by kindly reblog, comment or tip me on my ko-fi!

taglist: @svintsandghosts @abiaswreck @septicrebel @cursed-mars-bars @ppiri-bahng @drhsthl @tangylemonade @bluenights1899 @thisisnotstraight88 @elizalabs3 @avyskai @is2cb97 @simeonswhore @marvelous-llama @linovely @jisungsleftcheek @hanjisbeloved @luvsskzs @knowleeknow @army-stay-noel @djeniryuu @bigsobs4skz @toplinehyunjin @channies-luv @foxinnie8 @biribarabiribbaem @dalamjisung @moasworld @sherryblossom @fawnpeaks @lukeys-giggle @obeythemasters @primoppang @devilsmatches @skz-streamer @freckleboilix @idkluvutellme @laylasbunbunny @cherry-edibles @cutiespaghetti @yourmercibeaucoupsblog @hanjisunginc

[cherrychilli]

Slip of the Tongue

A mini series I 18+ I Enemies to lovers

Chapter one

Eddie Munson, AFAB reader, neighbor! reader.

Reader and Eddie are the same age - she's in College and he's repeating his senior year once again.

Chapter Summary: You discover that Eddie's been practicing a very interesting new trick on his guitar, one which he offers to use on you under the guise of giving you some much needed stress relief.

A/N: Listen, series scare the shit out of me but I'm trying to challenge myself with a tiny one. I kind of already feel like I'm biting off more than I can chew but I'm going to give it my best shot.

Inspired by those clips of Steve Vai and Jimi Hendrix. ifkyk.

Chapter warnings: Nothing explicit this chapter. Some suggestive stuff but the real smut begins next chapter, so if you want more you better let me know!

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He's doing it again. Of course he's doing it again.

You tilt your head forward, forehead dropping into your hands. Heatedly, you mutter your annoyance under your breath, thumbs rubbing at throbbing temples and eyes squeezing shut when the music picks up to an ear ringing volume.

Eddie Munson took sick pleasure in riling you up – you were certain of that given how he only ever seemed to plug in his guitar when it was time for you to study your coursework, wrecking your concentration and making your temper skyrocket with a kind of ease only he was capable of.

For years, you’d taken issue with the fact that your trailer neighbored his own, your bedroom becoming an echo chamber for every blaring chord progression and heavily distorted guitar riff that strummed out from Eddie's open window.

And as always, you felt the need to make your displeasure known.

Abandoning your textbooks, you hastily shove your shoes on to stomp over next door. You knew from painful experience that it was best to head behind the Munson’s trailer and approach Eddie’s bedroom window than to pound on the front door, the sound of his playing almost always too loud for him to notice your knocking.

Trampling over the patchy, dry lawn that lay between your homes, you made your way across, rounding the corner and striding up to the open window, fuming with thoughts of what you’d yell at him this time when you caught sight of the metalhead.

As expected, he's rocking out in the center of his unruly bedroom. No doubt having tuned the rest of the world out, channeling so much of his wild, boundless energy into his playing.

His mop of dark messy curls aren't tied back today, allowed to sway, tumble and whip around his face as he played to an audience of some devilish looking posters and a couple figurines that stood on his crowded desk, probably a part of that fantasy game he's always going on about.

He's dressed in grey sweats that hang low around his hips and a ratty old band tee that tended to ride up, you couldn't help but notice.

‘At least he’s got clothes on today’, you thought to yourself mirthlessly, only a touch thankful for the silver lining of not having to confront him while he's shirtless or in his boxers again. Not that he’d ever minded you seeing him like that before.

Your last encounter with Eddie was one you hoped to soon forget, cringing because he'd caught your gaze wandering when you came over to reprimand him for the noise again, becoming noticeably distracted by his bare chest and the tattoos adorning it.

You don't know how it happened, only that you fell into a sort of daze when your eyes slipped lower to follow the slope of his pale tummy, leading to the sparse trail of dark hair which thickened below his belly button and disappeared underneath the waistband of his boxers.

D'you want a picture or something, darling?, he'd quipped, growing even more pleased with himself when your face turned hot and the embarrassment of getting caught had you stuttering out the first thing you could manage.

"F-fuck off, Munson", you spit back and retreated awkwardly, the sound of his barking laughter as you did so ringing in your ears long after you made it back into your room and hid underneath your blankets for a good hour.

Yeah, that was hard to live down. As was trying to expunge the image of Eddie's unclothed torso from your mind.

Most times he could anticipate your arrival, like a lightning storm only he could forecast but this time he hasn’t seemed to noticed you yet, tongue pinched between his lips in concentration while his fingers travelled skillfully over the ebony fretboard of his guitar.

Watching him play like that sometimes made you think that if he hadn't plagued you for half your life with all of his antics, you might have admitted that he was good musician - that he had talent most people didn't care to acknowledge and maybe even go so far as to say that you found it impressive that he’d managed teach himself how to play in lieu of any lessons.

But you weren’t about to sing Eddie Munson's praises. Not when he was seconds away from making you pop a vein.

Taking a deep breath in, you prepared yourself to start the unpleasant cycle of bickering with your neighbor once again, hoping against hope that, at the very least, it'll be a short exchange this time.

“Ed-"

You meant to catch his attention with a single shout but the heated call flattens on your tongue in an instant, heart beat kicking up as you watch what he does next.

He lifts his treasured Warlock and you're half afraid for him when he casually flips the front of the instrument towards his face, its angular design and jagged edges enough to worry you even when he played on it the regular way.

But it's when his tongue stretches out, long and slick like a serpent, that things start to feel...hazy. Speechlessly, you stare as he slides it along one of the guitar's six strings, following the length of it from near the bottom of the fretboard while his left hand continued to flit over the strings by the neck, creating harmonics in a way you’d never thought was possible before.

Are my palms sweating?

The sound begins to shift again and your eyes bulge when he slides his tongue back down, flicking and picking the guitar strings by the tip of it with more speed and dexterity than you'd thought was possible, his fingers continuing to move seamlessly to hold down every note.

Eyes closed (and there was no chance of you letting that happen) there was no way you could've told the difference than if he’d been playing with his fingers all along, the sound just as sharp and crisp as as every time before.

It's filthy, bordering on vulgar the way he’s moving the silky pink muscle so expertly, so much so that it makes you feel like you're intruding, peeping in on something that only happened behind closed doors.

But that gnawing feeling isn't anywhere near enough to make you stop looking. Your gaze stays planted firmly on Eddie's mouth, the sight making your head crowd with static and your belly swirl with heat. Your thighs had been clamped together too, you realize, a sickening realization dawning over you when they rub together, registering the dampness pooling between them underneath your skirt.

Oh my god…am I w-?

And just as abruptly as the realization had sunk in, the song ends. Deafening silence returns to your shared corner of the trailer park when Eddie sets the guitar back down to hang by the strap fixed over his shoulder, eyes flicking to you as if he'd known all along that you'd been standing there, gawking at him.

"So, what do you think? pretty good, right? been working on it for weeks", he pants out, chest rising and falling softly with each labored breath.

Somehow, this feels so much worse than when he caught you staring the last time.

With luck, you're able to shake yourself out of your trance like state, round eyes narrowing in preparation to berate him as originally intended

"Fucking hell, Eddie would you keep it down? I'm trying to study!", you agonize, scrambling to find your fury again.

But your tone doesn’t seem to bother him, it rarely ever did. So he leans through the open window, elbows resting on the window pane, eyeing you up and down all amused.

"You look stressed", he observes, and it's the flippant way in which he does it that ticks you off, with the kind of lopsided smile you’d often described as annoying. For the most part because he’d almost always done something to that effect before flashing you one.

"I am", you confirm with an acidic glare, hoping he couldn't tell how frazzled his little performance had left you.

"And you're not helping so knock it off"

Turning on your heel, you're desperate to retreat back to your place for a reprieve, heart hammering inside your chest when he calls out to you again.

"I could help you relax, y'know"

The way he says it makes you pause, like he's about to let you in on a secret.

Your skin prickles with goosebumps. "I'm not buying weed from you Eddie", you answer back over your shoulder, trying to look unimpressed as you attempt to turn him down.

"I wouldn't charge", the boy winks at you without missing a beat, undeterred by your cold attitude and you hate that his persistence makes your face feel hot.

"But that's not what I was going to suggest"

"Oh?"

You turn around to face him again, intrigue building.

He takes a moment to scan you thoughtfully, brows furrowing, almost as if he's weighing the outcomes of what might happen if he were to continue.

"You liked what you saw, right?", his brown eyes flicked down to his guitar and back up to you in quick reference to what you were hoping to avoid.

The mention of what you'd witnessed him doing with his tongue brings that hot, sticky feeling sitting at the base of your stomach back in full force, alarm bells ringing in your head.

"What does that have to do with anything?", you ask cautiously, realizing a second too late that you’ve only confirmed his suspicion.

"Well..."

Eddie curls a finger up at you, rings glinting in the sunlight, beckoning you closer and for some reason you actually oblige, stepping up to his window until you’re only a foot apart from one another.

Low and throaty, he whispers to you. "I can do a lot more with my tongue than just shred on my guitar", flicking the muscle salaciously between his lips like a viper ready to strike.

It should revolt you, watching the crude gesture courtesy of the bane next door, the implication behind it enough to make your skin crawl.

So why doesn't it?

Why does it make you want to leap at him and close the distance between the two of you, hungry to feel his tongue against your own?

"You're disgusting", you tell him instead in an attempt to deflect, voice wavering through the lie.

But he's too astute to be fooled now. "And you like it", he counters easily.

"So are you going to cut the bullshit and climb in here or what?"

You stare at the hand he holds out to you and before you can think to just walk away, before you can pull yourself together and stifle the roaring fire inside lapping at your bones, your fingers have found their way to his.

[amisa-k]

daemon provokes and begs

sub!daemon x dom!reader

!smut, choking, edging, light humiliation!

daemon is flirting with you and he doesn't care if he does it in public or not. he does it so often and so plainly that it casts doubt on your pure reputation as an innocent proper lady.

he thinks that he can play with you as he likes and you will fall under his spell, and he will have nothing for it. but he is wrong. so when you agree to come to his chambers at night, he clearly doesn't expect you to push him against the wall.

“do i look like you can joke with me?” you hiss.

he looks confident and already opens his mouth to say something with a smirk but you grab his chin.

“don’t want to hear even a single word from you. undress”

“impatient, are we?”

even though that smirk doesn't leave his face, there's something in your voice that makes his skin tingle and he does what you ask.

he slowly undresses, making a whole show out of it, while you stand with your arms crossed over your chest and don’t take your eyes off him. someone has to show him where he belongs. daemon doesn't take his eyes off you either, but his gaze is rather playful and interested.

“is that to your liking?”

he stood before you naked and unashamed.

when you just pursed your lips in response he moved closer and put his hands on your hips. his naked body is almost pressed against yours and you feel his warmth, but now isn’t the time to give in. you roughly drop his hands from your hips.

“don't touch me or i will tie you up.”

daemon just laughs at that but you cut him off by grabbing his chin hard.

“do you know why i'm angry?”

“because i teased you?”

“you are insufferable.”

“i was just being playful.”

your eyes narrow and the hand on his chin moves down to his neck. you don't squeeze but you hold firmly. he’s still looking at you with a slight sneer but something in his eyes has changed. he opens his mouth to say something but you stop him by pushing him onto the bed.

daemon complies, allowing himself to be pushed down onto the bed. he lies back, propped up on his elbows, looking up at you with a mixture of expectation and excitement. you straddle him, your hands on his chest. his breath hitches as your lips moved down his neck, his body responding to your touch despite his attempts to remain aloof. daemon lets out a low moan as your teeth nipped at the sensitive skin of his collarbone.

“is this your punishment? to tease me till i break?”

“yes”, you say before licking the bitten spot.

the feeling of your lips and teeth on his skin drove him wild. his breathing grew ragged, his body arching under you as he tried to pull you closer. he could feel the tension building in him, the desire coursing through his veins. his hands move up your thighs, he looks up at you through half-lidded eyes, the desire for you etched plain across his face.

“you’re a vicious wench, you know that?”

you slap him across the face.

“watch your mouth, daemon”

the sting of your slap took him by surprise, adding a sharper edge to the desire that was already coursing through him. he felt the heat on his face where your hand had struck, his pulse hammering in his chest.

“watch my mouth, hm?”. he echoed, his voice heavy with need.

“perhaps you should put it to better use”

“you’re very arrogant”, you say, as your fingers tracing the red imprint that your slap had left behind.

daemon’s eyes fluttered shut at your touch. he could feel the tension in the air, the desire between you palpable and magnetic. you shift your body, pressing against him just enough to drive him wild, your hips moving in a torturous slow circle. his breath hitched, his body arching at the feel of you pressing against him. he could feel your heat through the thin cloth of your dress, and it was driving him mad. he groaned, his hands gripping your hips tightly, pulling closer, trying to find some relief from the maddening sensation.

“you’re playing dirty”, he managed to gasp out, his voice hoarse with need.

you smile, enjoying his reaction. you lean down, your lips tracing a path from his ear to his jaw, your tongue darting out to taste his skin. you continue your slow grind against him, the friction between you growing more and more intense.

“i’m not just playing dirty,” you whisper. “i’m winning.”

the feeling of you against him was torturous, the slow, deliberate movement of your body against his driving him wild. his head fell back against the pillow, his breath coming in ragged gasps. you grin and continue your slow, torturous pace, enjoying the way he writhed and gasped beneath you. his frustration only fueled your own desire, and you decide to take it up a notch.

“what’s wrong, can’t handle a little teasing?”

his chest rose and fell with labored breath, his body reacting to you in ways that he couldn’t control. deliberate movements of your body were driving him mad, the need for more a constant ache in his veins. he could no longer form coherent words; all that came out were moans and half-formed pleas.

“please”, he managed to gasp out, his voice ragged with need.

you lean down, your lips millimetres from his ear. “please what? use your words”

he could feel your breath against his ear, your voice a low, taunting whisper that sent shivers down his spine. daemon could barely form a coherent thought, let alone a response.

“touch me,” he managed to gasp out. “more. i need more.”

you got off him to sit next to him and playfully run your hand from his stomach to his groin. "look at you, you're begging me to touch you. if lord corlys found out, or lord hightower... or ser criston, how would they react?"

your touch makes his breath catch in his throat but the thought is terrifying. he shuts his eyes tightly, refusing to answer. you run a finger along his length, causing daemon inhale sharply. he was so responsive to your touch that you begin to move your hand up and down with firm grip. you see it doesn't take him long to finish if you continue at this pace.

“i’m gonna…”

“i say when you come”

your words sent a shiver down his spine, the command in your voice igniting an even deeper wave of desire. he could feel himself on the precipice, teetering on the edge.

“please…”, he managed to gasp out. "i-i can’t… i’m going to-"

you knew he was right on the edge. you could feel the tension in him, could see it in the way he was trembling. with a sultry smile, you leaned down, your mouth by his ear.

“not yet. you'll come when i say you can come. until then, you'll just have to suffer and beg."

his body was a taut bowstring, every muscle strained with the effort of holding himself back. each word from your mouth, each touch of your hand brought him closer to the precipice, but each time you pulled him back, refusing to let him let go.

“please…”he gasped, his voice thick with need. “please, i don’t know how much longer i can hold on.”

while your one hand continues moving, your other hand finds his neck and squeezes it. the unexpected sensation drew a strangled gasp from daemon. he tried to protest, but the words died in his throat as your other hand continued its torturous rhythm. you smile, enjoying the way his body reacts to your touch. his pulse is racing under your fingers, a testament to his desire for you. you lean down, your mouth by your ear.

“look at you, completely at my mercy. begging for my touch, powerless to do anything but comply.”

whether it's your words or your hand on his neck that drives him to the edge.

“you can come now”

he doesn’t need to be told twice, his body arches, his back coming off the bed as he finally came undone, his breath coming in ragged gasps. he could barely speak, could barely think, his mind a swirling mess of pleasure and disbelief. it was you, a young girl who he enjoyed to tease and you reduced him to such a state. it was both terrifying and exhilarating.

[darknight3904]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖆𝖈𝖊

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ! ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ / ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ /ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

Rhaella is 17, Aemond 16

132 AC

"Oh shit!"

"I'm fine." Aemond waved her off, avoiding the way she reached to soothe what she had just done.

They had been training for nearly an hour and Aemond suggested real swords instead of the boring practice ones. Rhaella had agreed not expecting to actually make any contact with him. She had been wrong and watched as a thin line of blood trickled down Aemonds face, just under his eye patch. Her sword had just grazed him, a result of his left side being blind and his slower reaction timing on that side.

"Perhaps we should stop," Rhaella suggested, feeling guilty over the small nick.

"I'm fine." Aemond huffed, wiping at the blood, and smearing it across his cheek, "I want to go again."

"You are tired, we can resume later. We should have lunch." Rhaella says, dreamily thinking of food.

"Once more," Aemond demanded

Rhaella knew why he was being so insistent on one more round. She had bested him multiple times today, Aemnd must've been thinking it was because she had better sword skills. Truly, he was the better one, Rhaella was just hiding in his blind spot and exploiting a weakness she knew he had. Something Daemon had taught her years ago.

"If an opponent has a weakness, you should use it. It's their fault for not fighting at their best."

As much as she hated the cunt, he was right about some things, fighting just happened to be one of his strong suits. Maybe his only strong suit, besides Craxes. Daemon's dragon was truly captivating.

She wasn't entirely sure how Aemond hadn't noticed what she was doing. Perhaps it was the heat. The sun was fierce today, she could feel the sweat making her skin stick to her training clothes.

"Call it a day, my Prince." Cole's words echoed across the training yard. He had been watching them while polishing his armor, "Lady Rhaella is clearly tired."

She was not tired. She was sweaty and hungry, and she felt bad for Aemond.

"Very well. Tomorrow then, and I'll be the victor." Aemond declared, taking the sword from her hands, and placing it in a barrel for the smith to sharpen later.

"Mmhmm, sure." Rhaella hummed

Aemond followed her back to her chamber where they ate lunch together, sitting on her balcony while the warm wind cooled them down.

"As my mother talked to you recently?" He asked

Rhaella's mouth was full of the sweet fruit from Dorne that her handmaiden had brought.

"No." She said, her voice muffled with food. She rarely worried about manors around Aemond, he never seemed to care if she stuffed her face full of food or sat with a slouch in her back.

"I was wondering if she and my father had arranged an engagement yet." He said, his eye fixed on the horizon.

"For you?!" Rhaella nearly choked on her fruit, Aemond wanted to be wed?!

"No, idiot." Aemond shook his head, "For you. You're of age."

"Don't remind me." She groaned, swallowing her food.

"Don't you want a family?" He asked

"I do...I just don't want to be shipped off like some broodmare to pump out heirs for my husband and then for my home. I want to live an exciting life, not some boring one." She sighed

"You fly one of the largest dragons alive and you feel like your life isn't exciting?" Aemond teased

"You know what I mean." She said

"I do...I'm presuming you want to actually get along with your husband as well." He said

"Yes well, if we have to marry, having someone I actually can hold a conversation with is preferred

"So every Lannister is out of the question then." Aemond said seriously

Rhaella laughed at his tone.

"I'm being serious." He said, looking at her

"I know. You're correct, that's why it's so funny to me. " Rhaella smiled

"Whoever you marry should expect our friendship to continue." Aemond declared

"I had no intentions of ever ending it." Rhaella said, "Daemon used to say marriage is a duty. I will carry my duty out to whoever I marry."

"You've spoken of Daemon quite a bit recently. Do you miss him?" Aemond asked

"Gods no. He has said some things that...come in handy at times. He's a fool but knows a bit about life I suppose." She said

"I suppose that's what happens when you're old," Aemond said

"I am sure Daemon isn't yet fifty," Rhaella said trying to remember exactly how old he was

"He is older than you and I, therefore old," Aemond said

"So does that make Maester Edric ancient?" Rhaella smiled

"Edric is simply a fossil, my dear." Aemond joked

Rhaella hated it when he did that. Calling her sweet names like it was nothing. It made her heart leap into her throat.

"I said to stop that." She blushed

"Stop what?" He asked, feigning cluelessness.

"The terms of endearment! How will I ever wed if you are standing next to me calling me names." Rhaella said

"Of course, I will stop. It was of poor taste of me to even call you those things in the first place" Aemond said

Rhaella looked over at Aemond. He looked ethereal today, even with dried-up blood on his cheek. Most notably though he had the slyest smirk on his face. It seemed to say "I don't plan on stopping, ever."

"You're a fool," Rhaella said, faux anger on her face

"Takes one to know one, my dear," Aemond replied

Aemond left Rhaella with her handmaids after another hour of conversation. Rhaella had declared she needed a bath after their training, her handmaidens had arrived and ushered him out of her chamber like he was on fire. Truthfully Aemond would've been fine, sitting there with his eye closed while she bathed. He hated not having her by his side. Having a companion was truly wonderful for him.

He found his way back to his own chamber and ordered a bath to be drawn for himself. He was sure the sweat was beginning to make him smell. Here in the hot water and soap, he found was the perfect time to think. His silver hair floated around him as he submerged himself up to his shoulders.

Aemond hated the idea of marriage. Not just for himself, but for everyone. He saw how truly unhappy his parents were, even if they acted as though they were not. Heleana was equally unhappy, although at least Aegon avoided her most of the time. His brother was a twat but at least he let her enjoy her bugs and such. Most of all though, he hated the idea of Rhaella marrying.

He tried to imagine her, whisked off to some castle, away from him, with some lord as her husband. He could feel the jealousy simmering in his chest. Aegon had teased him for it relentlessly. His usually drunk brother was surprisingly keen with his observations and discovered Aemond's crush about a year ago. Now, whenever Aegon caught his little brother staring at their cousin he'd make sure to whisper a remark to him.

"You are greener than the grass outside."

"Does she know about Madame Sylvi?"

Those being the most recent ones. Truly, Aemond hadn't seen Sylvi since his 13th name day. He hadn't even known her name until a year ago when Aegon had been retelling his times with her after stumbling into Aemonds room late at night.

Aemond was unsure of how he'd ever find a way to tell Rhaella not to run off and marry some other lord, to squeeze out heirs for Runestone with him. He could help her make the heirs for her families ancesteral seat. If only his mother could see that he was the best match for her. Not some Tully twat or a golden lion of Casterly rock, or gods forbid Benjicot Blackwood. As he often did, Aemond knew what he wanted, he was sure of it. He wanted Rhaella. He was just unsure of how to go about it all, getting what he wanted this time would surely be more challenging than in the past.

Next Part

Hope everyone is enjoying so far. I wanted to let everyone know I am on vacation I have one more part that is pre-written that I will release in a few days. I hope you all can hold on until I return and have time to write.

Also, am I the only one who, whenever Rhaenrya's kid Joffery is mentioned, gets violent-like flashbacks to Joffery as in Cersei's brat? GOT gave me PTSD I guess. Anyway, I'll share some fun pics of my trip when I return.

Comment below to join the taglist. (The taglist is not by chapter, once added, you will remain there unless you ask to be removed.)

Taglist:

@caspianobsessed

@starryhiraeth

@franzelt

@holymusicalmothman

@koobratzy

@schelfinser

@mizuki80

@flusteredmoonn

@sunmigs

@mizuki80

@dramioneforevertilltheend

@fix5idiots @canpillowscry

@aleemendoza2425-blog

@optimistic-but-very-realistic

@vieenr0se

[sweetbearbakery]

It was my heart you stole.

Warnings: Mention of murder and violence, desperate sukuna, angst, fluff, toxic sukuna, sukuna x y/n.

Sukuna was the king of curses, ‘Lord Sukuna’ the common folk and peasants called him. Feared by all, well not all. You worked under Sukuna, being his most favored and loved concubine. At one point you had asked a guard where the other concubines went.

“They were executed by Lord Sukuna himself.” The guard responded with a cold voice as he looked down at you, scoffing and walking away. Later you had found out that he had also died.

You and Sukuna had an oddly amazing relationship, although as expected, it was a bit toxic. He would always have a guard follow you anywhere when you stepped outside of his or your chambers. He was overprotective of you, very much so that he killed any other guards that looked at you the wrong way or talked to you in the wrong tone. If he wasn't busy with his duties, he would be pulling you around with him, or locking you up with him in his chambers. Sometimes he'd even take you to important meetings. You had grown fond of Sukuna, no, you loved him now. The strange thing was, he acted like he loved you back

But then the horrid day came, the day Sukuna found you crying on your plush bed. Holding onto a pillow as you cried. Immediately concerned but not wanting to seem weak or vulnerable, he stood in the doorway, his arms crossed. “ Hey, woman. What happened?”

You flinched at his voice, tears still running over your cheeks as you sat up. Looking at him with a look of desperation, sadness, and unwellness. Your voice shaking, your hands balling up the soft pillow. “ Kuna…..You're getting married? M-Married?!?” He looked at you, his eyes widening a bit as he sighed. Pinching the bridge of his nose with a small shake of his head. “ I knew you'd find out one way or another. “

Horror filled your eyes, were you no use to him anymore? Was he going to throw you away? Kill you? All you could think of was the worst, who was this woman anyway? The whole thing made your body visibly trembling, your tear stained cheeks overlapping with more tears as you started to cry more.

Sukuna looked at you, his face somewhat softening. He closed and locked your door, walking over and sitting on the bed next to you. His four arms pulling you into a string and caring embrace. “y/n……I still love you. This marriage is only arranged, don't fright. Marrying this woman is the best decision for the kingdom right now.” He said, rubbing your back with one hand and another pet your hair gently.

You pushed him away, standing up as you dried your tears. “ You know what the worst thing is ‘Kuna? She came in here this morning and introduced herself as your wife! Then continued to tell me that I was her maid of honor!”

Sukuna looked at you, his expression a mix of anger and longing. Putting his hand on your shoulder but you just swatted it off. You weren't just upset, you were jealous, angry. “ Yet, I know I shouldn't be affected by it! I mean, you can't be jealous over someone who isn't yours!”

He stood up, grabbing your chin as he looked over you. Looking at you with a pissed expression. “ y/n l/n. That woman means nothing to me, she is not of importance. So don't you dare push me away when all I'm doing is trying to comfort my love-” A snap sound came to Sukuna, cutting him off. A red handprint on his cheek, enraged as he looked at you. Your hand stung, your breath caught in your throat. Backing up as your hands trembled

“ ‘K-Kuna, I'm so sorry. It just happened. I don't know why I did that. Please I'm sorry….” The voice of horror and fear echoed in his ears. Stepping closer as he loomed over your shaking body. Scoffing as he saw you, how desperate you were to get his forgiveness.

“Pathetic woman, I gave you a chance, I told you I love you, and this is how you repay me?!? By slapping me?!?” He said as he pushed you against the wall, tilting your chin up, watching as new tears ran over your old ones. “Maybe I should stop loving you and love my fiance instead.” He scoffed, letting go of your chin and walking out, slamming your door behind him.

Your body crumpled up as you fell to the floor, your body shivering into a ball. Only wanting to be in the comfort of Sukuna’s caring touch. Thinking about how the wedding was only in two days.

Over those two days you avoided Sukuna as much as you could. Not speaking to him at lunch hours, not looking at him during meetings, and staying in your room when you didn't have to eat or use the bathroom. Locking yourself up, not even talking to the guards, just curled up in your nest of plush pillows and blankets. Thinking about how Sukuna had gained feelings for his fiance by now. How you were probably just going to be used as his worthless toy from now on. Although, those thoughts all changed the day of the wedding.

You were getting changed into your bridesmaids dress on your room. Looking in the mirror and doing your makeup, fixing your hair. Hearing a knock on the door as you get up, answering the door. Sukuna was never big on physical affection or touch. Although, here he was, hugging you tightly as soon as you opened the door.

After hugging you he had stepped inside, locking and closing the door behind him. Looking at you as he took your hands in his, his cold gaze admirering your beauty. “You look…Absolutely gorgeous, my dear.” He said, being affectionate all of a sudden. His thumb rubbing the back of your hand. A soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Leaning in to kiss you.

Surprised, you knew it was wrong. Pulling out of his grasp and walking back till you were sitting on your couch. “Sukuna…..You shouldn't be here…..Let alone doing this…” You said as you looked up at him, walking over to you. Closing your eyes, scared he might yell at you or hit you.

Although, when you opened them, he wasn't standing there. Looking down, you were greeted by Sukuna, his face in your dress as he sniffled, holding onto the side of your dress. Was he shaking? Let alone crying? “ Please y/n…..I can't marry this woman…..I want to marry you, we can run away and live a perfect life. Please…..please take me back.”

You looked down at him, shocked as he lifted his head to look at you. His expression was desperate, soft, caring. What the hell happened to him? With a soft palm and a gentle touch, you began to pet his hair. “ Shh, slow down ‘Kuna…..what happened?” You asked curiously, sceptical of his intentions.

“M…..My fiance, sh…..she….I saw her cheating in me…..I went to go check on her and she was fucking another man…..I mean…I never loved her but….a woman cheating on me? ME? I……it made me realize that I should have never treated you so badly.” He said, he was a whimpering, crying, desperate mess. Melting beneath your own touch.

You cupped his face and sighed, rubbing his cheeks softly “ ‘Kuna….I really don't know what to say to you….” He looked at you immediately and took your hands, tears running down his cheeks. “ Please y/n just take me back, please i need you. I'm nothing without you, please!”

To be continued……

(Hello! I'll be writing a part where you accept and one where you decline. Once I finish them both, they be linked to this post.)

@genderfluidnuggettt

[sinsirellaxx]

Unwanted Bride PT. 2

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Warnings: badly written smut (honestly), dub-con, Daemon

A/N: My first time writing real smut – honestly, this was so hard! Also not proofread – because I don't think I can reread this.

You couldn’t help the butterflies in your stomach as your husband refused the bedding ceremony – you were a shy little thing and Daemon could see right through your attitude. Your whole body had shuddered when he his hand had gripped your hips too tightly while dancing, your cheeks flushing a deep red unable to hold his gaze for longer than a fleeting moment. You were definitely a timid little bird, and he wouldn’t want to put you through the barbaric ritual of people touching you inappropriately. He was going to put you through a lot himself after all.

Daemon stood up from his seat, your eyes glued to his tall figure, swallowing dryly at his intimidating height. You weren’t naïve, you knew what was awaiting you. He could see it in your eyes, the panic and insecurity. Who knows what your friends and family had told you about him or about consummation. Had they even informed you about what to do or what to expect?

Reaching out his hand towards you, the Targaryen prince waited patiently for you to take his hand, his signature grin on his face. Hesitantly you reached out, your fingers surprisingly cold as they softly curled around his hand. Daemon bit back a smirk, he enjoyed watching you fidget and grow more and more insecure as the night wore on – the moment you would become a woman and leave behind the innocence you still possessed growing closer. Gripping your hand tightly he pulled you up and away from the table, not wasting any more time as he pulled you along with him. You let yourself be dragged away with a small gasp, your free hand clumsily moving to bundle your skirts to not trip over the several layers.

As Daemon led you away from the table, he couldn't shake the sense of anticipation that coursed through his veins. There was something exhilarating about having you at his side, something that stirred a primal desire deep within him.

He could feel the weight of your hand in his, the slight tremble of your fingers sending a shiver down his spine. Despite your attempts to conceal your nerves, he could sense the panic and insecurity lurking you felt, and it only served to fuel his own excitement.

With each step you took, Daemon felt a sense of power and control wash over him, a feeling that he relished in as he led you through the crowded hall. It was intoxicating, the way you stumbled along beside him, your skirts billowing around you as you struggled to keep pace with his long strides.

As he glanced down at you, a surge of possessiveness and the need to corrupt swelled within him. You were his now, his to mold and shape as he pleased – a mere sheep waiting to be devoured by a dragon. Poor thing.

Daemon paused in front of the door to your shared chambers, his gaze flickering over your features with a mixture of desire and curiosity. The dim candlelight cast shadows across your face, accentuating the delicate curve of your jaw and the softness of your lips.  You didn’t lift your head. You didn’t meet his eyes. You were lost in your thoughts and the troubled look on your face further added to his amusement.

Without wasting another second, Daemon pushed the door open, ushering you inside with his hand on your back – a gentle yet commanding gesture.

As you entered the room with bated breath, the atmosphere shifted, the tension in the room palpable. The air seemed to crackle with anticipation, the sound of your breathing the only thing that broke the silence, your breath hitching when you heard the door close – the click of the latch echoing in the quiet room. Your back was still turned to Daemon. You stood helplessly in the middle of the huge room, your head turning to take in your environment as your hands fiddled with your skirt. Daemon smirked as he walked closer to you, the sound of him approaching caused you to flinch and tense up.

There was no going back now. You were alone.

The tall prince stopped right behind you, his chest touching your back. With the way you trembled and tensed up he felt like a predator. The thought shot a wave of arousal straight to his groin. He’d enjoy playing with her.

His warm breath hit the back of her neck – her bare skin breaking out into goosebumps at the close proximity.

“Are you scared, ābrazȳrys?” He murmured against your shoulder, his lips softly ghosting over your skin until he finally presses a lingering kiss there. A shudder ran over your body.

His hands moved to grasp your hips, his lips ghosting over the expanse of your skin until he reached your ear, “I hope you are not too tired, riñītsos. The night is still young.” Daemon whispered hotly before playfully nibbling on your ear.

“Cat got your tongue?” He chuckled, his hands moving to unlace the back of your dress with trained fingers, briefly pausing to look for any reaction before he pushed the top of your dress, down, down and down. With every inch of naked skin revealed he could feel you tense up under his ministrations.

How innocent.

Daemon was about to taunt you when the wedding gown finally pooled at your feet, your whole bare body in front of him. With no undergarments except for the barely-there-lingerie made out of pearls and gemstones, hugging your waist and your thighs. The prince’s breath hitched, surprised by the erotic sight in front of him. He had been to many brothels, had been with many lovers – but he had never seen anything like this.

“Fuck.” Daemon chuckled darkly, “My naughty, little wife.”, pulling you into his chest by your hips before his rough hands start roaming your body. You gasped at his possessive and eager touch, his lips back on your neck as his hands groped at your untouched breasts – moaning when he pinched a nipple. “How responsive, ñuha ābrazȳrys.”

Arching your back against his chest, your bottom pressed against his crotch, drawing a low groan from your husband. You felt your face heat with shame. Ashamed for the noises that the prince forced out of you. Ashamed for the way your body reacted to his aggressive touch. You were overwhelmed – not sure what you had expected, because you had heard so much about the promiscuous lifestyle of the Rogue Prince.

Wrapping his strong arms around your middle he lifted you up, drawing a surprised yelp from your lips. With a few long steps he walked up to the bed and threw you on it. You landed on your stomach with a groan, your plush bottom jiggling from the impact and before you could gather yourself or think about the daring position you were in his hands were on your ass, squeezing the flesh roughly, drawing another yelp from you. “W-What are you doing?”

Daemon leaned his forehead against your lower back, his lips ghosting over the plump flesh before biting into it sharply.

“What beautiful ass you have, dear wife.” He groaned, his tongue jutting out to lick over the reddened skin, the pained shriek he pulled from you went straight to his cock. “I’m going to ruin you, riñītsos.”

He briefly stood up from the bed, his hands moving to untie his breeches before pulling his tunic over his head – his eyes never left your body. His lips pulled up into a smirk when you pulled your body up, trying to crawl to the head of the bed and away from him.

“Now where do you think you are going, little bird?” His right hand shot out to wrap around your right ankle, pulling you towards him with a swift movement. He immediately climbed on top of you, his groin pressing into your ass as he leaned his upper body on your back. With a hand, he moved your long hair to one side of your shoulders, his lip latching onto your neck with the intent to mark you as his. “Don’t be scared, riñītsos.” He whispered in your ear before continuing his ministrations on your neck. “You’re mine from now on. Ñuhon. And I take good care of what is mine.”

His hands were back on your hips, gripping and groping before his right hand moved lower. “Why don’t you spread your legs for me?”

Daemon knew you wouldn’t comply – you were still too overwhelmed by the situation – by his aggression. You probably had expected him to be more patient with you – maybe even be disinterested. Yet how could he be? Your body would even weaken the knees of any celibate monk – seduction incarnate. Who was he to withstand seduction?

When you didn’t move your legs and only whimpered into the pillow, he took it into his own hands. Wedging both his legs between your closed thighs he forced them wide open.

“There is no reason to be bashful, ābrazȳrs. Your body belongs to me by law – you belong to me by law.” He tutted when your muscles tensed, your face pressed into the pillow as you desperately tried to distance yourself from the situation.

Daemon did not waste more time before his fingers moved between your lower lips, spreading them apart before slightly dipping into your tight hole with his ring finger. “You’re already so wet – like a wanton whore.” He hotly breathed against your ear. “You can try to hide all you want but your body can’t.” Applying more pressure, he slowly pushed his middle finger in – your walls immediately clamping down on him, trying to push him out again.

“It hurts …” Your eyes burned from the weird burning sensation. At first you found it barbaric that he wanted to take you from behind during your first time – you had always imagined your wedding night to be more intimate – but now you were glad he couldn’t see your face.

“Fuck,” He murmured, his cock twitching in anticipation. You were so tight. His impatience was wearing thing. He quickly started moving his finger, trying to get you to loosen up a bit. Yet Daemon was not known for being patient, as another finger quickly followed the first one, the action drawing a hiss from you.

“Shh … you’re doing well.” He peppered kisses onto your back, hoping the gesture would be soothing.  Pulling out his fingers, he lifted your hips off the bed with his hands, his chest still glued to your back. “Don’t worry, I’ll be slow.” Daemon whispered, kissing your head while one of his hands wrapped around his already erect member. Lining up with your reddened hole, he slid the head of his cock through your slit a few times – gathering the moisture before slowly applying pressure against your hole.

Your breath hitched at the blinding pain, your mouth falling open as your fingers dug into the soft covers underneath you – you felt like you were being split open. You knew it was going to be painful, but you hadn’t expected this.

His jaw clenched immediately from the strain, his hand on your hip drawing soft circles on your skin as he breached through your maidenhead, pushing continuously until he was fully sheathed inside. While he waited for you to catch your breath, it took every ounce of strength in him not to rail you into the mattress with the way your hot, velvety walls clung onto his cock. Closing his eyes, he leaned his forehead against your shoulder, waiting for your cunt to relax enough for him to start moving.

You breathed through the pain, silently thanking Daemon for giving you time to adjust. After a short while, the sharp pain turned in a dull ache and you took it as a sign to slightly wiggle your hips to test the waters. Daemon’s grip on your hip tightened, pushing the gemstones and pearls of your bead belt into your skin as he reciprocated the action with a shallow thrust that had you gasping. Your gasp soon turned into a low moan as he started thrusting into you like a starved man, his free hand snaking around your hip to your clit, circling the sensitive bud with his fingers. You clenched around him, moaning loudly as he pushed you to your limit.

“P-please!” You moaned, not knowing what you were asking for.

“Please what, ābrazȳrys? Use your words.” Daemon managed to grit out, his fingers continuing playing with your pearl, his hips picking up speed as he chased both of your peaks.

You were embarrassed. You truly were – but you couldn’t care less as you moaned loudly at a particularly deep thrust. “P-please, don’t stop.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice, as he angled his hips differently, hitting a soft spongy spot inside of you that had you seeing stars. Your whole body tensed, your cunt spasming around him as you pulled him over the edge as well. With a loud grunt, he spilled his load inside, his thrusts slowing down, riding out his orgasm until he stopped completely.

Catching his breath, he pulled out softly, lifting his upper body to look at his spent leaking out of your bloodied, swollen opening. The sight awakening a new wave of possessiveness in him. You were his wife. His little, timid wife.

"You are mine now."

[sadnymi]

「 ✦ The masked boy. ✦ 」

regulus black x reader x barty crouch jr

Summary: following Regulus to what I expected to be a harmless party turned into a night of hidden desires and whispered secrets. Just to meet the masked stranger who seems to know more of me than I expected .

Words: 3,5k

Going to the party was undoubtedly a risky decision, but the allure of secrecy and adventure pulled me in. I overheard Regulus discussing it, and despite Pandora, bless her sensible soul warning of potential trouble, curiosity, that insatiable beast, had her claws firmly sunk into my insides. Ignoring her dire pronouncements, I transformed into a shadow the moment Pandora had fallen asleep Sneaking out I followed Regulus carefully, staying hidden until we reached a mysterious secret door within Hogwarts.

The door creaked open a sliver, revealing two hulking figures clad in black. Their imposing stature and steely gazes instantly confirmed my worst suspicions – this was no ordinary gathering. Fear, cold and sharp, snaked its way through me as one of them addressed Regulus in a low, gravelly voice.

"Who is this?" he rumbled, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.

Regulus, his back momentarily turned, whirled around at the sound of the question. His face, usually a canvas of bored indifference, contorted into a mask of surprise and, dare I say, a hint of… fear? Our eyes met, and in that fleeting moment, I saw my own panic reflected back at me.

He recovered quickly, however, mustering a semblance of nonchalance. "She's with me," he declared, his voice a touch too loud to be entirely convincing. He strode towards me, a forced casualness in his gait, and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Don't worry," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, a hint of desperation clinging to the words.

Once inside, the doors clanged shut with a finality that echoed my growing unease. Regulus whirled on me, his green eyes flashing with fury. "What in Merlin's beard, Y/N, were you thinking?" he hissed, his voice barely a whisper above a growl.

Shame burned hot on my cheeks."I… I followed you," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I was curious, . I just wanted to see I’m so sorry reg …"

He threw his hands up in exasperation. "Curious ? This isn't some harmless gathering, Y/N! You have no idea what you've just gotten yourself into!" The anger in his voice was laced with a hint of fear, a chilling realization that sent shivers down my spine.

The gravity of the situation sank in as I realized the potential consequences of my impulsive decision. Regulus's protective instincts were in full force, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for putting him in a difficult position.

bravado I'd mustered to follow Regulus evaporated, replaced by a tremor that ran through my limbs. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring the dimly lit chamber.

"I-I'm so sorry, Reg," I stammered, my voice choked with a mix of fear and remorse. "I had no idea… I shouldn't have followed you."

He sighed, the anger momentarily replaced by a weary resignation. "Hey," he said, his voice softening as he reached out to brush a stray tear from my cheek. "Don't cry. It's alright. We'll figure this out , Just… stay close, okay?"

He reached for a nearby table, his hand snagging two ornate masks. The intricate designs, fashioned from a material that shimmered faintly in the low light, were a stark contrast to the rough stone walls surrounding us.

"Put this on," he instructed, handing me one.

As I took the mask, a wave of self-consciousness washed over me. My baby blue sweater and jeans felt utterly out of place amidst the air of clandestine secrecy.

"I… I didn't know there was a dress code," I mumbled, feeling foolish.

He let out a humorless chuckle, the sound devoid of mirth. "There isn't, exactly.There's more to this than a dress code, sweetheart,"

then his voice dropped to a low murmur, laced with a seriousness that sent shivers down my spine. "Don't talk to anyone inside. And whatever you do, Y/N, never, ever reveal your name. Understand ?"

Shame burned in my throat, hotter than any fiery Goblet of Fire. I nodded mutely, the weight of my recklessness pressing down on me.

"Good," he said, his voice a touch softer. "Now, stay by my side. We'll get through this."

His words, laced with a newfound protectiveness, offered a sliver of comfort amidst the swirling vortex of fear and regret. With the mask obscuring my features, I clung to him.

With a newfound resolve, we ventured deeper into the hidden chamber. The air grew thick with the stench of sweat, spilled ale, and a musky perfume that hung heavy in the air.

The sight that greeted me upon entering the main hall was enough to make my eyes widen in shock. Bodies, clad in various states of undress, writhed and swayed to the pulsating rhythm of an unseen band. Laughter, tinged with a hint of hysteria, echoed through the cavernous space.

Instinctively, I raised a hand to my mouth, stifling a gasp.

"Y/N, sweetheart," Regulus hissed, his voice tight with urgency, "if we're going to survive this, you need to feign normalcy."

I lowered my hand hastily, trying to avert my gaze from the two scantily clad figures who brushed past me, their movements more suggestive than celebratory.

"Reg," I whispered, my voice barely audible above the din, "what is this place? Why isn't anyone wearing any clothes?"

Regulus offered a wry smile. "Perhaps you were right about the dress code here," he said, his voice laced with a dark humor.

"Is this some sort of… secret society?" I pressed, trying to quell the rising panic within me. His silence spoke volumes.

"Does this have anything to do with your new tattoo?" I ventured, the question tumbling out before I could stop it.

Regulus' lips stretched into a tight smile as he politely greeted a scantily clad woman who offered us flagons of an unknown, steaming beverage. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he disposed of the drinks once the woman had sashayed away.

"Don't consume anything offered here, Y/N,Not food, not drink. Understood" he murmured, his voice low and urgent. "Just stay close, and whatever you do, don't draw attention to yourself."

Guilt gnawed at me as Regulus navigated the throng of pulsating bodies, his hand a constant presence on my arm.

"Listen closely, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm amidst the cacophony.

"After the clock strikes the hour, I can't stay by your side any longer. I have… business to attend to. However, there's a hidden staircase leading to the rooftop. Go there, and you'll be safe. Once I'm done with what brought me here, I'll find you. Don't be afraid, Y/N. I promise you'll be alright I won’t let anything happen to you ."

He reached out, his touch surprisingly gentle as he brushed a stray strand of hair from my face. "And what about you, Reg? Will you be alright?"

He offered a smile, a gesture that felt more strained than comforting. "I'll handle myself, sweetheart. Just remember everything I told you: silence and anonymity are the keys . Don't speak to anyone, and for Merlin's sake, never reveal your name. Now, go."

His voice, laced with urgency, left no room for argument. I followed his gaze to the ornately carved clock dominating the far wall. The hands were inching closer to the ominous hour. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the approaching chimes.

Regulus squeezed my hand once, a silent promise of reunion, before melting back into the throng. Taking a deep breath, I found the hidden staircase tucked away in a darkened corner and ascended, each step taking me further away from the revelry and closer to the safety of the night.

Emerging onto the rooftop, I was greeted by a breathtaking vista. The moon, a luminous pearl in the inky expanse, cast an ethereal glow over the sleeping castle. Hogwarts, usually a source of comfort, seemed alien in this context, a silent sentinel against the backdrop of the forbidden revelry below.

I pulled my knees to my chest, the cool night air stealing the heat from my flushed cheeks. Fear, a potent cocktail of adrenaline and unease, churned in my gut. But amidst the turmoil, a flicker of hope remained. Regulus had promised.

The passage of time blurred on the rooftop. Every rustle of wind, every creak of the ancient castle, sent a jolt of fear through me. How long had I been waiting? An hour? Two? It felt like an eternity.

A soft voice, barely a whisper, shattered the silence. "Nice sweater "

I gasped, whirling around to find a stranger standing behind me.

This wasn't supposed to happen. My sole purpose was to wait for Regulus, I whirled around, my gaze falling on a tall figure shrouded in shadow. An ornate mask, similar to the one Regulus had provided, hiding his eyes , leaving only a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes , and a smirk in his lips

Silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken tension. Perhaps, I thought, if I remained quiet, he would simply melt back into the darkness, a fleeting apparition.

"Are you mute, darling?" The stranger's voice, dripping with a sardonic lilt, shattered the fragile hope , I opened my mouth shocked by the rudeness of his words

"That's a cruel thing to say," I retorted, my voice barely above a whisper, yet laced with a defiance born of desperation. Although his face remained half hidden, I could sense the widening of his smile, a predator relishing the chase.

"So you do talk," he chuckled, taking a step closer. I instinctively scooted back, the cool stone pressing against my spine.

"I know who you are, darling," he continued, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers cascading down my spine. Panic, a cold serpent, coiled itself around my heart. Don't look at him, don't look at him, a mantra echoed in my mind. He's bluffing.

But he didn't stop there. He sank down onto the rooftop ledge beside me, completely ignoring the disdainful glare I shot his way.

"What are you doing here, sweet Y/N?" he cooed, his voice dripping with a false sweetness. "Isn't it a little past your bedtime?"

Denial, a flimsy shield, crumbled in the face of his unwavering gaze. "I'm not Y/N," I stammered, a desperate attempt at subterfuge that even my own ears recognized as transparent.

A slow smile, devoid of genuine amusement, stretched across his masked face. "Such a shame," he drawled,The way his eyes, though obscured by the mask, seemed to gleam with perverse enjoyment sent a tremor of unease through me.

Panic, a cold hand constricting my throat, threatened to erupt. "What do you want?" I blurted, my voice barely above a choked whisper.

He feigned surprise, raising his hands in a theatrical display of innocence. "Merely indulging in a bit of curiosity," he purred, his tone dripping with saccharine sweetness."What brings the Ravenclaw princess to this clandestine gathering?"

Ravenclaw princess? A flicker of confusion momentarily pierced the fog of fear. Was that what they were calling me?

"I told you, I'm not her," I insisted, defiance flickering in my voice. Yet, a new question gnawed at me. Who was this masked figure? A sliver of recognition tugged at the edges of my memory, a feeling that his eyes, obscured as they were, held a strange familiarity.

Determined not to reveal my identity, I turned away, my gaze seeking solace in the cool serenity of the moon. "I won't tell you who I am," I declared, my voice regaining a semblance of control.

"Oh?" he countered, a playful smirk evident in the way his voice rose at the end.

"Fine, I'll just descend and inform those… formidable gentlemen guarding the entrance about the unidentified young lady gracing the rooftop with her presence."

Panic, a primal urge, surged through me. I lunged forward, grabbing his wrist with both hands.

"No! Please, don't do that!" The words tumbled out in a torrent, a desperate plea born of fear.

He chuckled softly, the sound sending a jolt through me. "Relax, darling," he murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle as he captured my hands in his.

"You won’t tell them , would you?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

He shook his head, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips."If I wanted to expose you, I would have done so already. I was messing with you "

"Alright," I mumbled, staring at our hands intertwined. "Can you release my wrists now?"

He held my gaze for a moment, a playful glint in his masked eyes. "Why, darling? They seem perfectly content nestled in mine." A smirk danced on his lips as he finally released his grip. My hands felt strangely empty without the warmth of his touch.

My cheeks burned. The playful endearment shouldn't have sent a spark of warmth through me, especially coming from a stranger.

"So, you won't reveal your name," he stated, more an observation than a question.

I shook my head, a mix of defiance and fear swirling within me.

"Fine," he murmured, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. However, his tone suggested otherwise. This wasn't over.

Desperate to shift the focus, I blurted, "Who are you?"

He chuckled softly. "You can't hide your identity and expect the same courtesy, darling."

Darling …. this word again , sent a jolt through me. Why did it sound so...pleasant coming from him?

"But," he continued, a playful glint in his eyes, "we can play a game, wouldn't you agree?"

I hesitated. The entire situation felt precarious, yet a strange sense of intrigue battled with my apprehension. Finally, with a sigh of resignation, I conceded, "okay ."

A triumphant grin spread across his face. "Good girl ," he said, his voice dripping with a hint of satisfaction. "The rules are simple: we ask each other questions, and truthful answers are mandatory."

A knot of apprehension tightened in my stomach. This was a bad idea, a terribly bad idea. Yet, before I could voice my second thoughts, I found myself nodding in agreement.

"good ," he murmured, his amusement evident even in the darkness. "You can ask first."

I wracked my brain for a safe question, something that wouldn't reveal too much about myself. Finally, I settled on, "What house are you in?"

He smiled, a genuine one this time. "An easy one to start with. Ravenclaw, at your service."

Surprise washed over me. We were from the same house? Could it be someone I knew? A classmate, perhaps?

"Your turn," I reminded him

"Do you have a crush on our Regulus?" he inquired, the question laced with a hint of amusement.

My cheeks burned anew. "Of course not!" I spluttered, indignation coloring my voice. "Regulus is my best friend. We practically grew up together."

Immediately, I regretted my outburst. It had been a stupid mistake, revealing too much about myself and confirming his suspicions.

He merely chuckled, the sound devoid of genuine humor. "Easy, darling," he soothed, the endearment sending shivers down my spine. "It was just a question."

"A pointless one," I muttered, trying to regain my composure. My mind raced, searching for a way to deflect suspicion. "Are you a good student?"

"The smartest ," he declared with unwavering confidence.

I scoffed playfully. "Reg is the smartest one," I stated, defending my friend with a touch of pride.

He raised an eyebrow. "Is he?"

"Definitely," I confirmed, a pang of something akin to longing tugging at my heart I wanted to say reg and a certain someone else with beautiful eyes and messy hair who I try not to think so much about right now

He smirked, his gaze locking onto mine. "What are you thinking about, darling? You're blushing again."

"Is that a question?" I stammered, desperately trying to appear nonchalant.

"Indeed," he replied, his voice firm. "And remember, honesty is key."

Panic clawed at my throat. Why was everything so difficult? How did I always manage to get myself into such precarious situations?

"I was thinking about... my actual crush," I blurted out, the confession tumbling from my lips before I could stop myself.

He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a curiosity that both terrified and intrigued me. "Yeah ? , and who might that lucky guy be?"

"That's not your turn to ask” I declared, surprised at my own boldness. A small spark of defiance flickered within me.

"very well ," he responded easily, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Your turn then, darling. Let's hear your question."

"Do you know Barty Crouch?" I ventured, my voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled, a sound both familiar and unsettling. "Certainly, I do."

Thankfully, he hadn't inquired about my reason for asking.

"Your turn," I said

His gaze, intense and unreadable behind the mask, held mine for a beat too long. "Why are you cloaking yourself in secrecy? And I don't simply refer to this clandestine rooftop rendezvou , why are you hiding ."

"I'm not…" I stammered, the truth a bitter pill to swallow. "I'm not hiding."

He raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched on his features. "One might argue otherwise. You blend into the background, a shadow amongst your friends. You downplay your own brilliance, mentioning Regulus's intellect but conveniently neglecting your own place amongst Hogwarts' finest minds."

I remained speechless, a truth I hadn't even acknowledged myself starkly laid bare before me. No one had ever taken an interest in the quiet, observant girl I was.

The mask did little to hide the intensity of his gaze. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken understanding. Finally, I confessed, a weight lifting from my chest as the words tumbled out.

"I don't think I have anything interesting to offer. It's simpler to fade into the background. That's why I followed Reg today. Even though we're friends, they all see me ….. so innocent to handle such talks I wanted to prove something, to show them there's more to me than meets the eye."

Exhaling a shaky breath, I realized the truth in my own words. This wasn't just about Regulus or a forbidden gathering. It was about yearning to be seen, to be acknowledged for who I truly was.

A surge of defiance, quickly extinguished by the realization of my exposed identity, prompted a flippant question. With a brittle smile, I challenged, "my turn. When was your first official date?"

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. "Does having sex in the storage room count as a date?"

Heat flooded my cheeks, and the words tumbled out before I could stop them. "No, God, no!" I exclaimed, horrified by the image his words conjured.

"Ah, so minus the sex then," he interjected, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "In that case, I can't say there have been any."

Desperate to escape the awkward territory of his past, I blurted out, "Your turn."

His lips curved into a knowing smile. He brushed a stray strand of hair from my face, the touch sending a jolt through me. "So, it's Barty, is it?"

Panic seized me. "What?" My voice barely escaped my lips.

"Your actual crush , Y/N," he continued, his voice a husky murmur. "Is it Barty?"

I cursed my own body's reaction as a blush crept up my neck. Breathlessly, I managed, "My turn."

"Certainly," he replied, his voice smooth as velvet. "Will you tell him?"

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. "Fear not, darling. Your secret's safe with me."

My breath hitched. We were impossibly close now, his touch sending shivers down my spine. His fingers lingered on my jawline, sending a spark of awareness igniting within me.

His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Now," he began, his finger tracing the outline of my lower lip, "are those lips as innocent as they seem?"

A shiver ran down my spine as his touch lingered. My eyes fluttered shut, a soft moan threatening to escape my lips. His words sent a blush scorching my cheeks. Did he think I was… inexperienced?

Shamefacedly, I nodded, unable to meet his gaze.

He brushed a feather-light kiss against my jaw, his touch sending shivers cascading down my arms. I inhaled sharply, my eyes still closed.

"And if I kissed you," he murmured, his voice sending shivers down my spine, "would you let me ?"

My head swayed, mesmerized by his closeness. I found myself nodding again, feeling a complete loss of control.

And then, his lips were on mine. Soft and warm, they moved against mine in a slow, intoxicating dance. His hands found their way to my neck, pulling me closer. The kiss was hungry, desperate, as if he was starved for my touch.

He broke the kiss for a moment, his eyes searching mine, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. Then, he was back, the kiss this time filled with a raw hunger.

We broke apart, gasping for air, foreheads resting against each other. The world spun, the only reality is the warmth of his body pressed against mine.

"Y/N," a voice split the moment .

I ripped myself away, panic and shame flooding my cheeks , I scrambled to my feet, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Regulus stood frozen in the doorway, his face a mask of fury. The weight of embarrassment settled on my chest, suffocating me.

"Reg, I—" I stammered, but he cut me off.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Crouch?" he roared, his eyes blazing with anger.

My gaze darted between them, finally settled to the boy beside me, only to find him smirking.

The realization hit me like a physical blow. I had just kissed Barty Crouch.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

[shellxrls]

(dark!) imagine coryo being the worst possible when he's stressed cause your depressed ass didn't perform well enough in one of his fancy events. you get home and the first thing he does is to slap some senses into you. like don't you have any respect for him, he's busting his ass off working and all you had to do was to smile and look pretty and you couldn't even do that

wjdgdiwbhfid i’m short circuiting

MDNI | 18+ content

“i do everything for you, put up with all your fucking nurses, organise your medicines and whatever the fuck —” he grabs your jaw, pinching at the muscle with his forefingers until you hear the enamel in your teeth begin to chip away at itself, “fucking look at me when i’m speaking — couldn’t even be bothered to smile at the gala after i made sure they upped your dose for tonight…”

the revelation that he had apparently drugged you should startle you, even anger you, but your dissonance from reality made it hard to meet his words with any sort of credibility. it was the same shit, over and over again. you’d sulk, rot away in your chambers with the occasional handmaiden coming to fix the sheets and help you bathe, and coryo would sneak under the covers some nights - fucking you without reprieve - regardless of whether you’d reciprocate (and some nights regardless of whether you were even awake).

“…are you even listening to me right now?” he shouts, eyebrows drawn so tight you think he’ll form permanent frown lines within the next week if he keeps at this pace.

you simply stare back at him, gaze watery and blank - you didn’t know what he wanted, you never asked anything of him yet he kept taking from you, only expecting more every single time.

suddenly, triggered by your lack of response or maybe his growing frustration at you throughout the entire evening, you’re met with a harsh hand against your face. coryo had just slapped you. his palm reverberated hard against your now reddened cheek, and the smack echoed throughout the room. the force was enough to displace you, and your feet stumbled for security while the sting from the hit bought tears to your eyes - enough to draw you back in from your disassociation.

coryo draws a sharp inhale, composing himself before proceeding, “consider this a reminder,” he says simply, recoiling his hand (now flush with heat after hitting you so hard) back to lay limp at his side “if you continue to disobey my orders, i will personally see that every refute is met with a disciplinary action.”

knowing better than to stay silent, you murmur out a quiet “okay”, and walk yourself back to your chambers while dragging your feet, surrendered in your gait - once again at way to the will of your husband.

[hyperactively-me]

Princess!reader finally slipping up and insulting King Ghost by calling him a murderer, or saying that she hates him for that reason. King Ghost finally understanding why she doesn't like him. I need the angst and drama aaaA.

In the dimly lit chambers of the royal quarters, a heavy silence settled. King Ghost sat at his desk, surrounded by the flickering light of candles, lost in the weight of his responsibilities. He had always carried the weight of the crown with solemn grace, ruling his kingdom with a firm hand and an unwavering dedication. Ruling with a strong hand was necessary for Kastron to survive, earning the respect of his subjects and the loyalty of his council. Yet, despite his outward strength, there was a void within him that he couldn't quite fill – the strained relationship with his own wife. 

You kept him at a cold distance that seemed impassable. He could feel your eyes on him, could sense the tension in the air whenever you were in the same room. He yearned to bridge the gap between you, to understand the source of your resentment, but it remained unspoken. He knew that you resented him for taking you away from your home, for throwing you into this role that you never asked for. 

That evening, during dinner, you were absentmindedly pushing around your food with your fork. Your posture was tense, your face scrunched up, lost in thought. 

Ghost clears his throat, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

“What are you thinkin’ about?”

“Oh, this question again,” you snap. 

Being immediately met with your hostility, he prepares for a blowout argument to occur. 

“Can I not ask how my wife is doing?”

Your gaze hardened, your fingers curling into fists. You slam your fork down, springing up from your chair.

“Your wife,” you scoff. 

“It’s what you are, are you not?” 

You don’t say anything. 

“Do you want to tell me what you’re thinking about? We’ve been playing this game of back and forth and I’m growing tired of it.” 

“You want to know? You really are asking me this? Fine, I'll tell you.” Your voice trembled with suppressed emotion, a volcano on the brink of eruption. “I hate you for what you do.”

If he wasn’t paying attention before, he definitely is now. He sets down his fork softly. 

“Tell me what I do.” 

His simple response, his nonchalance, his ignorance of the whole situation, of your feelings, enrages you. The anger that had been simmering within you finally bubbled over, and you couldn't hold back the torrent of emotions any longer. Your voice cracked as you unleashed the storm that had been building up for far too long.

“You’re a murder, a killer. You’re a murderer and I can’t stand the thought of being married to someone who has so much blood on their hands.”

Ghost's posture stiffened, his own anger simmering beneath his usually controlled demeanor. “You speak as though I enjoy it. As though I revel in the violence.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, devoid of any humor. “Maybe you don't revel in it, but you certainly tolerate it, don't you? You justify it as the cost of maintaining your power. Well, I can't stand it. I can't stand the sight of you, knowing what you've done.”

His gaze bore into yours, the tension between you like a physical weight in the room. He opened his mouth, searching for words to counter your accusations, but you interrupted him. 

“And not to mention, I’m here now. Yeah, I’m all of a sudden the queen of your kingdom, and everyone expects me to tolerate it and to know what I’m doing. I have no fucking idea what I’m supposed to be doing here.”

Ghost's eyes flashed with frustration. “You think I don't carry the weight of every decision I make? You think I don't question myself, every night, about the lives lost under my command?”

Your laughter was harsh, cutting through the air like a blade. "Your remorse doesn't wash the blood on your hands. And it certainly doesn't—”

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about, do you?” he cuts you off, the interruption slicing through the air. 

His voice is low and strained.

“You don't know the weight of these decisions this kingdom has had to face. You don't know the sacrifices I've had to make to protect this kingdom, to ensure its survival. Every choice I make, every life lost, it's a burden I carry with me every day.”

Your breath caught in your throat, his words penetrating the walls of anger you had built up. You looked into his eyes, seeing something raw beneath his exterior. For the first time in a long while, you saw Ghost not as a cold king, but as a man – a man burdened by the choices he had made.

“I never wanted you to see me like this. I never wanted you to be exposed to the violence associated with me, and I sure as hell never wanted you to despise me.”

“You’re too good for me, you don’t deserve to be in this kingdom with me. So I tried my best to shield you from this side of me, from the violence associated with Kastron. I want to work toward a better future, not only for the kingdom, but for us.” 

You take in his words, understanding the weight of it. You’re going to be here for a lifetime. You’re not going anywhere. And who are you if you back down from a challenge? No, you’re a fighter, and you’ll go down fighting for what you think is right until the day you die. 

“I don’t know if I can just…forget everything,” you say slowly. “And I’m not expecting you to.”

“But, I can’t live the rest of my life here resenting you. It’s exhausting. I mean, fuck, I’m the queen of this kingdom,” you shake your head. 

A deep sigh escaped your lips, your shoulders sagging as the weight of your anger began to lift, replaced by a complex mixture of emotions.

"I don’t want to resent you," you admitted, your voice softer now. You twist the wedding ring on your finger. Ghost pretends not to notice.

“How can I close this distance between us?” Ghost pipes up with a calm tone. “How can I be better for you?”

“I… I don’t really know…” you say. “I just want to get to know who you really are. Who Simon is.”  

He’s quiet. 

“I could say the same for you, you know. I want to know who you are as well.” 

You nod slowly. “Okay…”

“After all, we do have a lifetime together,” he grunts. You pick your fork back up and take a bite of food. You think while you chew, taking in the last few moments. 

“I hope, with time, we can find a way to…overcome this. Together.” You nod your head solemnly.

Silence settled between you, a tense quiet that held the hope of change. The journey ahead was uncertain, a path fraught with challenges, but as you looked at him, you saw not just a king with blood on his hands, but a man willing to confront his past.

The anger that had ignited your words was still there, but it was tempered now by a glimmer of understanding, a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to stand together against the darkness that haunted both of you.

- - - - -

(masterlist)