#death knolls | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jiminiecrickets · 6 months ago

Text

HEAVEN'S SHEATH. KTH / M!READER

summary. a wealthy lord's pacifist son finds friendship and affection in a poor soldier, unremarkable except for the fact that he is the lone survivor of a massacre. fate has different plans for them.

wc. 10k

tags. smut | top!reader, bottom!tae, virgin!reader with a big dick (lol), reader is described as tall/strong, descriptions of blood/injuries/death, sex while injured (reader), riding, multiple orgasms, 2/3rds is only worldbuilding oops im just like that!!

a cloud of dust billows beneath the heavy black hooves of a friesian stallion, sturdy and strong-chested. the well-travelled dirt path swings over rolling green knolls, past flocks of white sheep herded into valleys and heavy brown cows grazing along the hillside. the untouched countryside is marked by clusters of tall green trees along the road and they shade the large river snaking through the vale.

amongst the verdant growth, throned between the river and the hills, lies a large manor built strong with stone and brick. other buildings lay scattered around its feet, and life is most evident here – servants hurry about, ushering goats into their wooden pens and their young ones out of the way of the black horse's brisk high trot. the little children stare with big eyes up at the regal stallion's wavy mane, watching how it falls softly over its long neck with each step. it is a horse that carries great presence and elegance, and its rider is no different.

at the manor's grand front entrance, an older man stands in wait, both hands resting on a cane tipped at both ends with gold. his hair is almost fully grey. his steely eyes track the horse and the dust and pollen dirtying its fine feathering on the lower legs.

"you've been sorely missed, son," he says in an unreadable tone, light enough for politeness but darkened by his heavy gaze. "does wartime make for a better view?"

the rider dismounts, hushing the horse as it snorts and tosses its head, hooves stamping. it yearns for the freedom of the run. he pets its soft mane. his voice is deep and monotone with disinterest. "certainly. it's quieter."

the man's eyes narrow. "you left all the kitchen girls alone, who i know you've a fondness for. you should be at home to protect them, taehyung, not gallivanting off to paint your pictures."

silently, taehyung passes off the reins to the stablehand, and turns to stare up at his father from the bottom of the steps. he tugs off his kid-leather riding gloves and places them in the pocket of his navy blue coat. "what do i know of war and fighting? you were the general, not i. i'd say you are much better suited to protecting these frail women from suffering under the hands of conquerors."

"you are the son of a general," he replies sharply. "the youth must carry on what their fathers forged."

"hate and subjugation, of course," taehyung sighs, shifting his bag of paints in one arm and his canvas in another. "humanity's pinnacle."

"stay your wit, boy. you'll find no friends with it."

he slips past him through the open doors of the manor, his paints clinking in its leather saddlebag. "yes, my lord."

upstairs in a large, sunlit room, he sets it all down with a soft huff. he glances around at the canvases lining the walls, leaning against cupboards and drawers full of paint thinners and varnishes. portraits of one woman dominate most of them – slender, pale, with dark hair, full lips, and a soft curving nose. in some, she sits primly on a chair amongst vases of flowers and goblets of wine, and in others, on chaises in simple dresses with a needle and thread in her hands, glowing with the early summer light blooming behind her.

these are the ones hung up or placed atop chests of drawers. not one touches the ground – that place, on the edge between floor and wall, is reserved for simpler landscapes and still lifes.

"i remember i told you to take down those portraits. do you find joy in antagonising me?"

taehyung turns. his father stands on the threshold, cane by his side. after he returned from the last war with a limp and new scars, he has not worn any other colour but black.

he turns back to his saddlebags, indifferent as he slowly pulls his paints and brushes one at a time from the bag. "no. i find no joy in speaking to you at all."

his father's expression tightens. "i did not make her ill. it was chance and nature. your hatred of me will not bring her back, no matter how intense. it is time to move on, son. lingering on it breeds only worse things."

"'worse things'?" taehyung snaps, gripping a put of paint so tightly his knuckles turn white. "i am not one of your soldiers, so don't speak to me like one. i don't need your pragmatism, your war-bred heartlessness. all she wanted was you. all she asked for was you, and you never came."

he has had this argument many times over since that winter. it festers hot fury in his chest just thinking of it, and it has not burned dimmer with time.

he turns and approaches his father, eye-to-eye. he is not a boy anymore. he surveys him for a moment. "war may have reforged you, made you richer and cleverer, but it burned away all that she loved. you never once held her again, felt her breath on your cheek." taehyung brushes his knuckles over his jaw. he shakes his head and begins to walk down the hall. "don't touch those portraits."

back for only a few minutes and taehyung already cannot stand the solemn weight of the air within these walls. he pushes open the front doors with more force than necessary and wanders through the large, walled estate, stone brick encompassing the major centres of activity.

mindlessly, he travels past the cowherds and shepherds leading in the meat for supper, and the stablemaster tending to his friesian, and the beekeepers. he passes the wall and almost reaches the wheat farm.

hushed whispers float up from the riverbank. he stops in his tracks.

by the water, the girls and women who work with the granary from the farm are crowded around something on the bank. the linens of their dresses are dark with water up to their knees, where they hold it back.

he notices the expressions on the girls' faces – bright with nervousness and fear, but tinged with… curiosity? they whisper amongst themselves behind their hands.

he approaches, ducking under a branch of the oak they shelter beneath. "what is so interesting?"

they startle, several sets of eyes turning towards him. one of the older girls, about his age, drops into a fumbled curtsy. "oh, young master—! we weren't doing nothin' bad, sir, but we was hiding from the sun when we found something the lord sir might need know. we found 'im caught up on the root branches here."

him?

taehyung steps past her. his eyes widen.

a young soldier, skin tinged grey, lies on his back on the riverbank, the water lapping at his calves. his boots have come off somewhere in the water. he wears an unfamiliar uniform: a mixture of thick fabrics to stave off the cold adorned with a strangely-patterned leather jerkin.

it is a poor man's armour, he realises, made of what he can scrounge up and what fits from the garrison's armoury. despite his lack of wealth, taehyung can tell he is a big man – tall, strong in ways only a life of hard work can create. he is fair of face, too, handsomer than many young nobles taehyung has met. perhaps a blacksmith's apprentice, or a baker's boy?

"which… which army is he from, master taehyung? can you tell?"

the question awakens him from his daze. he blinks. "ah – bring him higher on the bank, get his legs out of the water. let me closer."

he crouches by the body, pulling at the heavy cloth draped over the torso. at the neck, where the cloth is bunched and rolled to pack in heat, he finds a small red patch.

taehyung sighs and presses the soaked cloth back into place. "this man is very, very far from home."

the girls glance at each other uncertainly. "what does that mean, master?"

"many years ago, his homeland was seized, and now his people are under southern rule. he was an infantryman. simple cannon fodder." with a soft exhale, he leans over the torso and pulls him onto his side to reach the lashes holding together his water-heavy coat. "perhaps i can bury him someplace high, so that his soul may be reminded of home."

the body jerks and chokes out a lungful of water with a ragged groan.

the girls yelp, stumbling back. taehyung would have had he not already been on his knees. his eyes widen as the soldier's face pinches in pain, eyes still shut. taehyung reaches for the oldest girl, gesturing frantically towards the manor on the horizon. "find my father and tell him what you've found! you've my permission to leave the farm and all of that – he's alive!"

—

it is dark. everything hurts. this is hell – this is punishment, eternal and unforgiving. this is deserved for desertion.

then – light. light rings against bone and flesh.

velvet. mahogany. silk and down.

there is a girl beside you, leaning over you. her linen dress is plain but clean with a white apron over it.

your side explodes with pain. you launch upright with a violent shout, gasping and clutching the hot ache under your ribs. cries of shock throb in your skull.

you blink, hard, eyes adjusting dizzily to the brightness of the room. your torso is wrapped in cloth, which you can feel flat and taut against your skin. your hand comes away clean, and for several unthinking moments, you wonder why. your thoughts are slow and heavy.

"you ought to relax, master," echoes a soft voice beside you. her vowels are round and elongated, the accent so different from your own that you barely recognise it, much less understand it. you stare up unseeingly at her youthful face, framed by dark curls held back by a bonnet. she steps forward, a damp sponge in her hand. that is why your limbs feel cold. "your injuries are quite severe."

"where am i?" you mumble, your tongue thick in your mouth. words are unfamiliar. "who're you?"

she glances up at the other maids, huddling by the door. she sets down the sponge and extends a hand, though you flinch from it. she does not try again. "you are in the northern highlands. hadria. my name is aemma."

"aemma," you murmur. the sounds are soft and round, like a river pebble. like a river, you realise, you are damp and naked, save for a single sheet of folded cloth across your lap. you feel your face grow hot and you clutch it close, folding your legs towards your body for security. "m-may i – where are my clothes?"

aemma gestures for one of the other girls, who quickly scoops up a folded pile of clothes from atop the chest at the base of the lavish bed. the rest of the bedroom is similarly luxurious, with a dark palette that soaks up sunlight to warm its wood. the walls are pale, though framed by polished wooden frames embracing the room.

"here," she replies. "the lord father has gifted you some riding clothes to wear in their stead. they were to be given to the young master when he turned of age, but…" she pauses. she shakes her head and curtsies. "you're to meet the lord father and his son shortly. we were to inform them when you were to wake eventually."

"eventually…" you trail off. "how long have i been here?"

"two days, master."

your head begins to pound. you cradle it, wincing, and reach for the offered clothes. they are clean and soft under your callused fingertips. "ah… i'm no lord, miss."

aemma smiles briefly, folding her hands over her stomach. "the lord father requires it, master."

you have no heart to push. in fact, you would much rather lay down for another two days, though knowing you are under the roof of a lord churns up too much fear to do so. if northern men were anything like southern ones, you would do anything to keep your name clean.

"i'd like to dress," you say softly, glancing briefly at the maids watching you from the corner of the room. "alone, if the lasses would allow it."

with another curtsy, aemma ushers the other girls out of the room and closes the door after them. you do not miss how they sent you curious glances as they left. she now stands where they once were, watching you with badly-disguised intrigue.

you clear your throat and feel your cheeks and neck blaze, folding the cloth around your hips tighter. "i'm sorry. i meant entirely."

perhaps it is your imagination, but you think you spot a tinge of pink wash over her features. she finds sudden interest in the knots and grain of the floor. "the lord father instructed that you were not to be left alone in case you required immediate medical attention. you are evidently still in pain, so i must protest."

"ah." you swallow, and your mouth is dry. "p-perhaps… you could turn around, then?"

she glances up, as if to say something, but eventually nods, bobbing in a small curtsy before turning to face the wall.

as quickly as your aching body will allow, you shuffle off of the bed and dress yourself in finer clothes than you have ever worn before. the cloth is soft and sits finely against your skin like a baby's breath. you are so used to abrasive linens that you almost feel more naked than before.

"you found my boots."

aemma turns around – she almost regrets it, spying the last sliver of skin before white cloth falls over it like the pull of curtains. it is more titillating than seeing the entirety of you bare. "o-oh – yes, one of the servant boys found them downstream."

"ah, thank you. and my uniform, miss," you glance up at her, leaning heavily against the bed poster to slip on your boots, "do you know what happened to it?"

"they're with the hold's tailor. i heard it took quite the beating."

"that could be said," you mumble, straightening up at last. your side twinges with pain, but you attempt a smile. "well, s'pose it's time to meet your lord. i've got to thank my saviours."

it is just turning to twilight, and the hazy golden sun on the horizon feels like little more than a memory. candles light the path past gold-spun tapestries and gleaming windows. aemma leads you to a grand dining room, reminiscent of castles and times long gone. she halts by the entrance, curtsies to you, and hurries away without another word, which you find strange as she had been a pleasant conversationalist when helping you through the halls and down the stairs.

"the soldier awakens at last. how do you feel?"

you glance away from aemma's retreating figure. at the head of the long dining table is an older man with sharp eyes and a natural severity about him. seated beside him is a younger man, around your age, staring into his plate with his hands folded in his lap. you step forward cautiously, and a male servant pulls out a chair on the older man's other side. the lord gestures at it, watching you carefully.

"well, milord; thank you," you answer, taking a seat and quietly thanking the servant who readied it in the first place. he bows but does not otherwise acknowledge you, his gaze on the ground as he slinks back into the shadows of the dining room.

"you were asleep for quite some time. my son doubted you would live." he gestures to the young man across from you, whose romantic dark curls are loose over his forehead. "i am glad you are feeling strong enough to join us for supper. i trust that the girls took care of you?"

"yes, milord," you reply, glancing over the table almost longingly. you swallow the saliva building in your mouth. silver platters are laden heavy with dark ox roasts, honeyed lamb shanks, roasted salmon fillets, sausages and baked potatoes, and braised vegetable stews steaming hot. ruby wine is poured into silver goblets. you have never seen so much food at once in your life.

"the war has yet to touch us. we have plenty to share," the lord informs, his voice almost kind. "how long has it been since you have last eaten, soldier?"

your throat bobs before speaking. "ah… four days, maybe, including my time spent here."

the man's brow arches. "your general did not feed you before battle?"

"no, milord. they ambushed us before our rations were due." you glance at the young man. he has yet to look up, or indeed even move. "we… had issues with our supplies. weevils in the grain, rats in the captains' meat. we turned from two meals a day, to one a day, then one every two." you pause. "i don't think one more meal would have saved us."

the room falls silent, with only the crackling of the fireplace breaking the stillness. green wood pops in the flames.

"well, don't wait for me to begin," says the lord suddenly, shifting comfortably in his seat and reaching for a leg of ox, stabbing it with a knife and lifting it onto his plate. he piles his plate high with potatoes and mash. the action seems to spur on his son, who jolts into motion like a creaking old waterwheel, movements slow and measured. "tell us your name, soldier. i'd like to know the name and story of our guest. now, news comes to us slowly in this isolated place. how fares the war effort?"

glancing down, you realise exactly how many pieces of cutlery there are. knives and forks, spoons and little spoons, all slightly different in shape or size. you pause, hand hovering over the knives, nerves tightening in your chest.

a soft cough. you glance up.

across from you, the son rests his delicate fingers on the outermost knife and fork, using them to carry a richly-glazed steak onto his plate. he chooses a large spoon, fingers lingering on it where it sits on the table, and places it into his bowl of stew.

his gaze lifts to meet yours and just as quickly, a butterfly's flap of wings, he glances away. his cheeks are dusted pink, the rosy colour like gold on his sun-warmed skin.

you copy him. you take a slab of steak from the dish right in front of you. you are starving, but everything about this manor makes you feel small, and you fear taking more than you are offered. you give them your name, for it is the only thing you truly own in these foreign lands.

"the war?" you continue, trying to shake the tremor from your voice. "i wouldn't know, milord. the captains don't tell us much. it's all the same – i've fought in three different battles. this was the third. they give their speeches about king and country, and then we fight. it is noble," you say hastily, "but i am not a warrior. not many of us were. the enemy outnumbered us, outskilled us, and when the poppy fields lay silent, they piled the bodies of all our fallen and made pyres out of us."

"such would explain the scorch marks on your clothes." the lord nods. he leans in, and you fight the urge to lean away. "i shall ask the question we all ask ourselves, if you would not mind. how did you survive such a massacre?"

you glance at the son. he eats quietly, forking small chunks of meat into his mouth. you glance away. "i remember a spear. it was tipped… with a blue and white flag. it waved in the black sky as i looked up at it." you frown. "i'd never seen one like it before."

"the temerian lilies," he replies, almost approvingly. "you must have been some opponent – if the flagbearer loses his flag, it is a great shame to the army. it must be held aloft at all times. he would rather die than lose it to the enemy."

you lift a shoulder. the other aches too much to try. "they pulled it out of me after, then dragged me to a pile of corpses. i… don't remember much, but i remember them squabbling over another soldier's brooch for a while. i only wanted to escape the stench of death." you survey the feast laid out before you. "i s'pose i have."

"then we shall celebrate that," hums the lord, lifting his goblet of wine. "my son was the one who found you floating down the river. he said you were cold as ice and only recognised you from the flag you had sewn into your coat. it is brave to carry your homeland's colours when fighting for their conquerors."

"it was a small creature comfort," you respond as nonchalantly as you can. "they could punish me all they liked, but could never kill me. they needed every man in their ranks."

the lord raises his brows, and something like admiration crosses his features. he glances at his son and that admiration turns into a tiny downturn of the lips. he turns back to you. "not a warrior, you say, yet you stand with the united courage of a battalion. who was your father?"

you notice how his son stills, holding the steak on his tongue behind his lips for a long moment. he closes his eyes and with a deep inhale, resumes eating, as if unaffected.

"just a farmer," you say, diverting your gaze. "dead, long past. my ma raised the rest of us – six boys. i was their second. when the army came knocking, askin' for sons, i went, gave them my name. my older brother knew how to count, how to run the mill. i couldn't let them take him, especially not from the little ones – after da died and ma got sick, he was all they had." you tap the edge of the silver plate with your finger thoughtfully. "i imagined i'd either die or be done after one battle, so i'd be brought home quick regardless. now… it's been four years."

then, the servants bring out a round white cake, slices set down around the table – what a perfect intermission. you have made it rather impossible to return to frivolity with your story, and you gaze down at the cake in front of you. you assume this is their dessert, so quaint and pretty on its little silver plate, but you have little idea of how to go about eating one. something so small must require a similarly-sized utensil. is it the tiny spoon? the tiny knife?

you lift your eyes to the young man across from you. he is already watching, eyes large and dark. he picks up a small three-tined fork from the inner edge, tilting it towards you to show you its appearance, the little notch on the left prong. this time, he doesn't look away, and you have enough time to offer a grateful smile, however brief. he blinks owlishly, almost in surprise, before lowering his gaze again.

it is unfortunate. you would not mind looking at him more. he is undoubtedly beautiful, almost pretty, the sort of face people would immortalise in myths and paintings on temple walls – a kind of elven face, like those that turn goddesses to jealousy and gods to obsession.

you spend the rest of the meal stealing glances at each other when you think the other is not watching. he is far more successful than you.

—

from behind a balcony's closed doors, taehyung gazes up at the crescent moon hanging high in the sky, surrounded by pale stars glittering in the blanket of darkness. he cannot stop thinking about the shy farmer's boy, his accent unfamiliarly pleasant – the vowels are soft and blurred, with each consonant crisp and clear. it makes for a bouncing sort of melody to his voice, one that draws taehyung deeper into his song.

he sighs softly and turns away from the night's landscape, uncrossing his arms and meandering through the empty halls. most of the servants are already tucked away, and his father drowns himself alone in old letters and wine.

in loose trousers and a looser white shirt, the vee of the collared neck laced with string, he finds himself in his library, rich and warm from a hearth already lit. curious. he shuts the open double doors behind him quietly to keep the heat from dissipating into the night.

his silent feet carry him through the aisles, where the shelves brush the ceiling with books and ladders. a walkway surrounds the room, essentially giving it a second level.

silhouetted black against the white glow of the moon beyond the arched window, a familiarly unfamiliar figure stands in silence, gaze turned up towards the heavens beyond the lines of books and old tomes.

standing in this still and quiet room, statue-esque in the way of classics, taehyung cannot help the journey of his gaze wandering up and down the planes of your body, painting to himself the sturdiness of your shoulders, the perfect balance between your booted feet. there is a severity about you he recognises in his own father – he sees it in your arms, tucked behind your back, and the practised way of standing that arches the spine just so to emphasise the broadness of the chest. yet, he knows gentleness when he sees it, and he finds it in the almost childlike awe in your expression, aimed up at his personal collection.

he steps out, the shadows melting from him like the shedding feathers of a raven. "what are you doing in my library?"

you startle, and taehyung almost regrets interrupting you. coward that he is, he would rather watch from afar than bring you out of that handsome serenity.

"f-forgive me, sir," you stammer, twisting your hands together as you incline in an awkward half-bow, half-stumble, evidently having forgotten the extent of your injuries as your expression tightens and your hand brushes over your side. "i didn't know it was yours. the – the doors were open, and i—"

"invited yourself in," he finishes.

"i – yes, sir…"

before you, he stands perfectly still. you could fool yourself into thinking his heart does not beat, for he is pale in the moonlight and beautifully dark-haired, with eyes like midnight lakes and lips like a rose.

you tear your gaze from his, breaking your trance. you begin to move past him. "forgive me, milord. i shan't interrupt you."

his hand darts out, wrapping itself around your wrist. serpentine, it slides up your arm and grips your bicep, forming creases in the cloth.

"you shouldn't move so quickly. you're injured." he turns his gaze on you. "you'd leave so soon?"

"ah…" you flounder, helpless. "if the lord wish it so."

his searching gaze strips your body bare. you feel it prod your soul when his eyes meet yours. his eyes scan your face, and he reaches up with his other hand, brushing it lightly against the slope of your jaw. his skin is warm and tender-soft. your breath hitches.

"the maids missed a spot when shaving," he mutters, pressing his fingers against the patch of half-shorn stubble left on the soft underside of your chin. "a man would do it better."

all at once, he drops his hand and looks away. "i am no lord," he replies, his low, rich voice like waves lapping at the sides of a ship, almost careless. "just his son."

you hesitate, your heartbeat still in your ears. "th-then what should i call you, sir?"

he glances down where bandages hide the hole in your body. "just 'taehyung' will do," he says softly, eyes lifting again. he unravels his arm from yours, turning fully towards you. "you may stay – as long as you are quiet."

he moves away, so graceful he may as well have floated. his fingers glide over the covers like bumps of the spine, and they pluck a small yellow book from the shelf. he opens it, already turning to the first page even before he finds a chair to sit in. he curls up in front of the grand fireplace, the furry hide of a brown bear thrown across the floor in front of it.

for a while, you simply watch him and listen to the crackling of the fire. his slim fingers glide across the pages to turn them, the edge of the page caught gently on the pad of his thumb.

bathed in the yellow and orange hues of the fire, the lord's son is every bit as regal as northerners are said to be – hair like calligraphy ink, cheekbones fine, slim bodies tall and lithe. you could lose yourself in his cold, gentle darkness.

that burbling feeling of being out of place rises to the surface, worse than when you sat before the lord at his table. you and your callused palms, your worn and labour-worked body. you should not be here.

"you know you can choose a book, yes? i don't mind." he glances up. "forgive the mess. i can help. what do you like to read?"

"i'm sorry, sir," you murmur, averting your gaze. "i can't read."

it seems he'd forgotten your roots. he blinks. "oh. my apologies. but if not to read, what interested you about my library?"

"ah," you chuckle, scratching your head. "i've just never seen so many books in one place. travelling merchants would display some, but never like this."

"i see." he surveys you intensely, then glances away and clears his throat. he shifts in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs. at last, he says stiffly, "if you'd like… i can… read to you."

the silence is thick with more than just the fire's heat. it is hard to know taehyung's hot face is not because of the fire, and he is grateful.

"if milord wishes to," you reply quietly, watching him for any twitch of his expression that may give him away.

"of course. i wouldn't offer it if i didn't." he gestures to the chaise beside him. "sit."

you step into the semicircle of light afforded by the fireplace, licked by tendrils of warmth, and ease yourself into the chair with a soft grunt, holding your side. "milord is as kind as he is beautiful."

his eyes flicker down to your lap. "i wish you wouldn't call me that," he says suddenly, a little sharper. "can i not be called my own name in my home?"

your mouth opens and closes. after a moment, you reply softly, "i meant no offence. it just feels… wrong."

slowly, he exhales, closing his eyes and his book. he places a hand over its cover. "all of my life has felt wrong. everything is wrong no matter what i do – who i wish to be, the company i keep, the fears i carry… the love i desire." he pauses, opening his eyes to your earnest expression. he diverts his gaze to the yellow-gold cover of the book. "what more can one last wrong hurt?"

"i'm sorry," you whisper. "perhaps i can start over." you straighten slightly, offering a crooked half-smile. "what do you want to read to me, taehyung?"

he does not disagree that his name sounds strange coming from another's mouth, but he cannot remember the last time it was used by anyone else. he hums and rises to his feet, coming to stand over you in front of the fire; his shadow cast over your body deepens the maturity of your features.

"when you said i was beautiful," he asks, "did you mean it?"

staring up at him, you can do nothing but tilt your head in bewilderment. "yes. you are fair and handsome."

taehyung chooses his next words carefully. "if… i were a girl," he decides, clasping his book over his stomach with straight arms, "would it be a different sort of beauty?"

you frown, shaping an approximation of a girl with taehyung's features in your mind. "maybe. but she would still be beautiful if she was you." you shake your head, dispelling morphing images of regal dark-haired daughters. you hide your warm cheeks behind an apologetic smile. "i'm sorry. i don't know much. i don't usually deal with such thoughts."

but it was enough for taehyung. slowly, as if not to frighten you, he lowers himself, grasping the chaise's rests and draping himself gently over your lap. he watches your face all the while, his heart beating faster at the shock and nervousness that cross your face in a single second.

"is this… is this alright?" he whispers, placing his hand against your chest.

your adam's apple bobs, your hands hovering an inch off of his body as if he is made of glass. gently, you place one on taehyung's knee and the other behind his back, and glance up at him.

"perhaps you can sit closer," you murmur, eyes wide and searching, "so you may not fall."

taehyung smiles, then – the first smile of his you have ever seen. it is sweet, and crinkles the corners of his eyes. it makes your heart swell.

he hides his smile in his chest, his knuckles brushing the corner of his lips. he lifts his eyes, and a sliver of hope twinkles in them. "shall i read to you, then? i will give you a synopsis of each story so you may choose your favourite."

"please," you murmur, settling back in the chair and sliding your hand higher up taehyung's thigh so he may be more comfortable. "do whatever you wish."

"'whatever'?" he hums, and with a flippant little kick, throws off his boots to the ground, where they thump carelessly. he meets your eyes and falls into a nervous smile, tucking his bare feet against your leg and resting his temple against your shoulder. his hair is still slightly damp at the ends from his earlier evening bath. "then you wouldn't mind this, would you?"

"of course not," you whisper, biting back a shy, embarrassed smile. you are too old to be acting like this, especially with the only son of a wealthy lord, but the rush of excitement from seeing such a reticent man blossom and show his petals to you is too much to keep you away. "i am only a farmer's boy, taehyung. anything with someone like you is… a dream."

at the mention of his name, his smile widens slightly and a pinkness warms the apples of his cheeks. he busies himself with opening the book and flipping through its contents to find the correct page. he presses his thumb against the spine between the pages.

"here." he taps the words on the page. "this story is one my mother used to read to me. a princess is trapped in a tower, guarded by a dragon in an ever-changing thorn maze, and a brave, handsome knight rescues her. they are married and live happily ever after."

he looks up at you, searching for a reaction, and you can only give a breathy laugh in return, still dizzy with the idea that someone like taehyung could ever be interested in someone like you. "are you sure you should be telling me these stories? i'm not a princess or a brave knight. i'm plain."

"perhaps. but do you know who else was seen as plain?" he taps your chest. "the dragon, disguised as a statue. and you, strong dragon, will protect the princess," he taps his own chest, "from all the boredom and politics of castle life."

"don't you have other, richer boys chasing you?" you ask, because you know your place. "your own knight? i don't see what i offer that they can't."

he licks his lips, setting aside the small book on a round side table and swinging his legs over your lap to straddle you. reading it is the last thing on his mind. "i do, of course. but it is like you said – they are boys. when their wooden sword chips, they get a new one." he trails his fingers lightly down the centre of your chest, wide and strong, and tentatively cups what is between your legs. he leans in, long-lashed brown eyes flickering down to your lips. "i want more than that."

"i—" your breath hitches as he squeezes gently, learning its shape and heft with deft fingers. "a-are we allowed to…? i am a stranger in strange lands with nothing to my name."

he chuckles, pressing his forehead against yours. his soft hair curtains your eyes. "allowed? no. but when a handsome soldier from far away falls into my lap, what else is a man to do?" he draws his thumb over your jawline, stroking your cheek. he lowers his lips to yours, hot breath sweet with honeyed treats. with the faintest thread of a breath, he whispers, "may i?"

with your heartbeat thudding in your ears, your head inclines, and taehyung wraps his arms around your shoulders and pushes his lips to yours.

his moan is sweet and starved as you kiss back to the best of your ability, your hands falling naturally about his waist. his lips are plump and warm, pillowy, and slicken with saliva as he deepens it, cupping the back of your head and pressing himself higher onto your body. he is desperate and dominating, sitting in your lap and rolling his hips into yours. you can feel his excitement through the cotton of his trousers.

when you part regretfully, gulping down air, he cups your face, his eyes dark yet gentle. he licks his shining lips, parted to pant. "you seem apprehensive. have you ever done this with a man?"

you wipe your lips with your thumb, tongue swiping over them in an almost bewildered motion. your eyes are wide. "a-ah… no. not with… anyone…"

"not even a girl?" he cannot help the surprise that coats his tone.

you shake your head, face aflame. "i never… my older brother had my father's charm. he was the one they all wanted, strong but lean. i was too much of a bull. they had fantasies of princes, and he was closer to it than i."

deeply and tenderly, he kisses you again. "it only means i won't have to fight anyone to call you mine." he brushes his thumb over your lips. "that suits me just fine. i was never the fighting sort."

he sits up on your lap, thighs bracketing yours. his bare feet tuck beneath him under his knees. when his palm grazes the front of your trousers, your breath hitches in your chest, and taehyung gives you a soft, if coy, grin. "i'll be gentle," he promises. he tugs slightly on the laces of the waist. "may i?"

mutely, you nod, your words sinking into the whirling depths of his eyes. his deft fingers undo the laces with ease and he pulls the thick cloth down your waist, tracing the vee of your hips with a pleased breath. he reaches in, lifting his gaze to gauge your expression. your chest rises and falls rapidly, and your knuckles are tensed on the chaise's armrest. the other arm is tucked tightly by your side.

"don't be nervous," he whispers, stroking you gently in your trousers. it twitches in his palm. "place your hands on my waist, darling. good. very good."

hesitantly, your hands graze his hips, sliding up to grip his slender waist. you splay a hand beside his waist, measuring it against him with fascination. he is slim and lovely… like the city nobles' soft-palmed daughters. you had noticed his hands during supper but hadn't the room to mull over them then, though now you do. they are square, masculine, but slender and fine-veined. his nails are clean and cut short, with a thin crescent of white at the ends.

he could not have been more perfect if he tried.

he slides his fist up to the tip of your cock, rubbing his thumb against the slit and the smooth skin. you are mostly soft, but still impressive – the number of taehyung's clandestine trysts have lent him a certain experience when it comes to men.

you have reinforced your place as his favourite.

"i see why they call you a bull," he says slyly, squeezing your shaft as his fist sinks down on it. "they just don't know how to tame you."

your face floods with heat as you stutter meaninglessly. your grip tightens on taehyung's hips and a single slant of a thought marvels at how delicate he feels in your palms.

"be still, my darling," he murmurs, "and be at ease. you are no longer at war. you can close your eyes and hold me without fear. nothing will happen unless we want it to."

his voice, like syrup, melts the frantic whirlwind of thoughts in your head. you cannot help but want to believe him. "you make it sound so simple. i want to believe you."

"why can't it be?" he tilts his head, glancing down and stroking you contentedly. he swipes his thumb over the slit, where a bead of precome bubbles. oil – from a small bottle you only now spot in taehyung's palm – smooths each stroke of your shaft. "the world is so complicated. affection can afford to be simple."

he lets go for a moment to step back, sliding his trousers down his hips and calves and tossing them aside on the chaise. he flicks his dark hair and tucks a lock over his ear as he reassumes his place on your lap, pressing his chest against yours and tugging your cock to throb against the curve of his ass. the silk of his white shirt is cool and light against your hot skin.

his lips ghost over the shell of your ear as his hips roll languidly. he whispers, "do you want this?"

do you want more? the question is unasked, but you hear it anyway.

"i do, yes. please," you reply immediately, your voice rough with desire. your hands trail over his hips and tuck beneath the long hem of his shirt to caress his warm, creamy thighs, a feeling that traps your breath in your throat. you force out a sigh, shaky, and rest your forehead against taehyung's shoulder. he hushes you and cups the back of your head, reaching with his other hand behind himself to ease you inside his warmth.

taehyung's head tips back with a slow exhale, shuddering as you pulse with heat inside of him. he watches you closely, committing to memory the way your brows pinch and your mouth falls open as your grasp tightens, trembling, around his waist.

"do you like that?" he whispers, breathy. he bounces shallowly, grinding his hips into yours. "how do you feel?"

"good," you choke out through a groan. your hand slides down to the dip in his back, trying not to seem too eager as it cups his ass. "oh, fuck…"

"don't hold back for me," he murmurs, hips quickening. he moans in surprise as you buck up into him, thighs meeting his ass. the slap of your balls against his ass is obscene, and he scrambles to cling onto your shoulders for balance.

"wait – wait, wait," he gasps, lashes fluttering as your cock kisses that spot inside of him that burns pleasure through his guts.

you stop immediately, sliding your hand up his side. "i'm sorry! are you alright?"

he huffs a laugh, panting softly, and nods. "you're injured, darling. don't waste the good work we put into putting you back together. sit back – i will take care of you, understand?"

"a-ah…" your face burns with heat. "all right. whatever milord desires."

"very good." he presses down on your hips gently, his hands between his thighs. he lifts himself off of your cock until only the tip rests against his hole, then sinks down on it in one smooth motion. a strangled noise escapes your throat as you scramble to hold onto him. his heat grips your shaft like a vice, gummy walls clamping down around you with each drop of his hips.

he moans when your fingers dig into the sensitive skin of his hips, sweat gathering in the small of his back. the fireplace crackles softly, the air warm and sweet with the smell of sex.

he gathers his shirt in his hands about his ribs, revealing his dusky cock, swollen with need. he takes your hand and curls your fingers around his shaft, his eyes fluttering and lips parting as you tighten it. your callused palms drag deliciously against his veins and he grips your wrist with a soft groan, bouncing on your lap in such a way that he thrusts into the warm tunnel of your fist.

carefully, you stroke his cock, cautious about rubbing raw or tearing his skin. wealthy boys are a different breed – so much softer, easier to hurt. the smell of him, sweet and musky, hangs in the air around him, enveloping you when he draws close – crushed petals, herbs, leaves. it seems foreign, or at least the mixture does, for you cannot quite place your finger on it – then again, what do you know of luxuries like this?

"you are doing well," taehyung praises, gasping as you flick the head of his cock with your thumb. "oh, yes… f-fast learner, hm? oh!"

a jerk of your hips has him jolting forward, his cock spurting a sudden white rope onto your stomach. he purrs, bracing against your chest and slamming his hips down on your cock to slicken him with your pleasure. it works, and he seems unduly proud of himself when your cock throbs and leaks, forming a white ring around the hilt that thickens with each bounce of his ass.

"milord – milord," you gasp, a tiny pathetic noise that does not match your appearance, "please – i'm—"

"let go," he demands, a breathy moan escaping his lips. he closes his eyes and lets out a punched groan as your cock carves into his insides, deeper than any other man had ever touched. his reddened cock throbs, slit pouring precome over his belly and thighs. the pleasure curls around his thoughts, his head spinning from it, and he feels your stomach tense under his palms.

you spill into him with a deep, satisfied growl, head tipping back as he arches against you. your hips roll up against his and the coil tightening in his belly snaps at the sight of you so wrecked from so little. he cries out, ropes of white streaking across your shirt, and his hips stutter and roll, milking your pleasure for his own like a succubus. he presses his ass into your lap, white teeth sinking into his plump lower lip, and his eyes roll as the thick warmth fills him up to the brim.

at last, he slumps against your chest, thighs trembling and tensing as he hums softly into your neck. he buries his nose in the soft, warm skin, and cups your cheek to place a soft kiss on the corner of your jaw.

"mm… good," he purrs, smiling with tender satisfaction. "i – i shall bring you to your… mm… room. it is just down the hall from my own... should you wish to see me, you only need to knock." his breath hitches as he raises his hips slowly, hole twitching around your shaft, and when it pops out, a steady stream of come leaks from him, staining his tanned skin. he sighs, closing his eyes to the slowing of your heartbeat. "but i think i will stay here for a time, if you don't mind. just until i – until i regain feeling and control of my legs."

"is that… is that normal?" you ask, a tiny panting tremor in your voice. "to lose feeling like that?"

taehyung laughs into your neck, eyes crinkling. "sometimes, when i feel overwhelmed. it is no fault of yours – you are just… big. don't worry. i liked it."

he shifts in your lap to get comfortable but pauses as something pokes his thigh. a sly smile spreads across his fine features, his fingers lifting to trace your jaw and tip your gaze to his own. he purrs, "is that for me, love? excited again?"

you gulp, unable to tear your stare from his despite the embarrassment clawing at your throat. "i – i…"

"handsome and energetic. i'm a lucky man." he laughs softly, reaching behind himself and groping your hard cock with a low moan. "i myself have been told i'm rather voracious. perhaps you will be the first to keep up with me."

he lowers himself on your cock, head tipping back as he teases himself with the thick head. his dick twitches.

"what say you to a change of scenery?" he asks coyly, perfectly content with your ragged-breath silence. every word you might have said disintegrates on your tongue when he turns around, arching his back and pinning your cock to your stomach. shining precome smears along the cleft of his ass.

his body, carved out of shadows by the fire, rocks and rolls like a ship in the harbour when all its crew are asleep. with an encouraging smile, he takes your hands and places them on his hips, pressing on them to guide you to control his body. he hums softly as you squeeze his hips and spread his asscheeks, your breath shaky as he angles his messy hole against your leaking tip.

he watches your face with gentle eyes as he sinks down on your cock, his warm, wet hole swallowing up your shaft like he was made for it. you jump slightly when his ass firmly meets your lap, taking you hungrily until the hilt, and if he were a lesser man, your expression alone would have been enough to tip him over the edge. he sears every line of your face, every edge and plane, into the backs of his eyelids. it will make for fine company on lonely nights.

you speak for the first time in a while. "p-please…" you whisper hoarsely, blunt nails digging into his smooth, unmarred skin, leaving crescent moons in your wake. "please, move."

"ah, but you are badly hurt… i must take my time with you. mustn't alert the servants, either, for they'd certainly report to my father what they've seen." taehyung giggles to himself, gnawing on his lower lip in an effort to subdue his grin. he grinds down into your lap in circles, relishing in the pleasured, impatient groans that escape your throat. "he'd toss you out in an instant, and we cannot have that! i haven't yet had my fill of you."

"a-are you always so… playful with your men, taehyung?" you ask, voice slightly strained. you watch your cock vanish into him, over and over again. the sound that is made when he bounces on your lap is obscene and filthy. your heart stirs with desire.

"mmh – no. my past conquests have not been as – as alluring as you," he gasps, wrapping his hand around his throbbing cock, thumb rubbing circles over the ridge of his tip. "mostly, they bore me. you, however – you're more than a cock i can use to please myself, if i may speak so crudely."

"i – ah – th-think i should be grateful, then…?" you reply uncertainly.

"yes. unless, of course, you enjoy that sort of game… but tonight is about simplicity," he breathes, his skin tingling where your rough palms glide over his thighs, soft as cream. "we have only so long until the sun rises and the servants wake. i want to spend that time with you – learning your homeland's ballads and epics, your favourite flower, where i can touch to make you melt…"

he looses an airy laugh as your grip tightens on his waist, his shirt folded up between your fingers to reveal the curve of his spine and ass. you drag him down onto your cock roughly and he keens, eyes rolling back briefly. "ooh, y-you like that, don't you? ah—!"

already he is so sensitive. nowhere else has he felt pleasure like this – where his body is treated as more than a means to an end. he had been completely content with that when he entered this library, agreeable to the idea that you might like him only for what he can give you. but he swears – he swears on the old gods and the new – that the way you press your nose into the curve of his neck, the way you stroke him thin and thick tight and loose – caring, properly, for his own high – means your attraction is more than fleeting.

years of ending up alone in empty beds have made him soft. lonely. desperate. perhaps he is reading into things too deeply, as he always does – poor boy, always a poet. the backs of his eyes sting with hot tears as his tightly-controlled leash snaps, making him cry out, writhe, and shudder, knees and elbows buckling under the weight of his orgasm.

you catch him in your arms before he can slip, pulling him backwards towards your chest. it is warm, your throat shining with sweat, and he can feel the burning fever of your body through your clothes. still, you do not let go, push him away – you cradle him close, your heart thudding through your ribcage and into his own.

one of your hands tugs languidly at his cock, milking his pleasure from him. you watch quietly as it spills over your knuckles, your lips pressed against his sweat-slick shoulder, and help him lift his hips off of your cock.

for the first time in what feels like hours, taehyung takes a deep, full breath of air. he cups your face in a hand and smiles, wide and content.

"i didn't believe you could be more beautiful," you murmur, words slightly clipped at the end from a lack of breath. "i've never been happier to be wrong."

he opens his eyes with a flutter of lashes, pleasantly surprised. "haven't i already let you take me?"

"what do you mean?" you ask with a frown, tilting your head. your thoughts are foggy with warm laziness. the fire's heat does not help. "taehyung?"

the sound of his name almost startles him. he sits up, and a pleasurable ache sparks up his spine. he sucks in a deep breath. "you really… truly think that of me?"

you blink slowly, like a cat, and the fire's flames dance in your eyes. "i am a simple soldier. lies are above a man like me."

"you're more than that," he replies immediately, turning around on your lap to face you properly. "if you were just a soldier, you would have died on that battlefield. forgive me, but you had all the time to die on your way down the river. still, you survived." his voice softens, and he fiddles with your collar, straightening it and folding it down. "i am glad you did. i am glad to have met you."

"ah…" gently, you tug his shirt down, allowing him the return of some of his dignity, though he does not seem to care. "that reminds me – i shouldn't waste much time here. i should report to the general."

"for what?" taehyung scoffs, and it sounds… hurt. he glances away. "am i so repugnant you would rather march thirty miles a day in mud-soaked boots than stay here with me?"

"no!" you protest, sitting up as best you can with the growing ache in your side. you had been too caught up in the moment to remember it, and now your body reminds you jealously. "t'ain't that, taehyung. you are intelligent and kind and if we were in my homeland, i wouldn't hesitate to ask your hand. but surely you have a girl you're supposed to marry?"

"no, not at the moment. despite what he says, my father still grieves my mother. it will be a while yet before he'll allow another woman into the house." he traces shapes into your skin. "i will free you from the servitude of the evil king who bound you, and together, princess and dragon will live freely, with the wind in their hair and the sun on their backs."

at first, you smile at the newfound softness of his voice, but freeze. "free… of servitude?"

taehyung watches you, draping his legs over the other side of the armchair, kicking his feet lazily. his eyes are dark and watchful. "as i know it, the king's oath swears that you are only relieved of your duty when you give your blood for his and fall in battle against his enemies. have you not satisfied these requirements?"

"i may be no scholar, but i'm near certain that to 'fall in battle' means to die in it."

"have you not satisfied these requirements?" he repeats, firmer. "our doctors and priests said you were dead when i brought you to them. they said you may have been alive when i found you, but somewhere between the riverbank and their stone table marked the spot where you died. as they proclaimed this, you coughed again, and nobody could deny me this time when i said you were very clearly alive."

"you are telling me that i died… and returned? like a saint?" you ask sceptically.

"i only tell you what our doctors told me."

for a while, you are silent. determination creases taehyung's brow, and you cannot hold in the disbelieving laugh that erupts from you, though it morphs into a groan of pain in the middle. taehyung sits up and presses his palm to your cheek, his eyes so vivid and certain.

"you have already died, and thus retain no obligations to the crown," he whispers. his gaze scours your face. "you are free. free to stay here. live here…"

with me.

your heart drops into your stomach. you grip his waist, shifting in the velvet chaise. "i'm…"

"agree. agree to it. even if i cannot bear your children, we will sleep in the same bed, take walks in the wheat fields, eat and drink every meal together. you won't fear for your life every day. and as soon as the war ends and they open the trade routes to your home, i shall book passage on a ship and take you there. you may stay, if you wish. i won't deny you."

"then why offer at all?" you ask quietly. "if you think i'll leave you the moment i can, why would you even try?"

"i can hope, can i not? by all accounts our kings have no desire to cease any time soon. perhaps you will learn to love me in time." he smiles, faint, and averts his gaze. "otherwise, i will be glad to help another soul. you will survive the war and return to your family, whole and healthy. out here, away from people, i have little chance to do something so good and noble."

"and if i grow restless? if i want to do something with my hands?"

he tilts his head thoughtfully. "how is your aim?"

"fair, i s'pose. haven't missed when it's important."

"the lord's hunter grows old," he proclaims. "he can teach you what he knows, and if you like, you may take up the title once he can no longer ride and shoot. besides that, there is always work to be done in the fields and granary – perhaps you'll find some comfort in the farms?"

you think about it, long and hard. in essence you would be a prisoner at his beck and call, though if taehyung tells the truth and is as earnest as he appears, perhaps you'll find freedom and enough work to fill your days with…

you give your answer, and taehyung's smile is like the sun.

#top male reader #x male reader #male reader #dom male reader #dom reader #top reader #bts x male reader #bottom bts #bottom taehyung #taehyung x male reader #kpop x male reader #bts x reader #kpop x reader #bts smut #taehyung smut

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vivmaek · 9 months ago

Text

POETRY FOR YOUR MOON SIGN

✰ my masterlist poems written by someone who has the same moon sign as you <3

☾PISCES☽

Edgar Allen Poe, A Dream Within a Dream

“Take this kiss upon the brow! / And, in parting from you now, / Thus much let me avow – / You are not wrong, who deem / That my days have been a dream; / Yet if hope has flown away / In a night, or in a day, / In a vision, or in none, / Is it therefore the less gone? / All that we see or seem / Is but a dream within a dream.”

June Jordan, You Came with Shells

“You came with shells. And left them: / shells. / They lay beautiful on the table. / Now they lie on my desk / peculiar / extraordinary under 60 watts.”

Toni Morrison, It Comes Unadorned

“it comes / Unadorned / Like a phrase / Strong enough to cast a spell; / It comes / Unbidden, / Like the turn of sun through hills / Or stars in wheels of song. / The jeweled feet of women dance the earth. / Arousing it to spring. / Shoulders broad as a road bend to share the weight of years. / Profiles breach the distance and lean / Toward an ordinary kiss. / Bliss. / it comes naked into the world like a charm.”

☾AQUARIUS☽

W.B Yeats, A Coat

“I made my song a coat / Covered with embroideries / Out of old mythologies / From heel to throat; / But the fools caught it, / Wore it in the world’s eyes / As though they’d wrought it. / Song, let them take it / For there’s more enterprise / In walking naked.”

W.B Yeats, The Lover Tells of the Roses in His Heart

“All things uncomely and broken, all things worn out and old, / The cry of a child by the roadway, the creak of a lumbering cart, / The heavy steps of the ploughman, splashing the wintry mould, / Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart. / The wrong of unshapely things is a wrong too great to be told; I hunger to build them anew and sit on a green knoll apart, / With the earth and the sky and the water, re-made, like a casket of gold / For my dreams of your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.”

Louisa May Alcott, The Lay of a Golden Goose

“Oh! Be not rash,” her father said, / A mild Socratic bird; / Her mother begged her not to stray / With many a warning word. / But little goosey was perverse / And eagerly did cry, / “I’ve got a lovely pair of wings, / Of course I Ought to fly.”

☾CAPRICORN☽

John Milton, Sonnet 19

“When I consider how my light is spent, / Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, / And that one talent which is death to hide / Lodged with me useless, through my soul more bent / To serve therewith my Maker,”

Jala al-Din Rumi, The Guest House

“This being human is a guest house. / Every morning a new arrival. / A joy, a depression, a meanness, / some momentary awareness comes / As an unexpected visitor. / Welcome and entertain them all! / Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows, / who violently sweep your house / empty of its furniture, / still treat each guest honorably. / He may be clearing you out / for some new delight. / The dark thought, the shame, the malice, / meet them at the door laughing, / and invite them in. / Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent / as a guide from beyond.”

Gwendolyn Brooks, a song in the front yard

“I’ve stayed in the front yard all my life. / I want a peek at the back / Where it’s rough and untended and hungry weed / grows. / A girl gets sick of a rose.”

☾SAGITTARIUS☽

Lewis Carroll, A Boat Beneath a Sunny Sky

“In a Wonderland they lie, / Dreaming as the days go by, / Dreaming as the summers die: / Ever drifting down the stream – / Lingering in the golden gleam – / Life, what it is but a dream?”

Dante Alighieri, From “Inferno”

“It’s the pain / of the people down there that empties my / face. / It’s pity / that you’ve mistaken for fear. / And it’s the long way / that pushes us now. / Let’s go.”

Victor Hugo, Tomorrow, At Dawn

“Tomorrow, at dawn, at the hour when the countryside whitens, / I will set out. You see, I know that you wait for me. / I will go by the forest, I will go by the mountain. / I can no longer remain far from you. / I will walk with my eyes fixed on my thoughts, / Seeing nothing of outdoors, hearing no noise / Alone, unknown, my back curved, my hands crossed, / Sorrowed, and the day for me will be as night.”

☾SCORPIO☽

Sarojini Naid, Autumn Song

“Like a joy on the heart of a sorrow, / The sunset hangs on a cloud; / A golden storm of glittering sheaves, / Of fair and frail and fluttering leaves, / The wild wind blows in a cloud. / Hark to a voice that is calling / To my heart in the voice of the wind: / My heart is weary and sad and alone, / For its dreams like the fluttering leaves have gone, / And why should I stay behind?”

Shel Silverstein, Dreadful

“Someone ate the baby. / It’s absolutely clear / Someone ate the baby / ‘Cause the baby isn’t here. / We’ll give away her toys and clothes. / We’ll never have to wipe her nose. / Dad says, “That’s the way it goes.” / Someone ate the baby.”

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Aftermath

“When the summer fields are mown, / When the birds are fledged and flown, / And the dry leaves strew the path; / With the falling of the snow, / With the cawing of the crow, / Once again the fields we mow / And gather in the aftermath.”

☾LIBRA☽

Maya Angelou, Caged Bird

“A free bird leaps / on the back of the wind / and floats downstream / till the current ends / and dips his wing / in the orange sun rays / and dares to claim the sky.”

Emily Dickinson, Good Morning – Midnight

“Good Morning – Midnight – / I’m coming Home – / Day – got tired of Me – / How could I – of Him? / Sunshine was a sweet place – / I liked to stay – / But Morn – didn’t want me – now – / So – Goodnight – Day!”

Elizabeth Barrett Browning, My Heart and I

“You see we’re tired, my heart and I. / We dealt with books, we trusted men, / And in our own blood drenched the pen, / As is such colours could not fly. / We walked too straight for fortune’s end, / We loved too true to keep a friend ; / At last we’re tired, my heart and I.”

☾VIRGO☽

Robert Hayden, Those Winter Sundays

“Sundays too my father got up early / and put his clothes on in the blueback cold, / then with cracked hands that ached / from labor in the weekday weather made / banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. / I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking / When the rooms were warm, he’d call, / and slowly I would rise and dress, / fearing the chronic angers of that house, / Speaking indifferently to him , / who had driven out the cold / and polished my good shoes well. / What did I know, what did I know / of love's austere and lonely offices?”

Jack Kerouac, How to Meditate

“Thinking’s just like not thinking- / So I don't have to think / any / more”

William Faulkner, Study

“Muted dreams for them / for me / Bitter science. Exams are near / And my thoughts uncontrollably / Wander, and I cannot hear / The voice telling me that work I must, / For everything will be the same when I’m dead / A thousand years. I wish I were a bust / All head.”

☾LEO☽

Walt Whitman, I sing the Body Electric

“I sing the body electric, / The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,”

Oscar Wilde, The Ballad of Reading Gaol

“Yet each man kills the thing he loves, / By each let this be heard, / Some do it with a bitter look, / Some with a flattering word, / The coward does it with a kiss, / The brave men with a sword!”

Ralph Waldo Emerson, Friendship

“A ruddy drop of manly blood / The surging sea outweighs, / The world uncertain comes and goes; / The lover rooted stays. / I fancied he was fled, – / And, after many a year, / Glowed unexhausted kindliness, / Like daily sunrise there. / My careful heart was free again, / O friend, my bosom said, / Through thee alone the sky is arched, / Through thee the rose is red; / All things through thee take nobler form, / And look beyond the earth, / The mill-round of our fate appears / A sun-path in thy worth. / Me too thy nobleness had taught / To master my despair; / The fountains of my hidden life / Are through thy friendship fair.”

☾CANCER☽

Shakespear, Sonnet 147

“My love is as a fever, longing still / For that which longer nurseth the disease, / Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,”

Robert Frost, Acquainted with the Night

“I have been one acquainted with the night. / I have walked out in rain – and back in rain. / I have outwalked the furthest city light. / I have looked down the saddest city lane. / I have passed by the watchman on his beat / And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. / I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet / When far away an interrupted cry / Came over houses from another street, / But not to call me back or say good-bye; / And further still at an unearthly height, / One luminary clock against the sky / Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. / I have been one acquainted with the night.”

William Blake, Auguries of innocence

“To see a World in a Grain of Sand / And a Heaven in a wild flower / Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand / And eternity in an hour”

☾GEMINI☽

Rudyard Kipling, Blue Roses

“Half the world I wandered through, / Seeking where such flowers grew. / Half the world unto my quest / Answered me with laugh and jest. / Home I came at wintertide, / But my silly love had died / Seeking with her latest breath / Roses from the arms of Death.”

John Keats, To Sleep

“Save me from curious Conscience, that still lords / Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole; / Turn the key deftly into the oiled wards, / And seal the hushed Casket of my soul.”

Lord Tennyson, The Eagle

“He clasps the crag with crooked hands; Close to the sun in lonely lands, / Ring’d with the azure world, he stands. / The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; / He watches from his mountain walls, / And like thunderbolt he falls.”

☾TAURUS☽

John Donne, Air and Angels

“Twice or thrice had I lov’d thee, / Before I knew thy face or name; / So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame / Angels affects us oft, and worshipp’d be;”

Audre Lorde, Recreation

“my body / writes into your flesh / the poem / you make of me. / Touching you I catch midnight / as moon fires set in my throat / I love you flesh into blossom / I made you / and take you made / into me.”

Margaret Walker, Lineage

“My grandmothers were strong. / They followed plows and bent to toil. / They moved through fields sowing seed. / They touched earth and grain grew. / They were full of sturdiness and singing. / My grandmothers were strong. / My grandmothers are full of memories / Smelling of soap and onions and wet clay / With veins rolling roughly over quick hands / They have many clean words to say. / My grandmothers were strong. / Why am I not as they?”

☾ARIES☽

E.E Cummings, Love is more thicker than forget

“love is more thicker than forget / more thinner than recall / more seldom than a wave is wet / more frequent than to fail”

Mark Twain, Genius

“But above all things, / to deftly throw the incoherent ravings of insanity into verse / and then rush off and get booming drunk, / is the surest of all the different signs / of genius.”

Paul Laurence Dunbar, Ships that Pass in the Night

“Out in the sky the great dark clouds are massing; / I look far out into the pregnant night, / Where I can hear a solemn booming gun / And I catch the gleaming of a random light, / That tells me that the ship I seek is passing, passing.”

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chunkypossum · 2 months ago

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Eris Week 2024 Master List

I knew I wanted to participate in @erisweekofficial this year but I think I went nuts. I did surprise myself at only making complete things this time. NO WIP YAY! I have also decided that I hate everything I have ever written but you’re getting it anyway 🤣

Going through the final edits in the next couple of days. Here's a rundown….

*Summaries if the summaries were written by Bad Lip Reading ...

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Day 1: Bonds and Bargains || Under the Weeping Beech

22k words || READ ON AO3 || Eris X Azriel

PLUS AZRIS ART

I made Mor's power of truth more interesting, got carried away, bon appetit.

*Disclaimer DO NOT actually read this one. Major Character deaths, hurt NO comfort, You're not going to like Mor or what I've done to her etc etc

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Day 2: Childhood and Legacy || Patience of Princes

6k words || READ ON AO3 || Background AZRIS

PLUS ERIS ART: Legacy of Autumn

Prince Eris has a tough day, his momma tells him a story.

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Day 3: Healing || Mother Save us from Your Twisted Fate PART 2

4k words || READ ON AO3 || Azriel X Eris

PLUS AZRIS ART

Eris is alive but at what cost to his soul? Can Azriel and Eris bring each other back from the edge of the void they have spent the last few months lost in?

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Day 5: War || Wings and Steel

2k words || READ ON AO3 || Implied Azris

PLUS ERIS ART: Atop the Knoll

Eris successfully holds up his end of the bargain and manages to bring aid to the Hybern battle in ACOWAR.

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Day 6: AU || Travelers in the Bayou

6k words || READ ON AO3 || Azriel X Eris

PLUS AZRIS ART

Eris is trying to live a quiet life in the backwaters of a forgotten town, hoping himself to be forgotten when trouble walks in.

*This is an excerpt from a full fic I am working on that I managed to turn into a one shot from Eris' POV

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Day 7: FREE DAY || ERIS ART

Surprise Surprise... I somehow managed to make them all involve AZRIS in some way soooo...

Holla at ya boi if you want on or off the Azris tag train :

@talibunny30 @iftheshoef1tz @born-to-riot @fell-in-luvs @fieldofdaisiies @aktrain @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @pippsmcgee @youvereachedthenearest-lovergirl @baileybird71 @skyesayshi @yanny-77 @areyoudreaminof @unanswered-stars @futurehunt @ninthcircleofprythian @matrixsss @going-through-shit @c-starstuff-man0 @jules-writes-stories @the-darkestminds @krowiathemythologynerd @cauldronblssd @hieragalbatorixdottir @yourlazykitkat @hellolordling @climbthemountain2020 @lilah-asteria @shadowsandlint @acourtofbatboydreams @theeternalstruggle @christeareads @molcat07

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hihomeghere · 1 year ago

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Meet The Family: Part of the Tesoro Series

Five Hargreeves / F!Reader

Word Count : 3k Summary : Five finds a way to return to 2019, you both break your contract with the commission and you meet your in-laws for the first time. Aged up!Five, reader has the ability to shapeshift. Fluff with a lil bit of angst if you squint. ( I do not own the umbrella academy or any of it's characters ) Warnings : Cursing, drinking, allusions to sex, talking about death

“Do you trust me?” Five asked, both of you standing on the grassy knoll. You nodded, staring into his eyes.

“Of course I do.” He wet his lips nervously, looking around.

“Okay,” he said, wiping his hands off on his pants. You grabbed his hand squeezing it.

“Hey,” he turned to look at you, “whatever happens we face it together, okay?” You squeezed his hand again, giving him a small smile. He nodded, returning the smile. Although his didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hold onto me, okay?” He said holding your eye contact. You nodded, grabbing his bicep, gripping his gray coat sleeve. It definitely was a struggle, but slowly the blue portal opened. The wind whipped your hair in front of your face, Five’s yells grew louder. Suddenly his hands passed through the blue, with you following behind him. You felt your body warp as you pushed through. It was similar to changing, but your body wasn’t changing outwards, it felt like it was being turned in on yourself.

And then you were falling, fortunately for you, and unfortunately for Five, he broke your fall. You both groaned as you rolled off of him onto the wet pavement. You took in deep gasps of air, your hand coming to your chest as you closed your eyes. Tiny pebbles rubbed against your hands, getting stuck under your fingernails. You heard Five shuffle next to you, his feet scraping on the pavement as he stood up.

“Shit,” you snapped your eyes open, why did he sound so different? You gasped as your eyes fell on your husband. He was young, younger than when you had first met him. Early 20s, maybe?

“Does anyone else see Number Five and some girl or is that just me?” A man’s voice said. You looked up staring at a group of people you quickly deciphered as Five’s siblings. You looked down at yourself, your hands were still scarred, but they looked fresh. Like they had looked when you first escaped the lab, you shook your head. If Five was younger, then that meant you must be too. You felt your face, the wrinkles around your eyes were gone. You were young again.

“What’s the date? The exact date?” Five said walking around the kitchen. You felt yourself shrink under his siblings' gaze. Mainly Klaus who seemed enamored by you. You had already caught his gaze once and he had given you a strange little wave while criss crossed on the table. If he moved his knee the wrong way you were sure you would get to see a bit more than you wanted to of your new in-laws.

“The 24th.” Vanya said, still in disbelief.

“Of what?” Five asked exasperated.

“Of March?” She said her eyes never leaving Five.

“Good.” He continued making his peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich.

“So are we gonna talk about what just happened?” Luther spoke up, eyeing you warily, “And who the hell is this?” He whispered, leaning closer to Five. Five continued making his sandwich, refusing to meet Luther’s eyes.

“This is Y/n, my wife.” He said as though it was an obvious observation.

“Your wife?” Alison said, her head snapping to look at you.

“How’d you land her? Did you kidnap her?” Klaus snorted looking between you and Five. You smiled, looking down at your lap.

“We have bigger problems than Five’s girlfriend at the moment. It’s been 17 years!” Luther said standing up, Five scoffed turning to face him.

“It’s been a lot longer than that.” He said before he blinked behind him. “And she’s my wife, you’ll treat her as such, got it?” He said over his shoulder.

“I haven’t missed that.” Luther sighed, staring forward where Five once was. You looked at all the siblings. Vanya was the closest to you, she seemed timid. Alison was next, standing up with her arms crossed. Then Klaus, and Diego, who was staring daggers at you at the moment before he turned his gaze to Five.

“Where’d you go?” Diego asked, his eyes returning to you. You gulped, returning your gaze to your hands.

“The future. It’s shit by the way.” Five said grabbing marshmallows and blinking back to the table.

“Called it!” Klaus said, raising a finger.

“I should have listened to the old man.” Five sighed moving around the kitchen like he hadn’t been gone for more than a day. “You know jumping around space is one thing.” He opened the fridge door looking inside, “jumping through time is a toss of the dice.” He stood at the head of the table. “Nice dress.” He said, looking Klaus over.

“Oh, well danke!” Klaus smiled before Vanya cut him off.

“Wait, how did you get back?” She asked, putting her hands up, unable to comprehend Five’s nonchalant attitude.

“In the end I had to project my consciousness forward into a quantum state version of myself that exists across every possible instance of time.”

“That makes no sense.” Diego mumbled looking at the tile floor, “how did she get through.” His eyes flicked up toward you. You felt your face heat up, and you turned to look at Five.

“I opened the portal allowing her to follow, and it would make sense if you were smarter.” Diego jumped up, only being held back by Luther.

“How long were you there?” Luther asked.

“Forty five years. Give or take. Including my time spent at our old job.” The commission. You felt your blood run cold, how could you have forgotten? Did they already have a team out looking for you? Working long enough for the Handler you knew the workings of her mind. She could never get over the fact that you and Five were together. Call it jealousy, or call it the inability to completely control someone. You weren’t stupid, you saw how she looked at Five, it made your blood boil. She wouldn’t kill him, he was too valuable to her, you on the other hand were good as dead.

“So what are you saying? You’re 58?” Luther asked, all his siblings having the same confused expression on their face.

“No, my consciousness is 58.” He said before putting a slice of bread over his sandwich monstrosity. “Apparently my body is now 20 again.”

“Wait, how does that even work?” Vanya asked, shaking her head. Five took a bite of his sandwich before turning back to you. He picked up the newspaper sitting on top of the table.

“Guess we missed the funeral.” He said, no discernible tone in his voice.

“How’d you know about that?” Luther asked his eyes never leaving Five.

“What part of the future do you not understand?” Five said furrowing his brows. You looked up, Alison was looking at you this time. She offered you a small smile which you returned. Although it felt more like a grimace.

“Heart failure, huh?”

“Yeah.” Diego said before being cut off by Luther.

“No.” Five clicked his tongue walking over to you.

“Nice to see nothings changed.” He said before turning to you. His cold fingers brushed against your arm, his brows furrowed seemingly deep in thought. He grabbed your hand leading you out of the kitchen.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” Alison asked, throwing her hands up in the air. As Five pulled you after him.

“What else is there to say? The circle of life.” He said looking over his shoulder.

“Five come to bed.” You said leaning on the spare bedroom door. You pulled your robe tighter around your body crossing your arms. Five stood in front of his whiteboard, equation after equation covering the board. He hadn’t even changed out of his work clothes yet. His tie hung loosely around his neck, you could just imagine how he had been pulling at it. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his top two buttons were unbuttoned.

“In a minute, dearest.” He waved at you, his face never leaving the board. You sighed walking up behind him, wrapping your arms around him. You laid your head against his back, moving with him every time he leaned forward to change something. The only sound in the room was his heart against your ear and the squeak of the pen.

“Five,” you whined. He sighed, setting his pen down. He held your hands against his stomach.

“Yes tesoro?” He turned, moving you so you were standing in front of him.

“I’m tired.”

“Then go to bed.” He said as though talking to a small child. You rolled your eyes, giving him a look. He smiled before kissing your head. His mustache bristled against your forehead.

“Not without you.” If he wanted to treat you like a child, fine. You stared up at him through your eyelashes, your lower lip jutting out.

“Now that’s not fair.” He scolded, a smile on his face. You laughed breaking your pout, you took his hands leading him out of the room.

“Come on Mr. Hargreeves,” you cooed a smirk on your lips. He tried to glare at you, but slowly a smile crept on his face.

“What will you give me, Mrs. Hargreeves?” He teased his hands finding the tie to your robe.

“Guess you’ll have to find out.” You leaned forward whispering against the shell of his ear. He chuckled lowly, letting you pull him into your shared bedroom

He blinked you both up into his old bedroom. You sat on his bed staring at your hands. He opened up his closet, muttering under his breath.

“Well, the first meeting with the in-laws wasn’t too bad.” You said watching his back.

“Mm.” He grumbled, rifling through the closet.

“Are you okay?” You asked, sliding off his bed to your feet.

“No!” He snapped, turning to look at you, “We’re stuck in these bodies! The world is about to end and I have no idea what to do!” He yelled, running a hand through his hair.

“Hey, it’s okay, we’ll figure it out, we always do.” You soothed approaching him like a cornered animal.

“Yeah, how'd that work the last time?” He scoffed a sarcastic smile on his face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked, crossing your arms.

“It was the decimal! If I had had time to look over my equations I would have seen it.” He seethed, you recoiled.

“Are you saying this is my fault?” You furrowed your brows.

“Yes!” He threw his hands up, “If you wouldn’t have bothered me, we wouldn’t be in this situation!” He snarled his finger in your face. You grit your teeth, trying to keep your cool.

“Obviously you need some time by yourself.” You said coolly, walking away from him.

“Fucking finally.” He scoffed, shaking his head as you slammed the door behind you.

You flew down the stairs, all but running into Vanya.

“Oh,” you said as you bumped into her, almost losing your balance, “sorry.”

“It’s ok.” She says, “Are you ok?” She asks. You bite your lip, looking behind you.

“No.” You answer honestly, crossing your arms, “Your stupid brother is the biggest asshole I know.” You huffed.

“Yeah,” She smiled, chuckling slightly, “he can be a real pain the the ass.” You smiled looking back at her. You fell into an uncomfortable silence, before she said. “But he seems to really love you.” She gives you a smile.

“Well he’s got a funny way of showing it.” You shake your head.

“Five has never been the most emotionally mature person,” she chuckles, crossing her arms, “but none of us are, you saw that earlier.” You admired her honesty.

“I appreciate it, Vanya.” You smiled, touching her arm.

“Listen, if you want to take the edge off, dads liquor cabinet is that way.” She points towards a room off the atrium.

“Thank you, I might take you up on that offer.” You nod heading that way, “see you around.”

She smiles and nods as you walk into the living room.

You groan, immediately face to face with a large oil painting of your husband.

“Yeah I feel that way about my siblings more often than not.” Klaus says stretching on the couch. You jump, your hand coming to your heart. “Oh woah!” He sits up looking at you. “Your hair! How did you do that!” He smirks pointing to his own head.

You smile softly, changing your hair back to your normal color.

“I was genetically altered as a kid.” You say looking back at the smug smile of your husband.

“Dang, heavy stuff.” He says leaning back on the plush couch. “Want to get drunk?” He asks with a grin spreading across his face.

“Hell yes.” You laugh, turning to look at him. He jumps up clapping his hands together.

“Great! I was looking for an excuse to get into the old man’s alcohol.” He moves to the bar, every movement he makes is extremely fluid. Like he’s floating everywhere. You walk up to the bar, sitting on one of the stools. “Now hang on, missy,” he says, holding out a finger towards you, “are you old enough to drink? Let me see your ID.” You laugh, shaking your head.

“Technically I’m 45,” you say a grin working its way onto your face, “and I don’t have an ID.”

“No way.” Klaus says leaning forward on the bar, his hands clasped together. “You, 45? What’s your secret?”

You giggle, shaking your head, “A time traveling husband helps.” You shrug.

“Hmm, guess I need to find me one of those,” he muses as he hands you a glass. You study the glass in your hands, watching the golden liquid swirl inside.

“So how long have you been with Five?” He asks, swirling the alcohol in his glass before downing it.

“Um,” you hum looking up, “about 25 years, we’ve been married for 21.” You sip the alcohol, it’s good, maybe a brandy?

“Jeez, you stuck with that old geezer for 21 years? More than any of us.” He says, chuckling to himself. You nod, your lips forming a tight line.

“Yep.” You tense your jaw, downing whatever is left in your glass. Grimacing as the alcohol burns your throat.

“Enough about Five.” Klaus says, “Tell me about you, Mrs. Hargreeves, I mean I would be an awful brother-in-law if I didn’t know anything about my new sister.” He grins walking around the bar to sit next to you on a stool.

“I’m really not that special,” you chuckle, setting your glass down on the bar top.

“Mrs. I change my hair color when I’m surprised, isn't special?” He asks tilting his head, “What, did Five tell you that?” His brows furrowed as he recoiled.

“No, no he would never say that.” You wave him off.

“Well what else can you do missy?” He asked, leaning forward, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“Well, I can change my appearance to look like anyone I want. As long as I know what they look like.” You shrugged.

“Ooh! Do me! Do me!” He says, patting your arm excitedly. You smile before turning to face him.

He tried to stay still but his leg continues to bounce. You look him over once before you feel your body stretch. Your hair changes to a short curly brown, tattoos adorn your skin. Klaus’s grin grows by the minute.

“Holy smokes!” He exclaims looking at you, “Am I really that good looking?” You burst out laughing, maybe it was the brandy, maybe you were just having fun for the first time in a long time.

You change back into yourself, wincing as your head throbs slightly.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” He leans forward lowering his voice slightly.

“Klaus, I think every question you’ve asked me so far has been personal.”

“Have you ever,” he wiggles his eyebrows, “you know, changed in the bedroom?” You pull a grin on your face.

“Klaus!” You blush, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Well? Have you?” He pushes his voice higher than before.

“No! Never!” You say waving him off.

“Oh come on! You don’t have to lie to me!” He pleads his hand resting on your arm.

“And I’m telling you Klaus, I’ve never changed during sex!” You whisper covering his hand with your own.

“Fine! Fine.” He says pulling away, “but if I find out you’re lying there will be hell to pay young lady!” He scolds half heartedly, you shake your head, a smile on your face.

“Yes sir.”

“Y/n?” Five stands in the doorway, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Klaus groans, throwing his head back.

“What do you want?” He asks glaring at him.

FIve ignores his brother, he adjusts his jacket looking up at you.

“Can we talk?” He pleads, walking toward you. You let out a sigh and nod.

“Yeah I’m going, I’m going.” Klaus says waving to the air, as if someone only he could see was pestering him. Once he’s past Five he turns flipping him off. You snicker, looking down at your feet. Five sits next to you at the bar, he reaches for you, taking your hand. You don’t pull away which he takes as a good sign.

You wait for him to talk, feeling his warm hand in yours. If you were anything, you were patient. Especially when Five came crawling to you on his knees.

“I’m an asshole.”

“Yep.” You say nonchalantly.

“I shouldn't have snapped at you, I just-“ he sighed, shaking his head, “I just screwed this whole thing up. I missed the decimal and changed our bodies forever.” He looked at your glass, avoiding your gaze.

“Hey,” you said, reaching out and turning his head to look at you, “I’m not mad at you for what happened. This-,” you motioned to yourself “I took this risk, and I’d do it all over again.” You reached up holding his face in your hands.. He leaned into your touch, his own hand coming up to caress yours.

“What did I do to deserve you?” He asked, shaking his head.

“Beats me.” You laughed, he rolled his eyes lightly shoving you. You smirked, pulling him closer, kissing him. He hummed smiling into the kiss, his hand wrapped around your waist. You cupped his cheek, rubbing your thumb over his jaw. You weren’t lying when you said it didn’t matter what happened, as long as you had Five next to you, you would be just fine.

#five hargreeves #tua #tua x reader #the umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves #diego hargreeves #luther hargreeves #alison hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #ben hargreeves #five hargreaves x reader #the umbrella academy x reader #fluff #a lil bit of angst #hihomeghere

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siriusleee · 6 months ago

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.22

a short thing using your favorite characters to remind you that 22 veterans commit suicide a day, and that this memorial day is not supposed to be a party. veterans get chewed up and spit out by a system that doesn't care about them, and while fiction is fun, we should remember that. mentions of canon typical violence and suicide. it's a fic about military men, you should already know.

The 7.62 is hot.

Yesterday was another funeral, skipped in favor of the shooting range. There's a new one almost every week.

22 veterans die everyday!

A deafening crack - one thick finger on the base of a hair trigger. The casing burns his forearm when it flies out.

Today is 23, but he's almost sure that the poster in the base's med hall doesn't count the ones on the other side of the scope. Or maybe it does. It's not his job to ask those kinds of questions.

Price's voice cracks in the comms. He sounds old - they all sound old these days. This is not an old man's job, not with the way the arthritis is starting to eat at the base of his spine; not the way the hairline fractures spiderwebs away from his left knee.

But they move on like young men - him and Kyle crawling in the dirt towards another bunkhouse, another step closer to Makarov, another step closer to bullet for Johnny.

Simon is tired of feeling old. He's tired of the dirt beneath his nails, the gunpowder smell that clings to him no matter how long the shower lasts. Him and Johnny used to joke about going on vacations with the wives they don't have, watching the children they don't pretend to name chase each other on the warm sand of some beach they've only bled on before. They were supposed to feel young again in their retirement.

But Simon gets older with every passing minute; every knife that knicks the bones and cartilage that threatens to break down. Retirement isn't coming, he thinks.

He's not Superman after all.

There's a .22 in the drawer of his bedside table.

Lately he's been sleeping with it underneath the pillow. Memory foam. Thick. It's supposed to block out the feeling of the mattress springs digging into his neck, but it doesn't block out everything.

He's a dog, spinning around in place to make the bedding more comfortable. But the grass isn't laying down evenly, and there's just a stick digging into the tender flesh of his abdomen beside something that was probably once a set of black stitches.

22 veterans die everyday!

The 7.62 is hot; the bullet shatters another skull, another set of dreams. Another mother with a notice of her son's death at her doorstep, falling into a crumpled heap while her husband tries to hold back his own tears.

24 now.

Suicide is the biggest killer of veterans, mowing them down the way an enemy force could only wish they could. But isn't this all suicide?

Isn't it suicide to stand in front of a fucking open window when you know there's an unknown sniper on the knoll? Is it really warfare?

Price barks at them to get up, to get going into the house.

Vengeance doesn't wait after all.

22 veterans die everyday!

Simon is exhausted by it all - by the blood and viscera, and the death and destruction. Nothing prepares you for the way fat melts, the way it makes your skin sticky and you can taste it on your lips; the house burns behind him after they ransack it. He doesn't remember who dropped the match. Does it matter?

Does it matter who's pocket it came out of?

22 veterans die everyday!

The .22 is cold beneath Simon's pillow. He can feel it when he gets home and crashes into bed, still dirty from the long flight and his refusal to shower in unfamiliar hotel rooms. He shouldn't be able to feel it through the memory foam - it's supposed to block out all those lumps and bumps anyway.

22 veterans die everyday!

Midnight rolls around - the 12:00 flashing red in the darkness.

It's back to 0, Simon reckons, shifting so the .22 isn't pressing into the base of his skull.

He needs to get some sleep - tomorrow is another day of hunting down Makarov.

Another 22 gone.

#simon ‘ghost’ riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simong ghost riley #my fics #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty

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daechwitatamic · 9 months ago

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Of Ruin: Chapter 11

(banner by @itaeewon)

Of Ruin (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni Genre: vampire!au magic!au royalty!au, s2l, slow burn, eventual smut, angst and fluff

Summary: Taehyung of House Rune, Prince of Infracticus has been cursed. You’re the human world’s leading curse-breaker. It should be simple. But unraveling the curse becomes the least of your problems in the face of a world on the brink of civil war… and the love you start to feel for the prince.

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @sailoryooons for betaing!!! 💕

Section Warnings: language, tense situations with dangerous vampires, kissing, the precarious presence of fangs lol wc: 4.7k

You’ve never seen transportation like that which will take you to Scores’ territory, the region called Lucrotio. From the outside, it seems like a longer version of a carriage, pulled by a dozen amarisca, all pawing the ground and tossing their manes as they wait to run. Inside seems more like a luxury train car - thick drapes around the windows, plush carpeting, comfortable chairs that seem like they could have been plucked out of a sitting room.

There’s no one on board yet when Satuel and Dansoo accompany you and Namjoon inside.

“Where should we sit?” you ask.

“Wherever you’re comfortable,” Satuel tells you.

You and Namjoon settle into two seats with a small, round table between them. As Satuel and Dansoo settle in - one in the rear and one in the front of the coach - Namjoon begins to quietly go over with you what he’ll be looking for in the archives.

Despite the early hour, the sun not yet peaking over the horizon, the bruise-colored sky still littered with stars, you listen attentively. It boils down to the end-of-life intention you’d found in the curse; death magic is technically an elemental magic, and Namjoon is optimistic he’ll be able to find something useful, some clues to how to combat this thread of intention without having to end anyone’s life.

You both fall into silence when Prince Taehyung climbs inside the coach, followed by three of his personal guards, and the young Infracti he’d introduced to you as his best friend, Jimin.

“You’re still here, I see,” Jimin greets you, something mischievous in his glinting smile. “Well done.”

“So it seems,” you say tightly.

Should you trust Prince Taehyung’s best friend? Probably. Should you trust his hand-picked guard? Probably yes to that, too. But you can’t help feel on edge as the coach shudders into motion.

It’s silent in the coach at first. Namjoon seems to be done explaining his research theories with you, and you both look out the window at Infracticus passing by. The last time you passed through, in a smaller carriage, had been in the dead of night as they’d smuggled you in.

Curious, that the prince has no qualms bringing you along today, in plain sight of the Scores. You make a mental note to ask about it later, when you’re not surrounded by Infracti you don’t know at all.

You watch the sky turn from nearly black to violet, finally settling into a periwinkle as the sun rises high enough above the distant treeline to be visible from your window.

The landscape takes your breath away. You watch it rapturously, trying to drink in every stream, every knoll, every flowering field. You want to commit it all to memory; you want to forget that eventually you will have to leave it behind.

After some time, you feel the weight of eyes on you, and you sit back. You meet Prince Taehyung’s gaze in his reflection in the window. You hold his gaze that way, feeling bolder than ever before - maybe because to everyone else, you could still be staring out the window. Maybe because you aren’t looking directly at him - like the sun, it’s too strong that way.

Whatever it is that emboldens you, it doesn’t matter. You hold his gaze and wonder what you see in it. Ever since your last attempt to cure him, the attempt that almost took you out with it, something seems to have shifted between you. The looks you share are heavier, weighty meaning behind each small touch, each exchange of words hiding truer meaning like flower petals slipped between books pages, pressed and saved for later.

Each time you’d come up against these kinds of thoughts, you’d stopped yourself, told yourself it couldn’t mean anything, couldn’t amount to anything.

And yet.

Perhaps you ought to let Prince Taehyung speak for himself. Perhaps you both ought to speak freely, for the first time since meeting.

Something about him watching you through the reflection feels intimate, and you warm under his gaze. You wish you were alone with him. You wish you could ask him to take you to his private stable, maybe even back to his little hideaway island. Somewhere you could ask him what that look means. Somewhere you could ask him if you’re crazy for wondering.

You’re not and you can’t, so you keep your eyes on the window in silence, until at some point your eyelids grow heavy and you lapse into fitful sleep.

It’s Namjoon who wakes you, shaking your knee.

“We’re at the archives,” he says quietly as you slide your eyes open, casting a look around the coach to see what’s happening. The building outside is tall, so tall that you can’t see the top of it from your side of the coach.

You catch Namjoon’s sleeve as he stands. “Are you sure you’re okay going without me?” you ask quietly. You know that everyone else can still hear you, since they’re all Infracti, but you try to be quiet anyway, to give the semblance of privacy if nothing else. “I’ll go with you, you know. Just tell me.”

The smile he gives you is warm and understanding. He knows what you’re offering, what you’re willing to give up, and his smile tells you it’s appreciated.

“Satuel and Dansoo are staying with me,” he says. “I’ll be fine. It’s you I’m worried about. You’re keeping him safe - who’s keeping you safe?”

“I think it’s gonna be a kind of mutual thing,” you say lightly. But, probably, it’s kind of true.

He gives you a long look. “Be careful,” he says finally, before following your two guards out of the coach and into the street.

You expect the coach to rumble back into motion, and you look around in confusion when it doesn’t.

Prince Taehyung has risen, stretching lithely like a cat. Then, wordlessly, he picks up two bundles of fabric and tosses one to you. Surprised, you fumble to catch it, causing the ball to unravel in your hands, revealing one of the hooded cloaks that you’ve worn a few times in your stay here.

You look at him in confusion.

“You and I are going on foot,” he tells you, swishing the cloak around his back and tugging the hood up and over his head, obscuring his dark curls. “The guards will follow at a bit of a distance. The coach will gather too much attention - I don’t want to be recognized on our way there.”

“Where are we going?” you ask, mostly just curious, as you don your own cloak, pulling the hood up and over your forehead.

“A tavern,” he tells you, shooting you a sideways smile.

“A tavern?” you echo as you follow him out into the street. Beneath your feet, the road is cobblestone, the buildings around you thatched like you’ve stepped into feudal Europe instead of an Infracti city. “Are we going to drink?”

He doesn’t respond to this, instead starting to head down the alley beside the archives building that Namjoon must be inside. You follow at a clip, burning with curiosity. The guards fall back, but Jimin - in his own cloak - brings up the rear.

“I might,” Jimin quips, and Prince Taehyung turns to shoot him a dark look over his shoulder.

“No, we’re not,” Prince Taehyung says firmly. “And you shouldn’t either. We’re going to meet someone.”

“Who?” you ask. You can’t help it - you hate being left in the dark, hate finding everything out as it happens.

Prince Taehyung sighs, turning back to look where he’s going. He leads across another cobblestone street and down another narrow alley. You don’t see another soul as you walk. Above you, white clouds float lazily through the purple sky, and you can hear what sounds like bird calls.

“We’re meeting with Seokjin,” Prince Taehyung says tightly, as if that means anything to you. Needless to say, it does not.

“If the wars had gone differently,” Jimin says, suddenly at your elbow, his voice quiet, “Seokjin would have been prince. He’s the Taehyung of the Scores, essentially.”

Something in your stomach turns to ice, and you will your feet to keep following the prince. “Is that… safe?”

Jimin shoots you a look that seems to say, you already know the answer to that. Out loud, he says, “Why do you think Taehyung wanted his little witch to stay close? The Scores don’t have as much natural magical ability - you should be able to send them running, if it comes to that.”

You wish you had half of his confidence in you.

“It won’t come to that,” Taehyung assures you, without turning.

The tavern blends in with the stone buildings around it. You only know you’ve arrived when Prince Taehyung stops walking and grasps the doorknob. You look up and see a hanging sign above the door, touting no name but a picture of beer steins.

You wonder if they even serve beer here - could you order a lager, or just type O?

Prince Taehyung pauses, his hand lingering on the door, and faces you. “Your presence will draw some attention,” he warns you. “Don’t look at anyone until we’re at our table. I promise - Jimin and I won’t let anyone touch you.”

You nod, suddenly too nervous to speak. As soon as you’re through the door, you feel his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in tight against his firm frame. Jimin sidles up to your other side, effectively flanking you.

The noise hits you first; as your eyes adjust you see that the tavern is packed with people wall to wall. The noise of conversation, glasses clinking, vague musical noises in the background - it all washes together into a dull roar.

It’s dark inside, and the Infracti with you leave their hoods up so you do as well. It’s true that the Infracti at the tables you pass notice you - either they smell you, or they hear your human heart pounding - but as soon as they see the arm around your shoulders they seem to lose interest; you’re not an easy target if they have to fight for you.

Guiding you through the crowd, Taehyung leads you to a table, and the closer you get, you suddenly realize there are two Infracti seated there; it was like they were rendered invisible until you got close enough - or until they decided to reveal themselves.

The two men at the table are beautiful, with glistening black eyes and dark hair, flawless skin, and wolfish smiles. The broader of the two leans back in his seat when he notices you. He looks quickly to the prince, that wolfish smile turning suddenly sharper.

“You didn’t say it was B-Y-O,” he says, one side of his mouth curling up in mirth. “Jungkook and I would have brought a snack, too.”

“Watch yourself,” Taehyung snaps, eyes narrowing. You notice he’s let them go black - outside, they’d looked human, deep and brown. The only time you’ve seen them like this, in their natural state, was when he was under the effects of the curse. You shudder, and the Infracti watching you - Seokjin, you assume - smiles even wider at this.

Beside you, Jimin lifts his chin just slightly. “I wouldn��t try snacking on this one,” he warns, his sweet voice coming out cool and unbothered. “She put a hole in the palace walls last time someone tried.”

Seokjin raises a brow, clearly still amused with himself, but curious.

Prince Taehyung opts not to explain who you are or what you’re there for. You stay silent, hoping the hood creates enough shadow to really obscure your face. Let them wonder about you. Let them wonder what you can do.

“So,” Seokjin says finally. “I suppose you asked me here to talk about the fires.”

Brave of him, you think, or maybe stupid, to just say it like that. But, to your surprise, Taehyung shakes his head no, and sits in one of the empty chairs around the table. Jimin follows, so you do, too.

“Not quite,” Prince Taehyung says, something resigned in his voice. “Though I certainly didn’t appreciate that.”

Seokjin and Jungkook just watch him, wait him out, faces impassive.

Taehyung sighs, pushes his hood back just a bit, enough that his face is visible. He looks around the table imploringly. “I’m not here on the crown’s business,” he admits. “I’m here as your friend.”

Seokjin stares him down, but after a tense moment, he seems to break, his shoulders losing some of their tightness.

“My friend,” he muses. “What could my friend Taehyung want to talk to me about?”

You watch as the prince casts a look around the room. When he determines that no one is paying your table any attention and that the noise level is high enough to cover this conversation well, he says, “It’s about my father. About what your family, and the Cleaves, have accused him of.”

“We didn’t accuse your father,” the slighter Infracti, Jungkook, points out petulantly. “We accused you - all of you. The Runes, at large.”

Seokjin waves a hand at him, effectively silencing him. He eyes Taehyung with clear interest, as if this conversation is going nowhere near where he’d thought it would, but he’s pleased with the twist.

“Come to deny it?” Seokjin asks lightly, but it doesn’t seem like he means it.

“On the contrary.”

Taehyung is always a vision, unearthly beautiful, striking and intense. But when he levels a look at Seokjin, eyes flashing, jaw jutting slightly in determination, something goes through you like lightning.

Taehyung shakes his head, once, tightly, black curls swinging above his brow. “I’m here to discuss what we should do about it.”

—

Seokjin folds his arms over his chest, looks sideways at Jungkook. They seem to have a silent conversation, at the end of which Seokjin’s frown deepens. He looks at Taehyung seriously, then glances at you and Jimin, as if you include you in his displeasure.

“Since you’re here as my friend,” he says, a touch of sneer on the word, “then consider it a kindness between friends when I tell you that I don’t trust you.”

Your heart sinks, but if Taehyung is disappointed, he doesn’t show it.

“I wouldn’t either, in your position,” Taehyung admits.

Seokjin shakes his head. “Your father won’t hand over control of the kingdom, not now, when things are already fragile.”

“Then help me make them less fragile,” Taehyung says intently, leaning forward. “Back down. Call off the Scores. Get the court families back in line.”

Seokjin’s eyebrows shoot up, quick as a flash, and beside him Jungkook lets out an indignant breath of a laugh.

“Even if I fully believed you,” Seokjin says slowly, as if explaining a complicated concept to a child, “even if I thought Taehyung will be true to his word, even if I thought you had a solid plan for after - which, I don’t - none of that is up to me. I can’t call anyone off.”

“You can,” Jimin says, palms flat on the sticky tavern table. “You can and you know it; maybe not officially, but we all know how much sway you have. Your people will do as you say - they’ll do as you do.”

“So you want me to say what, exactly?” Seokjin tilts his head to the side. “That there’s a plan to overth-”

“That isn’t the plan,” Taehyung bites out, and Seokjin stops mid-word, the first sign of deference he’s shown this whole time. “The transfer will be willing, you just have to trust me to handle that part. What I need you to say is, perhaps, don’t attack the palace, or even maybe tonight your family should attend dinner at court.”

Jungkook leans in, shoulder to shoulder with Jimin. “Let’s say we do,” he says, eyes glinting. “Then what?”

“Transfer of power,” Taehyung says, much more quietly, his lips barely moving. “Then, justice. Change.”

Seokjin purses his lips. “Those are big promises, Taehyung. I’m not sure I can really cash them in when all is said and done.”

“My father will see justice,” Taehyung says, his deep voice firm and cool.

“And then?”

“And then we’ll build something better.”

“That’s the part I find hardest to believe.”

“What’s the alternative?” Taehyung demands, frustrated. “The Scores stay powerless? Or worse, another thousand years of war, fighting for the throne? We know how that story goes - someone will win, someone will rule… until another family tires of it, and the cycle begins again. If we do this my way… it never happens like that again.”

Seokjin lets out a deep breath, but it seems to indicate that he’s listening, that he’s considering, even if he isn’t fully convinced. He turns to you, which is so surprising that you barely register the question he levels at you.

“What about you, venefici?” he asks, and it both startles and pleases you that he’s clocked you as a magic-wielder without being told. “What do you think about His Majesty’s plan?”

He asks it with a bite, a bit sarcastically, but you press your lips together, considering.

You look at Taehyung, who looks back at you impassively. He hadn’t talked to you about his plan before now. It is as new to you as it is to the Scores at the table.

“I believe him - I believe that he’ll try,” you answer, your eyes still on the prince. You’re not sure what you expect to see - gratitude, maybe - but his face remains as unreadable as stone. You remember the day that Taehyung brought you to his little island, had talked to you about his guilt and grief after the curse had led him to violence. “I believe that he’ll seek justice. And I believe that he’ll try to create a better way forward.”

“Try,” Seokjin echoes. His arms are still crossed over his chest defensively. “Do you think he can succeed?”

You’re not sure why he’s asking you - someone from the human world, the person at the table with the least experience with Infracticus and the ancient politics.

You meet his gaze anyway, and tell the truth. “Not alone,” you say, trying to emulate the even way you’ve seen Taehyung speak when he’s making a tricky argument. “That’s why we need you - now, and after.”

Everyone is quiet for a long time. Seokjin and Jungkook exchange another look, another silent conversation. Taehyung and Jimin do the same. You watch Taehyung, only Taehyung. Your magic can feel his, has gotten acquainted with it, and you can feel it thrumming, telling of his nervousness.

Finally, Seokjin purses his full lips. “I’ve known you a long time,” he says finally. “I know you mean well - I know you want what you say you want. I’m just not confident we’ll see it through. I’ll do what I can on my end, and if the power transfers to you… let’s talk again.”

“When the crown passes to me,” Taehyung says, something dark simmering behind his words, “I’ll send for you.”

You’re not sure how they communicated that this little meeting is over, but everyone but you rises to stand, so you hurry in suit.

“As an act of good faith I’ll tell you,” Seokjin says, and then leans very close to Taehyung’s still-hooded head, “don’t take the main road home tonight.”

Outside, the sun has slipped towards the treeline, indicating late afternoon. Seokjin and Jungkook vanish - solidifying your theory that they can control their visibility, and Taehyung and Jimin lead you swiftly around a corner and into a dim alley, their hoods still drawn.

Immediately, they begin to gameplan a new way home.

“We should send the coach back the way we came,” Taehyung reasons. “They’ll see it go that way, they’ll be prepared to attack and won’t watch the back roads as closely.”

Jimin nods seriously. “Send me with one of the guards,” he says. “If we’re stopped, they’ll find no one that they’re interested in. I’m sure we won’t have to fight.”

Your stomach twists as you understand the plan. You’re hardly close with Jimin, but you’re immediately nervous for him. And for yourself.

“And the rest of us?” you can’t help but ask.

Jimin and Taehyung look at each other seriously.

“I’ll send you with two,” Taehyung says decisively. “Then we can send back Satuel, Dansoo, and the human in a carriage on the western bank. We’ll take the two remaining guards and take a carriage up the eastern side a bit later.”

You gather that you’re included in the we, that you’ll be staying with Taehyung.

Jimin nods curtly, then clasps one of Taehyung’s hands in a firm handshake, leaning in close in some semblance of a quick hug. He gives you a quick nod and peels off back to the road the tavern sat on. As he leaves, one of the three guards who had ridden in with you appears out of nowhere to tail him.

“Come,” Taehyung says, holding a hand out for you to take. “We’ll go commandeer a carriage.”

As you often find, here in Infracticus, you just have to trust him, and you follow him deeper down the alley. You walk through town this way, hoods up, ducking into alleys, until you emerge on the far side, near a lazy stream. You can see, further upstream, a few water wheels turning slowly with the water’s movement.

Taehyung leads you to a stable, where a carriage sits on the cobblestones, two deep green amarisca already hitched to the front. Apparently, one of Taehyung’s guards beat you here and put in the request.

Taehyung helps you into the carriage and closes the door, untying the woven curtains and tugging them to cover the windows. You hadn’t seen a single employee of the stable, and your stomach twists with nerves again.

Taehyung removes his hood, but leaves the cloak on, so you do the same.

“One of my guards went to tell Dansoo and Satuel what happened,” Taehyung explains quietly, turning to face you. “So, we can’t leave until he returns.”

You nod in understanding. “I’m sorry that didn’t go as well as you’d planned,” you say, thinking of Seokjin’s cold expression as he’d heard Taehyung’s ideas.

To your surprise, Taehyung cracks a smile. “Are you kidding?” he asks. “I expected him to try to fight me - that’s why I brought you to put up your walls. That went way better than I’d hoped.”

You must look bewildered, because he laughs a bit at your expression.

“Infracticus has always been ruled the same way, even when different families had power, thousands and thousands of years ago,” he explains. “I didn’t expect anyone to trust my plan immediately. But I think he’ll come around - the fact that he’s willing to hear me out is huge.”

“Well,” you say slowly, “good, then. I’m glad. It’s a good plan, Maiesti. I want to help you make it happen.”

“You already have,” he says seriously. He reaches across the plush carriage seat and takes your hand, his touch cool and soothing. “I wanted to thank you. For today - for supporting me in there - but also, for this whole time.”

You feel your face heat, and you look away, watching your hand, small in his, instead of his face. “Of course,” you demure. “I’m just doing my job.”

You expect this statement to act as a splash of cold water, to deter Taehyung from the intense way his eyes - human again, now that he’s in the carriage with you - roam your face. It doesn’t; he pushes on.

“You continue to surprise me,” he admits. “Even when I think I’ve seen the true measure of you - you surprise me again and again.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. It just slips out.

He smiles, head shaking a little. “Your talent shocks me,” he says, “but it’s more than that. Your bravery - your unwillingness to back down. You’ve faced so many frightening things, I keep expecting each one to be the one that sends you packing, back to your home. But you never go. You stare down each new threat, and you dare it to try you. I’m amazed every time.”

You try to smile, embarrassed. “People say brave and foolish are two sides of the same coin.”

He shakes his head. “I’m foolish. You’re… incredible.”

His eyes are on you, and you bite your bottom lip, looking up at him through your lashes. This is an Infracti, a powerful one, a magic-wielder like you; this is a ruler, a crown prince of a land you don’t belong to; this is a man so beautiful and charming that you feel dumpy and awkward in his presence. And somehow, he is looking at you with something akin to admiration.

“What you’re doing… what you’re trying to do… is very brave, too,” you whisper.

“It’s selfish of me,” he says, voice also near a whisper, although you’re quite alone here, “but I really want you to be here, to help me see it through.”

God.

Is that an actual invitation to stay?

He shifts closer, just slightly, and your body mimics his. He’s still holding your hand, you realize.

“You’d make a hell of a Queen,” he murmurs, leaning closer. Your eyes fall to his mouth, finding the little freckle on the edge of his beautiful, bottom lip.

Could you kiss him? What would it be like - to have his lips on yours?

“I think I might like that,” you whisper back, raising your eyes back to his and leaning to fill the space between you.

His mouth on yours is cool and tentative, gentle. You lean closer, pressing your mouth more firmly against his, trying - already - to have more of him. He smiles against your mouth, lips quirking, and then he kisses you again, more insistently, dropping his hold on your hand to rest a chilly palm against your cheek instead.

You’d wondered if kissing someone with fangs would be different, or challenging, but he must have them tucked away, because when he licks into your mouth they aren’t there at all. His fingers twitch where they rest near your jaw as you bunch his white shirt in your fist, trying to pull yourself closer as you open for him.

He shifts, leaning up and over you, sending you laying back against the carriage door behind you, your head finding the window with a dull thud. Neither of you cares, kissing more frantically now, hungry, mouths moving together as you taste him, as you pull him over top of you.

He holds himself up over you, one arm snaking under your back to pull your torso flush against his as he devours your mouth. You clutch at his upper back, half to help hold yourself up, half to feel the muscles move there as he shifts. His spare hand caresses your waist, then slowly explores its way up, skating over your ribs, climbing higher and higher.

He breaks the kiss, both of you panting heavily, and then he attaches his mouth to the warm skin of your neck, tongue laving as he traces a path, chasing your pulse. You close your eyes and whine, low, the feeling of him washing over you like a rising tide.

And then, something sharp, tracing a line up your throat so lightly that it tickles. Your eyes fly open, your hands tighten on his back, your body suddenly screaming with adrenaline. Those are his fangs teasing your carotid artery.

“I won’t,” he promises, ragged, sounding half-broken. He nuzzles his nose against the spot, breathing deeply. “I won’t, but god,” he gasps, before placing a closed-mouth kiss against the same place. Your pulse thunders, but you loosen your grip on his shoulders.

He pulls himself away from the temptation, presses a hard, lingering kiss to your lips again, and then sits back, breathing heavily. You sit up, too, readjusting and trying to get yourself under control.

He smiles at you sideways, shy and playful, as he tugs his shirt back into place from its rumpled state.

“Like I said,” he teases. “Brave.”

“Like I said,” you shoot back, but your heart is singing singing singing and you’re sure he can hear it. “Foolish.”

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THEY DID THE THING!!!!!!!!!!!!! lots more to come!! thanks for reading!!

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