#for they are both many hours long and arguably 'slow'

[kyogos]

its really weird seeing pundits talk about t20 being the format that young people cling to and will be the outlasting format as someone who got into cricket ~6 months via test cricket

[withacapitalp]

Tell Him (Nothing) Everything Pt 2

Part One Link to ao3

Chapter Two- Second Mistakes

After their disastrous first meeting, Eddie found himself going to Steve’s bakery pretty much every single day. He would wake up, shower, put on at least semi-clean clothes, and walk down to Claudia’s just in time for the morning rush to be over. In fact, the only days he didn’t were Saturday and Sunday, because those were the days that Steve’s brother and his friends would hang around the cafe on and off all day. 

Needless to say, Wayne was ecstatic at this sudden one eighty. He had no idea what had happened to drag Eddie out of his depressive spiral, but he was happy about it all the same, and Eddie was happy that his uncle was happy. 

There was definitely enough happiness to go around. 

He and Steve entered into an easy kind of routine. For five or six hours straight Eddie would sit at the countertop on the far end of the bakery, writing lyrics and bars in his ratty old notebook while Steve ran his cafe and offered Eddie little nibbles to ‘taste test’. 

When things were busy Eddie liked to hop the counter to ring people up while Steve packed boxes of sweets and made drinks. And, when things were slow, Steve would turn the music up and dance around while he cleaned. Eddie was forced to put his pen down and watch the sinfully silly delight. There was no point in trying to pretend he wasn’t blatantly staring at Steve’s ass as he wiggled his hips and wiped down tables, singing along to ABBA and Bonnie Tyler in the goofiest voice Eddie had ever heard. 

Arguably, that might have been the best part of their new easy whatever this was, but Eddie knew there was something better. 

No, the best part was the talking.

Eddie hadn't realized how quiet he had gotten until he was back to jabbering all day long with someone who was easy to talk to. Steve just had this way of getting Eddie to open up, and for the first time since Chrissy, he felt like he had found someone to chat with that didn’t completely exhaust him. 

It was mostly because they never talked about anything too heavy. They definitely got to the personal- Steve’s brother, Dustin, was a frequent topic of conversation as Steve fretted about raising him ‘properly’- but they never got to the painful. Eddie didn’t ask why Steve was raising his thirteen year old brother at only twenty three, and Steve never wondered why Eddie was in town when he clearly didn’t belong in a place like Hawkins. 

It was fun. It was easy. 

It made Eddie feel completely guilty.

He wasn’t sure if he was even allowed to have good things anymore. He had been given the best person in the world, and he had destroyed her, so the universe had decided to give him another wonderful person? 

Didn’t it know Eddie was a ruiner? 

Well, if the universe hadn’t figured that out yet, then Eddie had resolved to not feel all that guilty about being selfish and keeping Steve when he knew he shouldn’t. He would hoard this happiness until the world righted itself and remembered that he didn’t deserve it. 

But for now, it was ten o’clock, and the cafe smelled like berries. 

“Helllloooooooooo, hungry customer waiting!” Eddie called out, obnoxiously ringing the bell over and over, needing to drown out both his thoughts and the disgustingly cheerful bubblegum pop playing over the speakers. 

“Get out!” Steve singsonged back, his voice growing louder as he came closer. 

“You’d miss me too much, Angeleyes,” Eddie replied, walking to his usual spot and hopping up onto the bar stool, not bothering to wait to see Steve come out from the back. Angeleyes was just one of the many nicknames Eddie had come up with for Steve’s…interesting music choices. 

“Don’t make fun of ABBA, or I won’t let you sample my new recipe,” Steve pouted as he walked over holding a still steaming tray of delectable goodies. His apron was a soft sea green today, the paw prints an icy blue that matched the polo he was wearing. 

Eddie couldn’t stand how cute Steve was, he really couldn’t. 

“What’s this one?” Eddie asked, reaching over. 

“Watch!” Steve immediately said, pulling the tray back so Eddie couldn’t burn his fingers, “Blackberry lemon crumble bars,” 

Steve put the tray down and carefully placed one on a plate, making Eddie’s coffee the way he liked while they waited for the bars to cool down a little. 

“I went out with Dustin and the kids this weekend and we picked a ton of them,” Steve said, passing over the plate and the cup. Eddie broke the treat in half, delighting in the shower of crumbs that fell on the china plate shaped like a cat.

The second the flavor hit his tongue he let out an absolutely sinful moan. At the start Eddie had tried to play it up, enjoying the way his noises would make Steve turn bright red, but he quickly realized he didn’t have to exaggerate anything. Steve’s food was just that good. 

“Sunshine, I’m gonna propose marriage,” Eddie said, his mouth still full, “Be ready for a big fat ring. I’ll wife you up, and then you can just travel the world with me and bake.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Steve automatically said, laughing softly and ignoring Eddie’s flirting the way he always did. He leaned over the counter, grabbing the other half of the bar and eating it much more delicately, somehow avoiding making a complete mess, “You should’ve come with us. It was a nice hike,” 

“Yeah, you lost me at the word ‘hike’. I don’t do hikes,” Eddie joked, conveniently avoiding the real reason he would never spend any time with Steve outside of this cafe, the reason he never came on weekends. 

Because not only was the idea of meeting Steve’s little brother was kind of intimidating (A child prodigy with a dungeons and dragons obsession? Yeah that kid was way too cool for his own good), but Eddie also knew that if Dustin didn’t like him, Steve would probably never talk to him again. 

Or worse, Dustin might recognize him. Then Steve really would never talk to Eddie again.

“Alrighty no hiking. Then what do you do all day? Besides coming here to bother me,” Steve teased, opening the display case and beginning to place the rest of the bars in a neat uniform row. 

“Nothing,” Eddie replied, grabbing his notebook and getting ready for their usual routine to start. He had a pretty good idea for some lyrics about berry kissed lips and tart lemons dripping sour into open wounds. 

“Sounds pretty boring,” Steve said idly. 

“Relaxing,” Eddie countered, looking up from his book, “You forget- I’m on vacation,” 

Well, bereavement. If running away from your entire life to hide at your uncle’s house in Podunk, Indiana could count as bereavement. 

“Ah yes, vacation from this mysterious job of yours that I’m not allowed to know anything about,” Steve said with a roll of his eyes. There was no heat in his voice, no edge to his tone, but Eddie’s stomach was starting to drop anyway. 

They knew all kinds of things about each other. Eddie knew all about Steve’s time as a high school jackass, and Steve had heard the calamities of Eddie’s own teenage years, but then there were gaps. Huge gaps. Big glaring gaps. Mostly on Eddie’s side. 

He couldn’t share most of the things that had happened in his last ten years without revealing his secret. Still, the longer he held onto pretending he was normal, the worse the fallout was going to be when he had to admit he wasn’t. 

“You can ask,” Eddie eventually said with a fake casual shrug, “Just no guarantees I’m gonna answer,” 

But he would. He had decided that if Steve pressed, if he really wanted to know, he would spill it all. The ball was unknowingly in Steve’s court, and that took the pressure off. Steve was the one who decided when this all ended and reality snuck back into their little corner of the world. 

“Nah, you’ll tell me whatever it is when you’re ready,”  Steve replied easily, once again keeping them both in suspense. The bell on the door jangled behind Eddie, signaling that customers had just entered. Steve greeted them with a big smile, and then he was walking away from Eddie who unabashedly stared at Steve’s back.  

Sunkissed Small Town Atlas, what I wouldn’t give to be on my knees holding your world?

God, Eddie was going to Hell. Those lyrics were even too dirty for Corroded Coffin. 

He wrote them down anyway. 

“By the way, Dustin burned me some new CDs of stuff he likes,” Steve said later that day when it was just the two of them again. He was elbow deep into the espresso machine, trying to fix something that was broken with the milk frother, and Eddie was about two seconds away from jumping into help him, “I told him that you’re into metal and rock too, and he said that these would be more your speed,”

“Burned CDs,” Eddie said with a soft laugh, coming around the counter and picking up the plastic cases Steve had nodded towards, beginning to rifle through them. They were covered in sharpie doodles and careful writing of every song. 

The kid had taste. Most of this was the stuff Eddie grew up on. 

“Hey, not all of us can afford music streaming,” Steve shot back, popping his head out of the machine for a second to stick his tongue out at Eddie before burying his face back into the mechanics. 

It was good that he did, because if Steve hadn’t, he would’ve seen the way Eddie’s jaw was dropping as he looked at the hand drawn devil mask on one of the CDs. An extremely familiar devil mask.  

“Corroded Coffin?” Eddie whispered faintly, all of his extremities starting to go numb. 

Was this Steve’s subtle way of telling Eddie he was caught? Was he trying to pull a joke or something? 

“Oh yeah, you’ll see a lot of them. He’s totally obsessed with that band,” Steve replied, cursing loudly as the machine began to spit water at him. Eddie abandoned the CDs and hurried over, helping Steve to do battle against his machine 

“Dustin really likes them?” Eddie said out of breath, panting as they both tried to come down from the high of fighting against the coffee demon. 

“Obsessed,” Steve gushed, grabbing the case with the Corroded Coffin CD and waving it around as he walked over to the player hooked up to the speakers, “He has all their music, a bunch of their records on vinyl, posters and everything. I even saved up to get him and his friends tickets to go see them live,”

Steve’s tone dropped at the last sentence. His brow furrowed, and his face pulled into an uncharacteristic frown as he slipped the CD in. The sound of Eddie’s own voice began to fill his ears. This was one from the before time, back in their MySpace/Youtube era before they recorded their first album. 

The kid really was a fan. 

It’s raining down. 

All around. 

Hellfire. 

God, sometimes it was hard to not cringe at his old lyrics. Sixteen year old Eddie really thought he was a genius. And his voice was still too high, it hadn’t fully dropped back then. Eddie decided to distract himself from the way the song made him want to curl up in a ball and die, focusing on Steve and the way he still seemed upset. 

“You sound disappointed. Not happy that your baby brother is a metalhead?” Eddie asked, keeping his tone light and hoping that would give Steve an out if he didn’t want to talk about what was bugging him. 

“Oh no, as long as he’s safe and happy I don’t care,” Steve said dismissively, waving a hand around his head, “I guess I just- you know the tickets I got him? The ones to see this band? They’re totally useless, because they canceled their whole tour.”

“The entire tour?” Eddie blurted out, rearing back with a jolt. 

He knew that they had to cancel at least the first few dates because he had disappeared, but the entire eight month tour?! They weren’t even supposed to start touring until next week, and Indianapolis was still three months away. 

The other guys were that sure Eddie wasn’t coming back…

To be fair to them, Eddie was also not so sure he was going back. But that had to be a shit ton of money, and without a lead singer or a manager-

Eddie had royally screwed his bandmates. His brothers. He had been so focused on what he needed, he forgot they needed him too. He forgot that without Eddie Munson, there was no Corroded Coffin. 

Chrissy would’ve killed him for that. 

If he hadn’t killed her first. 

Eddie couldn’t help the soft noise that escaped from his throat, and he walked on wooden legs back to his usual corner, tucking himself into the seat and trying to curl up and be as small as possible. Not only was the guilt back, but it had grown devil horns and demon wings, exponentially worse now that Eddie could no longer ignore how many people he was screwing over. 

“There’s a really big mystery about it. Apparently something happened to their manager and she died?” Steve continued to babble, completely unaware of the burning fire poker he was jabbing into Eddie’s chest, “The lead singer, Freddy something, was close with her, and after that he just kind of vanished. It was a big media circus,” 

Freddy. It wasn’t funny, because nothing about the situation was funny, but Eddie laughed anyway. He laughed, because if he didn’t, he was going to start crying. The laughter bubbled out and spilled across the countertop, sounding nothing like Eddie knew himself to sound like.  

“Eds?” 

Steve’s warm hand cupped his face, and when Eddie looked up a watery blurry version of Steve was looking back at him, and when he blinked to clear his vision, he became aware of the tear tracks already cutting through his face. 

Oh. Apparently he could do both. Eddie had never laughed and cried at the same time, but here he was. 

“What happened?” Steve asked, letting his thumb softly brush against Eddie’s cheek, wiping away the tears in a move that was so intimate it sent shivers shooting down his spine. 

The last person who had done something like this for him was Chrissy, and that comparison was just one shade too much for him. Eddie untangled himself from Steve and hopped down, going around the counter and grabbing the black apron with white paw prints that Steve left out for him, tying it around his waist and attacking the dishes in the sink with ferocity. 

Steve let him, sitting back against the counter and waiting. He had learned in the last few weeks that there were moments where Eddie just needed to do something physical to work out whatever was happening inside of him. The first time it had happened, Eddie had just paced for an hour straight, and he was sure Steve would kick him out when he was done, but the younger man had simply shrugged and offered for Eddie to do the dishes the next time instead.

‘Might as well get some free labor out of it’ had been Steve’s reasoning, and Eddie had wanted to kiss him right then and there. 

“Dustin’s pretty upset I bet,” Eddie finally croaked out after he finished rinsing out one of the cat themed mugs. It wasn’t just his bandmates he was letting down, but also all of the fans that had been loyal to them for years and years. 

Eddie was letting everyone down. 

“Well, he was at first, but he’s trying to be understanding about it. He said it was like if I lost Robin. I can’t even begin to imagine what that would feel like,” Steve said cautiously, as if he wasn’t sure that they should just drop the fact that Eddie had been crying only moments before. 

When Eddie didn’t say anything he crept closer, leaning into Eddie’s space to grab a towel and begin to dry the cups on the rack. 

“Are you o-” Steve began. 

“I’m glad Dustin isn’t too disappointed,” Eddie cut in, unable to hear those words. If he heard them again, then he would tell Steve the truth. 

He wasn’t okay. He didn’t know if he was ever going to be okay again. 

“I am too. I just wish I hadn’t spent so much money on those stupid tickets. That was Christmas and his birthday gift all in one,” Steve sighed. Eddie flinched at the sound, looking down at the soaped up canister in his hands instead of at the man he had personally screwed out of hundreds, possibly thousands, of dollars. 

“You didn’t get a refund?” Eddie asked, unable to believe that the other members of the band wouldn’t give everyone their money back. 

“Well some of it,” Steve said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, “I got the price of regular admission tickets back, but I got a bunch of extra stuff too- good seats, backstage passes, the works. All of that was apparently nonrefundable.”

“How much was it?” 

Eddie didn’t want to know the answer, but he needed to know. He was apparently a masochist now. 

“Backstage passes for all six of them plus me to chaperone?” Steve asked rhetorically watching Eddie wince in sympathy, “Yeah, I was feeling that loss for a few months,”

Eddie didn’t have any more dishes, but he had lots of energy, so he grabbed a washcloth and began to wipe down the counters, avoiding Steve’s eyes which he could still feel locked onto his back. 

“Geez, you must really hate that lead singer, huh?” Eddie was attempting to go casual, but he was so far from it that it wasn’t even funny, “I mean the dude just disappears because one person died?” 

Any second now Steve was going to call him on his weirdness, and Eddie was going to have to blurt out the entire terrible story and try to beg for forgiveness. 

“No, not at all,” Steve replied without giving it any thought. 

“Really?” Eddie breathed, turning around to stare at Steve with wide eyes. Steve shrugged, going back to fiddling with his coffee machine. 

“I don’t really know what happened, but if I lost Robin? I wouldn't want to talk to anybody, let alone jump up onto a stage and try to perform, or act like nothing happened. I think everyone just feels bad. Apparently the fans are still leaving him lots of tweets and stuff. Dustin told me some hashtag was trending for him a couple weeks ago,” Steve said, grabbing his phone with the obvious intent to show Eddie. 

He was going to look up Corroded Coffin. Which would lead directly to tons of headlines with Eddie’s face plastered on them. 

Eddie was up and moving before he even knew it.  

“What are you doing?” Steve asked slowly as Eddie grabbed his wrist and pulled it down, making sure Steve couldn’t look at his phone. 

“I don’t wanna see it.” Eddie said in a rush. 

He didn’t want his secret exposed, but he also didn’t want the reminder of who he was. He wanted to keep being Steve’s Eddie. A stranger with funny little quips and a refined palate. He wanted to be able to keep being this person for a little while, whoever he was. He didn’t want to go back to being the Eddie that had lost his Robin.  

“Please,” Eddie said, lowering his voice to a whisper. Steve stood there blinking at him for a second, staring at Eddie like he couldn’t really make sense of him. 

“Alright,” Steve said, finally hesitantly agreeing. Eddie breathed out a long slow sigh of relief, leaning back against the counter and letting go of Steve’s wrist. 

“You’re a really nice person, Steve Harrington,” He said with a tired grin. 

“And you’re a very confusing person Eddie Eddie,” Steve shot back with an incredulous little laugh. He pushed off of his own counter and held a hand out, “But you are a good taste tester. Now come back here and help me make this next batch of crumble bars perfect. I think it might need a frosting,” 

Eddie went willingly, the sound of his own voice over the speakers filling his ears. 

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Horizons to Battlegrounds Masterlist

Read it on Ao3 Here!

Summary; Out on the road a gravely injured Weeping Monk reflects on the events of the past day after betraying the church, defeating the Trinity Guard, and fleeing with a young Fey boy and unconscious Green Knight...

TWs; Major character injury, pain, religious guilt, battle, internal injury, broken bones

Wordcount; 3,902

POV; Lancelot - The Weeping Monk

A gust of wind brought with it the promise of change.

Rising up across open moorlands the breeze carried scents of a season quickly turning, a cold Autumn drawing in as Summer began to rescind her fierce control of the land. She had not yet bowed to the golden leaves and crisp mornings that warned the land of Winter on its way, and so the air was mild and pleasant, quiet and calm. This peace was gradually interrupted by the slow and rhythmic clattering of hooves as two weary horses emerged from the swell of a hill to the west. They wandered steadily along the lonely gravel path that split the vast moors in two.

The leading horse was a large, muscular Stallion; He was black of coat and tall for his Courser breed- a good 15 hands- lightly armoured, with dark leather blinders intricately decorated and a matching worn saddle and blanket. On his back rode a disheveled, heavily bloodied rider, dressed all in black with a young boy at his lap. Both were quiet, as if afraid to further disrupt the tranquility of this late morning than their mere presence here did already.

The pair looked for all the world like they had been pulled through one of the heathland's colourful hedges of gorse and bramble five times backwards.

The young boy was bleary-eyed with a scrape and a bruise and a lightly blooded nose, his lip was split and puffy, and one of his eyes was bruising. The Rider, on the other hand... had they indeed been dragged through the hedges then his had definitely fought back, and with a great many thorns too by the looks of it.

Dried blood stained his face, bruising painted purple what visible skin wasn't just a little too pale to be considered healthy. His left arm was clamped to his side in some futile effort to stem bleeding, a widening stain of crimson steadily darkening the fabric of his battered black suede surcoat. His body seemed curled around this injury though it was far from the only one he had, and he used an evidently practiced effort to keep his oddly crimson-Ash-marked face stoic. The emotionless mask slipped all the same with a pained grimace at every other jolt of the Stallion's hooves.

From a lead rope tied over the Stallion's neck was secured the second horse. She was relatively young, though full grown, and like the Stallion, a Courser. A diminutive thing in comparison to him, though an arguably more reasonable example of her breed, she stood at around 13 hands with a lithe build. Her Chestnut coat shone with a healthy luster, that is, what parts of her that weren't stained dark with mud from the path and far too much blood that was not her own. She snorted irritably, tossing her long copper-brown mane at the joining rope that clipped to her simple bitless halter.

A plain saddle matched the worn brown leather of the straps, sat upon a red blanket that may or may not have been another colour before it was bled on profusely. Unlike the black Stallion she had no saddlebags, instead, she carried a far more precious cargo; for draped across her back was a Fey man. He was unconscious, beaten and broken, covered in another blanket which too was stained with blood, and he had been hog-tied to the saddle with rope. The Stallion's Rider cast a careful look over the limp body dangling over the saddle for at least the 50th time this hour alone. He silently noted the faint but sure rise and fall of The Green Knight's chest, allowing a rush of relief to tug at the edges of his mouth.

Still alive, then. Good. The Weeping Monk thought to himself, though his mind was hazy and sluggish from the pain of his many injuries. Again, he scanned a careful eye back over the path ahead as he had done repeatedly now, anxious to ensure there was no danger, feeling exposed here out on the path but without knowledge enough of these moors to risk straying from the road. What offered them steady travel also brought the risk of being caught, he knew. Yet after another several minutes of suspiciously glaring hedges into submission there was nothing of note but the rolling moorlands stretching wide across the horizon, and the only scents he could catch on the breeze were cool air and the unmistakable tang of his own blood.

The latter he probably shouldn’t have drawn attention to. Now that he had it seemed overwhelming, this thick coppery stench that began to combine with sweat and horse and God only knew what else to send his empty stomach roiling in complaint.

He coughed involuntarily, nearly retching at the smell. Immediately he regretted the movement as a sharp, stabbing sensation grated through his side with enough strength to blacken his vision momentarily and force him to hold his breath lest he scream. Bloody knuckles whitened around his horse's reins, gripping the leather like a drowning man clinging to driftwood floating at sea, and The Weeping Monk was all but overcome with the powerful resurgence of this all-encompassing, mind-numbing pain...

God help me…

It became inordinately difficult to even think as this blanket of fog descended on him. His body burned and ached, and though it had done so for hours this sharp pain caught him so off guard that it was all he could do not to voice the agony surging through him aloud, not a single wretched part of him spared its suffocating grasp. He couldn't mask the silent, pained snarl that twisted his expression as his Stallion once more jarred him on the uneven ground just as he began to regain his composure.

Silently, he took a shaky breath to calm himself.

Breathe. You're fine.

He almost wanted to laugh at the thought; Fine was surely a generous statement. Without having even checked yet, he guessed that he had at the very least several broken bones, a myriad of lacerations, more bruises than he could count, and there were several other places that just. Fucking. Ached. It made every stride a hellish torment regardless of if his trusty horse was surefooted or not.

You have endured worse than this before.

Indeed, The Weeping Monk knew well that he could tolerate this sort of treatment from far too much past experience in enduring terrible suffering. This particular example still tiptoed further and further over his resilience with an increasing severity as the hours slipped by.

And in truth, they had been riding for hours. The Monk had admittedly been barely conscious for much of the night during the ride, having been dragged awake by the Fey boy in front of him only when he nearly fell from his horse, which had been at least seven times too many, and those were only the instances that he could remember. (If you'd asked the boy he would have informed you that it was more like fifteen. At least.)

They'd stopped once just before dawn, otherwise having ridden constantly throughout the night and morning since fleeing The King's encampment until now. It had been only a momentary pause when they had stopped, he reflected, and a brief and unfulfilling respite at that.

The Weeping Monk probably would not have chosen to stop, himself, a stubborn determination that continued lending him the strength to carry on far beyond what he should have. Nay, it was the boy who had been the one to demand a rest so he could relieve himself, with a rather barbed threat to do so where he sat if The Weeping Monk refused. The Monk had reluctantly agreed, having very little desire to deal with either that particularly unappealing scenario, or the joys of a complaining child in general, for that matter…

When The Weeping Monk had gone to relieve himself in turn, his waters had been stained dark with blood and he had nearly collapsed from the stabbings of utterly crippling pain and nausea that had twisted brutally like a knife in his abdomen. He'd spent a good few minutes on his hands and knees, brow slicked with sweat, trying in near pathetic desperation not to vomit. It had taken him an inordinate amount of effort for him to regain his composure, energy he knew he really couldn't afford to spare, but he had in the end managed to succeed in not emptying his stomach of what little would even be left in it. He was quite acutely aware the action alone would have made him scream. Thankfully enough the Boy had given him privacy and had been busy sorting the horses a little ways out so hadn't noticed, and, if he had then seen the Monk's discomfort when he returned then he hadn't voiced it aloud. In fact, he hadn't said anything at all. The Monk had been equally silent in his gratefulness of it.

As he'd proceeded to check on the Knight, the Boy had watched him like a hawk with an aggressively suspicious look pinching his small features, but again made no comment.

They had been quick to return to the road afterwards.

The thought that the Boy was probably only so quiet from sheer exhaustion had stuck in his mind winding round and round like a nagging worm in his skull after this morning's stop, and so, despite his own fatigue and a fierce need to rest the Monk had encouraged the shattered Boy to do just that, taking over the reins in full without complaint. It had taken more willpower and focus than he liked to ignore every agony that flared within his body, keeping himself as awake and alert as he possibly could.

The Boy, meanwhile, had accepted with an almost dazed nod of his head. He had fallen asleep quickly, still without a word, and once asleep he'd snuggled into the Weeping Monk's side and clung to his surcoat like a limpet to a hull. It was both endearing and excruciating to him as the child unconsciously aggravated still bleeding wounds and broken bones, yet the Monk hadn't known how to react but to wordlessly allow it to happen.

Even now, reflecting on the memory as he was, his heart thrummed with a warm and soothing sensation The Weeping Monk just couldn't place.

The Monk had felt oddly compelled to wrap the Boy in his grey woolen cloak to keep him warm and when he'd still felt the child shiver in the cold dawn, he'd cradled him protectively in his right arm.

Never before had the feared Weeping Monk known a touch like this. It was one of comfort and trust and closeness, and so if he breathed through it and focused on the warmth of the child nestled against him, then the pain was just about bearable... Just. As time went on, though, breathing had become difficult. The pain had in fact been so severe, that with every breath he had taken, he'd begun to wheeze painfully.

When the Boy had woken he had anxiously muttered a few choice swear words and moved away as much as the limited saddle space would allow. He hadn't seemed to notice the blood that had stained into his clothing from leaning against the Monk's injured side, and the Monk, for his part, was momentarily relieved he could breathe a little easier. Strangely enough came the near immediate realisation that his touch-starved body seemed to mourn the loss of contact...

The Weeping Monk shook his head, trying to distract himself from this idea. No longer lost in his thoughts, the pain stabbing through him offered itself immediately for the role and it took great effort to keep it at bay. He could feel how his body shook with fatigue as this torment took its toll.

As if echoing the sentiment, the Boy yawned loudly in front of him. It had been an hour or so since the Boy had awoken--

--The Boy? Quite suddenly came the realisation that he had no idea what the child was even called. Or the Green Knight, for that matter. He knew he'd heard at least one of their actual names spoken before, in fact he was certain he should know the Knight's for sure, but what... what were they...?

A snippet of remembrance, yes, the young Fey warriors he'd used the Boy to bait back in the Iron Wood had called him something...

Josse? No... that was the one he'd killed. It began with an S... Seth? No... Serrel? Sorrel? For the life of him he couldn't remember what either one of these irritatingly elusive names actually was.

Why is it so fucking difficult to think?

"What was your name, Boy?" The Monk asked, daring to break the silence to speak his question. His low voice was hoarse and cracked, immediately betraying his poor condition aloud.

"Squirrel." Came the quick response. The Boy's voice was sullen but level and clear. He had thankfully escaped the sort of damage that had the Knight unconscious and himself suffering. The Monk paused at the answer, smiling lightly. He'd been close with Sorrel then, but just like his own monikers- The Weeping Monk, The One Who Cries, The Grey Warrior, Ashman - he recognised the false name.

"A Squirrel is an animal..." The Monk stated, pausing to take a breath, already, the speaking alone was draining him and he had to gather strength to continue "...What is the name you were given?"

"I don't like that name," Squirrel said, looking away almost petulantly. The Weeping Monk pondered this for a second. His brain was sluggish and slow, pain again dominating the majority of his thoughts, and Lord, it was difficult to even focus on what the Boy had said.

"Well... It's still your name..." He felt himself respond, leaving his words hanging in the air like an unspoken question though he didn't directly ask again. The agony lancing through him was swiftly sapping him of what little he had left.

"Fine..." Squirrel huffed, pulling a face. Even from behind the Monk noticed it. "...It's Percival."

"Percival..." The Monk echoed in a breath, allowing himself another smile. He may not like it, but it is a good name, he thought to himself. A good name, for a courageous young Fey.

"Do you… have a real name?" Squirrel asked, and The Weeping Monk took an anticipatory breath. He ignored the sharp stab of pain, the sensation in his injured side like he was actively being attacked again. He probably should have anticipated that question. Or perhaps he'd asked the Boy's name on purpose, subconsciously wanting the Boy to ask after his, he wasn't fully sure...

Unbidden, memories of his childhood- before the slaughter- came to him. He could not truly remember the face of his mother anymore, nor could he remember her voice, but he could remember his name and knew well enough that it was she who had given it to him. It was a name he sometimes whispered aloud when he was alone at night, a name that didn't feel like his own and hadn't for years, yet he still held onto like a secret, prized possession. A name he knew he must reclaim, for no matter what happened next, The Weeping Monk could surely not endure.

"Lancelot..." He finally said, inhaling again to gather his waning strength in the face of this quiet admission. "...A long time ago, my name was Lancelot."

A disconcerting feeling enveloped him when he spoke the name aloud, the oddest sense of... relief, perhaps? that mingled with a prickling unease. Yet at the same time, nothing had changed, nothing at all. All he truly knew was that it somehow felt...

Yes. It felt right to return to this name now.

The Boy, Squirrel, regarded him for a moment. He gave the slightest nod to acknowledge The Weeping Monk's "new" name, before he turned away without another word and studied the Knight and the horizon before them. Whatever Lancelot had been expecting in terms of a reaction he wasn't entirely sure that was it. Better than a worse reaction, he supposed, raising his eyebrows in his own silent acknowledgement.

And so they were quiet once more, both lost in the private solaces of their own minds. In truth Lancelot was too bone-weary to strike up any further conversation right now- not that he was particularly prone to that anyway.

It still took him far longer than he thought it should have to recognise that Squirrel was still being uncharacteristically quiet. It was quite unlike the last journey the pair had taken together in which Lancelot was fairly certain the child hadn't stopped talking for even five solid minutes. He remembered that he'd used Squirrel's utter inability to fucking Shut Up to his advantage by patrolling the boy through the forest, Squirrel playing his unwitting part as bait extraordinarily well. The barest hint of a smile edged the pained grimace upon his face as he recalled the boy spending an inordinate amount of the time talking on insulting him. Pretty damned inventively too, the Monk had to admit...

Ex-Monk now, he supposed. His tonsure seemed to prickle in response, and God, not for the first time he had an almost overwhelming desire to carve it from his head. Not that he physically could, he knew well enough that it was too deeply branded.

Pity...

Before his mind could wander down the specific circumstances of his unconsentual branding or the all too appealing idea of harming himself, he focused on the scents on the wind, on the scenery around them, on the pain of his injuries and keeping them navigated the right way. His Stallion, Goliath, would lead them well without his interference, but Goliath didn't quite have his ability to scent enemies or allies.

Not that you know which is which anymore... Lancelot shook his head against the thought. He didn't particularly want to face the reality of that situation either just yet.

Finding his pain still too overpowering when he focused on it, he distanced his body from his mind as best he could and forced himself to reflect on the events of the past day that had led them here instead.

Percival, Squirrel, whatever he wished to be called, had been uncharacteristically quiet back then, too, as The Weeping Monk had marched them both through Father's Carden's encampment. As they'd approached the horses the child had broken the uneasy silence to protest.

"No! Where are you taking me!"

Squirrel had begun struggling, standing so firm his small feet carved furrows into the ground against the Monk's firm grip; the latter had restored to dragging them both towards their freedom like cuffing a young animal.

"No! We have to go back! The Green Knight! We must save him!"

The Weeping Monk had found himself halting at the mention of the Green Knight. His mind flooded with the memory of those kind, empathetic eyes, of that fucking look the Knight had given him, a look that had been haunting him like a tenacious ghost since their… enlightening conversation in the torture tent…

"Where did they take him," The Monk remembered replying.

No, what are you doing? Flee, now, or they'll catch you!

He remembered too the voices in his mind, yet The Monk had ignored his internal warring then, just as he ignored it now.

"To Nimue! We have to-"

"...Nimue?"

"The Fey Queen!"

"The Wolf Blood Witch..."

He'd spoken it as barely a whisper, yet still Squirrel had pulled an indignant face at his use of her moniker.

For some Godforsaken reason that he could not explain, he'd found himself saying yes...

He'd tracked the Green Knight's bloodied scent all the way from the Red Paladin encampment to a lone tent in King Uther's, sneaking past the majority of soldiers, finding the way suspiciously clear and a rising tension that crackled through the air like thunder…

When he entered the tent he'd immediately been struck with a second familiar scent, that of the Fey girl who had evaded him for so long... The Wolf Blood Witch. This scent was young and mingled with Brothers he recognised, she'd clearly only left within the last few minutes, dragged out against her will by Red Paladins from the look of the scuff-marks on the floor. But his attention was pulled quickly from the innate desire to follow those tracks by the shape of a body, encased with living, writhing vines.

Blessed Mother Mary... What sorcery was this?

"Green Knight...?" The child had asked, small voice trembling with fear.

The Weeping Monk had knelt at the side of this strange cocoon. This was the Witch's doing, of that he had no doubt, but beneath the stench of magic he could indeed smell The Green Knight. The Monk had pulled a hand through the vines, a warm, soothing sensation dancing across his skin as he had, and unbidden against his will his skin had reacted, swirling with the colours of these vines whilst he revealed the man lying beneath. Squirrel hadn't noticed, too intent on pawing over the Knight, who's broad chest lay still. Too still.

Leaning back on his haunches, The Weeping Monk hid his hands in his lap and waited silently without much hope for the man to breathe. He would allow the boy a short moment to grieve before fleeing this place.

"Wake up, Sir! Please, please wake up..."

And just as The Monk moved to step forwards and drag the boy from his fallen leader, The Green Knight’s emerald eyes had flown open as he gasped a breath...

A pain as sharp as a stab from a blade cut through these ruminations, throwing his shattered body, mind, soul down down down into the darkest depths of these recent memories.

...Blows rained down upon The Weeping Monk, adrenaline seeping from him as crimson splattered across the floor and he was driven to his knees. Golden death-masks leered in his face, a strike to the side of his head sent the whole world spinning and he lurched from it, gasping, before a second strike to his jaw snapped his head back painfully. He felt rather than saw his own blood spray forth, warm and wet where it oozed down his face and neck as he sunk limply to the floor, this broken toy that coughed and wheezed from the agony in his side and back, spitting out the hot blood that collected in his mouth before he choked...

...The rest of the battle faded into a haze of pain, the moment that he waited to die... The moment he forced his broken body upright, to save the Boy who had shown him why he must carry on... The moment he raised his sword to a cowed Abbot Wicklow- a deadly promise that he intended to keep...

The moorlands before him loomed into his darkening vision. Horizons turned into battlegrounds, the terrible clash of war painted the skies and fields around them in rivers of crimson, the stench of blood flooded Lancelot's senses. He watched Goliath's hooves splash into these waves steadily rising, felt them lapping at his feet, thighs, chest, he breathed it into his lungs, drowning now, choking, helpless to do a thing but watch this vision fading to an engulfing sea of red...

Taglist; @holy3cake @violetastrid

(Ask to be added to the taglist!)

Chapter 1 done! Thanks for reading, let me know if you enjoyed this :) Chapter 2 coming soon, I won't be updating incredibly regularly but I am on the final edits for Chapter's 1-4.

I will link to Chapter 2 here when it is posted. I always to Ao3 before I post here, so that's the best place to read it first!

[mrsreginagold]

Fic: A Picture Of Perfection

Fandom: Nikita

Pairing: Ari Tasarov x Nikita Mears (Nikari)

Rating: PG13

Spoilers: Canon-divergent AU, set roughly two years post series. 

Summary: Nikita returns home to find that her husband has been preoccupied. 

Author’s Note: After composing some angst, I felt that it was more than fair to follow it with married Nikari fluff as recompence. It was an absolute joy to put together. 

On AO3

A Picture Of Perfection

                  There was a time when Nikita Mears had dreaded the return home after a mission.

Coming back to an empty apartment was, simply put, depressing. It also compounded her isolation. She had made it a point to not get attached to people as a rule – but one day she crossed paths with the leader of Division’s rival organization, Gogol, and everything changed.

                  Ari Tasarov was a man as enigmatic as he was handsome, and from the start, there had been an intense spark between them. Nikita wrote it off initially, refusing to believe that she could be romantically attracted to the enemy. She’d even gone so far as to get involved with her former handler, Michael Bishop, but that relationship fizzled out over time. 

                  Things shifted dramatically when Ari offered her sanctuary after a mission gone awry. It was something unexpected, particularly considering how many times she had refused his proposals to work together in the early days. That compassion allowed her to see a side of the man that she had not before, and it resulted in a slow build of friendship and trust. 

                  Eventually, their feelings evolved into something much deeper: a passion that burned so brightly that when they made love for the first time – it had been a revelation for them both. 

                  He chose her, and to leave Gogol, not long after. 

                  They married quietly and focused their efforts on bringing the operations that molded them down together: a mission which proved successful. 

                  Two years had gone by in what seemed like seconds. 

Now, whenever she had to travel for business, Nikita practically zoomed back home at the end of it. Being the current head of the new and improved Division, with her beloved rightly at her side, gave her plenty of perks, but occasionally she still had to go out into the field solo. 

                  Being away from Ari for a significant amount of time put her on edge, and currently the anxiety was stronger than usual as he had to stay behind in order to recover from an injury.          

                  The beautiful operative shouldered her overnight bag and pulled out her cell phone while she waited in line for a taxi to pick her up from the airport. Her most recent job had ended a little early, so she wanted to let her husband know. 

                  There was no answer at first, which caused worry to swirl around her stomach, but after a few more rings, he finally picked up the line.

                  “Nikita?” his rich, soothing baritone immediately quelled her concern, as just hearing him say her name was enough. “Is something wrong?”

                  “No, honey. The mission was successful, and I took an earlier flight,” she smiled.

                  She swore she could see his dimples flash when his reply was decidedly more enthusiastic. “That’s fantastic. Want me to come pick you up?”

                  “I’m getting a cab,” she admitted. “I should be home in roughly an hour, depending on traffic. You haven’t been having any wild parties while I’ve been gone?”

                  He laughed, which was warm and alluring and only made her want to get there faster. “Well, I had to do something to keep myself occupied.”

                  She knew him better than that. Of the two of them – he was arguably the quieter one, more at home with a good book and a glass of red wine than he was at a social gathering. There was also a subtle shift in his voice that meant he was teasing her. 

                  “Mm, well, you have time to clean up. Seriously though: you’ve been taking it easy?”

                  “My love,” she could hear the amusement in his tone. “I’ve been waylaid with a sprained wrist and bruised ribs. Of course I have.”

                  “Good. I’m next in line, so I have to go, I’ll see you soon.”

                  “I’m counting the minutes. I love you.”

                  She grinned. “I love you too.” After saying goodbye, she hung up and went back to waiting, though less patiently than before.

 

                  The drive to the loft apartment that she and Ari shared went by quickly enough, though she was buzzing in anticipation by the time the building finally loomed into view. 

                  Nikita tipped the driver a little extra for making sure to keep delays to a minimum and then she practically bounded into the lobby. 

                  She bypassed grabbing the mail – she was fairly certain her other half had already taken care of it – and instead headed straight for the elevators. 

                  After pressing the button, she balanced on one foot, then the other, in a repeated cycle until the lift arrived. 

                  They lived on the seventh floor. However, since there was no one else heading up, it only took a few minutes to arrive at her destination. 

                  She took her key out of her purse and made the short walk to their front door. 

                  Her heart was already dancing around happily at the thought of seeing him. Three weeks had been far too long to spend apart, and she was definitely going to prove how much she had missed him in that time – though she reminded herself to be gentle. 

                  She turned the key in the lock and opened the door, then was immediately overwhelmed by the most delicious scent once she stepped inside. 

                  Her dark brown eyes widened upon the scene before her.

                  Plates piled high with various baked goods took up the entirety of their kitchen table. She could see cookies, brownies, a few pastries, and even a cake. 

                  “Uh…dear husband? Why has our home been converted into a bakery?” 

                  “You’re back early,” Ari emerged from the kitchen. “I was about to get started on some dinner for us.”

                  Her pulse quickened at the sight of him. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t be surprised to see him in a three-piece suit, as he kept his appearance impeccable while they were in the office. Today, however, he was dressed more casually. He wore a pale violet button-down shirt, left open at the collar and with the sleeves rolled up over his forearms, tucked into black jeans. The outfit clung in all the right places, offering little to the imagination about the perfect, leanly muscled frame that was underneath. The only thing that marred the otherwise flawless picture was a brace on his left hand to help with the recovery.

                  It took all of her willpower not to walk over and start tearing his clothes off, but she managed, somehow, to control the urge. 

                  “Well, I probably could have a sugar buffet, though that wouldn’t be exactly healthy,” she sauntered towards him after depositing her luggage on the floor. “Why’d you make so much?”

                  “I was bored while you were gone,” he stepped into her space, the clear blue sea of his gaze –which had been a key factor in why she had fallen so hard for him –sparkling invitingly. “Am I not allowed a hobby or two?”

                  “Of course, but I have a hard time imagining you accomplishing all of that one handed.” She reached out to place her hands on his chest lightly. 

                  “I might have done some calculated late-night shopping,” he confessed, and then gestured towards the kitchen. “We have a new mixer, by the way. Along with some pots, pans, cooking utensils and a pressure cooker.”

                  “My, you have been busy,” she smirked and circled her arms around his neck, effectively drawing him close. “Think you can spare a kiss?”

                  A low, throaty chuckle was his response, immediately prompting familiar heat to cross along her spine. “For you, dear wife, always.” And then his mouth found hers.  

                  His lips were soft against her own, the embrace deepening instantly due to knowing each other so well. His good hand weaved into her hair to cradle the back of her head, and he punctuated his attentions with tender nips that served as a reminder of what she had been missing. 

                  She arced further into his arms, wishing for the moment to never end, but he eventually pulled back with a sweet nuzzle.

                  “I’ve missed you,” he swept an errant strand of hair away from her eyes, his touch ghosting across her cheek as it drifted down. 

                  “And I’ve missed you,” she leaned into his hand and turned her head slightly to press her lips to his palm. “It was awful sleeping alone.”

                  “Yes, the bed felt gigantic without you in it,” he held her as tightly as he could manage, his injured hand resting gingerly on her hip. “Let’s not do this again any time soon.”

                  “Deal,” she was only too happy to agree, her fingers twisting into the crisp fabric that covered his chest. “So…you remodeled our kitchen?”

                  “I updated it a little,” he smiled and laced their fingers together so he could show her the improvements. 

                  Nikita let Ari guide her around the marble counter. “Well, you definitely spend more time in here than I do, so I’m sure I can trust your judgement.”

                  “One day I’ll teach you how to cook,” he promised, grazing his lips to her temple. “We’ll start with something simple.”

                  “Like a pancake? Cause that went swimmingly when I tried it before,” she grimaced as the memory of her culinary mistake surfaced. 

                  “To be fair: salt and sugar are difficult to tell apart when they aren’t labeled properly.”

                  “Still, I’d rather not repeat that disaster,” she confessed, leaning back against his solid form while he curled his arms around her and rested his chin against her hair. She looked towards the cabinets and noticed that there was now a rack to house the new pots and pans. “You didn’t put that in yourself, I’m guessing.”

                  “No, Owen stopped by to help me with the organization. I rewarded him with a share of the brownies. I’m planning to bring in a bunch of that into the office anyway.”

                  “Good because as much as I adore your baking, there’s no way we can eat all of that,” she twisted around to face him, her hands delving to the buttons on his top so she could undo them. 

                  He blinked, the corners of his mouth twitching as he held back a smile. “What’re you doing?”

                  “Checking on that bruise,” she peered up at him, fixing as innocent a gaze as she could in his direction.

                  He made a skeptical sound before observing: “Why is it that the first chance you get, it’s to take my shirt off?”

                  She parted the fabric over his chest so she could inspect the area right below his ribs and ignored the remark. There was still a bit of mottling on his otherwise flawless torso, but it appeared to be fading. 

                  Ari hissed when Nikita dipped her head and let her lips brush over the wound. She pulled back quickly upon hearing the sound. 

                  “Sorry!”

                  “Don’t be, it’s just a little sensitive still, that’s all.”

                  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she kissed the same spot, gingerly this time.

                  Another quiet sound was uttered, and his fingers laced into her hair to keep her steady as she bestowed affection. 

                  She travelled up, kissing directly over his heart before lingering along his neck, where she scraped her teeth deliberately. 

                  He dragged her, one handed, into a full embrace, right as she shoved the garment down his shoulders. 

                  He pulled away momentarily to assist in the removal, tugging one arm swiftly out of a sleeve and laughing as it took a few extra seconds to do the same to the other. 

                  Freed from the shirt’s confines, he pulled her flush against him, his lips claiming hers yet again while he began to back her towards their bedroom. 

                  She raked her nails provocatively through the hair that dusted his chest, helping him along as their clothes formed a trail on the floor. 

                  They were completely naked by the time they made it to the bed, and he couldn’t help another teasing comment right before she distracted them both. 

                  “You sure you’re not putting some kind of aphrodisiac in these things?” Nikita did her best to hold back a moan as she took another bite of a chocolate chip cookie.

                  The couple had finally emerged from their room after what turned into many bouts of lovemaking so they could sample some of the treats that Ari had made. 

                  They were standing together in the kitchen again, though Nikita was now clad solely in one of her husband’s shirts, and he had opted for his favorite lounge pants.

                  “I’ve done no such thing,” he rolled his eyes at the insinuation and reclined back against the tile counter after polishing off a brownie. 

                  Silently, she finished her dessert and then crossed into his space, eyeing him with more hunger than she had the food. 

                  He instantly recognized the look she gave him and tilted his head back with a groan. “Again? When did you become so insatiable?”

                  “It’s your fault for being so sexy,” she retorted, drawing a pattern over his bare chest before leaning in for a kiss that was as sensual as it was sweet. 

                  He didn’t hesitate to return the embrace, which told her that he was not minding this homecoming one bit.

                  As far as Nikita was concerned, everything was as it should be, especially when Ari yanked her close and she became lost, once more, in his arms. 

The End

[2n2n]

Don’t you think Tsunene kiss is a bit early? Like Nene-chan barely KNOWS Tsukasa at this moment, she never questionned what happened in the Red House… I think I’d like to have seen it in volume 22 or later, when she was "more interested" in him. Nonetheless it’s freaking interesting because she knows he’s a Yorishiro, so maybe he will try to convince her to destroy him……: so many possibilities

Why does Nene-chan need to know much about Tsukasa in order to be kissed by him? He's a social reject undead 13 year old ... While I understand if it is outside of your taste, it makes typical sense for a pairing in this manga, specifically. I'm not sure how much you think Hanako knows about Nene-chan, early manga, when he begins flirting with her… ? Doesn't our manga OPEN with Hanako doing some quite out of pocket things, drawing Nene-chan into being confused & questioning of his intentions towards her? She questions his sincerity all the way up to the Far Shore ... the Yugi man... you're asking too much for any twin to do things in the right order at the right time.........

Hanako, day 1 meeting Nene-chan, asserts them as a 'couple',

and QUICKLY sets into AGGRESSIVELY flirting with her! He admits to not caring about her life at this point-- this is purely physical ... (the sincerity comes later.)...

Amane wastes no time "getting to know" or "becoming interested in" Nene-chan, he does not give her much time or opportunity to "get interested in" or "get to know" him.

Hanako, meanwhile, he is quite immediately captivated by Nene-chan at first sight…

and binds her to him quickly. And that is a beautiful/romantic thing for our fated lovers.

Not long into their friendship (which can only exist in the brief hours between and after classes, give or take some spare moments), Hanako is kissing her …

How much does Nene-chan know about Amane, here, in volume 2? Any more than she knows about Tsukasa, right now? Arguably less???

Amane at age 8 is flirting with Nene-chan and asserting she is his type in, oh surely only an hour at best, of knowing her… he's a kid, his feelings are simple…

This isn't bad writing or something, it's just AidaIro's preference for romance; quite instant. Sumire did not know anything about Hakubo, when meeting him, but he was a handsome guy, she childishly and immediately is in love, and is in love for good! Who is to say a quickly-and-stupid-onset-romance can't become something earthshattering and beautiful? Who is to say a childish, impulsive start, ignorant of each other, is sloppy or 'too quick'? That's just an odd criticism to me, as a fan of all the pairings in this manga. I think KouMitsu is THE slowest individuals out here, and legitimately it's so slow for me it's unromantic fkldsfjslgg.glkjkljl.... meeting someone, forgetting about them,, keep forgetting about them,, have other crush, is like, ough its a struggle for me. Not how MY romance worked LOL!

While it took a long time for HanaNene to kiss on the lips, that has a LOT more to do with AMANE's specific hang-ups about vulnerability, fear of being attached, avoidance to take things seriously… his concept of 'having no future' and etc !! THINGS TSUKASA DOES NOT HAVE… as Tsukasa is not repressed, like Amane! I think if Amane was true to his heart, he'd have kissed Nene-chan full-on much sooner, but he's naturally avoidant of confession and earnestness!!! Amane would wait for the other party to confess, rather than confess himself! Amane is defensive and rude!!! Tsukasa is simply the type to not hide anything he's feeling. So a mouth kiss is easier for him to, do.

By comparison to Amane, in some respects, Tsukasa has been quite slow and observant… lol. I would argue Tsukasa has offered her more information & background on both himself and Amane in his forays with her, leading her to the bookstacks, to nowhere, meeting her at the Red House... though he has had less two-sided conversation, less time. These are interesting differences. I don't see how one is worse or more rapidfire. Amane hides his truth & lies a lot. If not for Tsukasa, Nene-chan would not know enough about Amane to fall so hard for him, perhaps. Through Amane's romance with her, Tsukasa gets to see quite a lot of Nene's personality. HanaNene in this way fuels TsuNene, and vice versa.

I think Tsukasa has observed Nene-chan quite a lot, is childish, and has precious little social connections at all; I think Nene-chan stands out A LOT! We know Tsukasa observes a lot of what goes on, truly at an unknown frequency. I think he could know as much about Nene-chan as Amane does, though as mostly an observer ... though, we don't know what sort of development they could have when Tsukasa is 12 (: Tsukasa's timeline is funky ! Disordered !!! He can't act normal, haha.

Tsukasa is childish… for Tsukasa, I think the kiss makes sense. I'm only shocked that little guy can really just up and kiss a girl ... I feel like it's taken him quite a long time .... she made her first impression when he was 4 ... much to daydream about, that mysterious girl.

Nene-chan had been lost & confused the entire early portion of Amane's pursuing of her... I'm afraid these Yugi twins both have poor romantic candor. They're quite insistent, aren't they? You have no idea if they like you or not, you get harassed, you get grabbed and pulled around and kissed willy-nilly with no explanation at all, you get suddenly claimed as property and made to follow commands … ! I'm afraid both Yugi are like that to Nene-chan, so I do not see why Tsukasa is unbelievable or too fast with it…!

Criticizing the trajectory and then immediately thinking of the destruction... I'm not with you anon, as much as I think Tsukasa being open to Nene-chan destroying him is in and of itself huge and romantic of him, a beautiful display of trust, placing her into the same position he would place Amane in.... I would like them to finally talk, alone, especially given time is frozen, and Tsukasa has longer than the duration of a school day ... I hope he can take her someplace the frozen clock can't effect... she has so much to process hahahaha ... she just starts accepting one Yugi twin likes her, and here comes the other one kissing her without a proper explanation ....

[itsevanffs]

breaking my hiatus for like five seconds (wow, what a surprise) to bring you a small psa. i got another 'pls update' comment today and i wanted to share my reply to it just to get this over and done with because i get too many comments like this.

here goes:

my friend, this is not the interaction you think it is.

i'm feeling generous today so i'll explain.

firstly: a 'i liked your fic!' goes a long way. it shows me you actually liked my story and engaged with it. 'please update' tells me nothing except that you want more. in theory that's a nice thing if you don't think too much about it, but i'm an author, thinking is what i chronically do. 'please update' can mean anything from 'i really want to read more because it's so good' to 'everything so far has been absolute garbage and only a truly phenomenal update can save this'. funny thing about creative brains is they are often inherently pessimistic. i am much more inclined to think someone hated my fic than loved it. please at least tell me what you thought before you start begging for more - or just don't beg. tell me you liked it. that's a much better way to motivate me.

secondly: i am not a farm animal. i work at my own pace, for free (i am not paid in any manner, and i don't take donations either), and demanding (because that is what you are doing) an update will not change my rate in any positive direction. arguably, anytime anyone demands an update i slow down my update speed, since i work on the incredible principle of spite. you're shooting yourself in the foot here bud.

thirdly: you're coming in at a funny fuckin time my friend because this is the first time in almost five whole years i'm on an actual literal hiatus for both physical and mental reasons, so you're gonna have to be a good boy and just wait like the rest.

fourthly: do you know how long it takes to write a thousand words, on average? my writing speed on a good day is 1k per hour. that's eight consecutive hours for a single chapter of this fic. now, i did it to myself, you may say, but i sure as hell am not stopping with my consistent character length, nor am i going to take a 9-5 off my fairly hectic real life to write eight thousand words in a day so i can get it to you by tomorrow. what do you expect when you say 'please update'?

i don't mean to call you out specifically or whatever but this is like the 20th comment exactly like this i've gotten this year and i'm a little sick and tired of it.

if you take anything from this, then just... butter your comment up first with a compliment. seriously. 'i liked this, looking forward to the next chapter' is a low effort, fool proof way to not piss anyone off.

have a nice day.

[brutalmasks]

❛  isn't it ironic?  ❜ / from the batman

if there was one thing that bunny mask had noticed about gotham's landscape, it was how surprisingly dark it was at night — even with all of the street lights and the displays that were active beneath her. though the city was arguably very curious in general: what with it's costumed villains and the man who pervaded through the streets to 'take care of them,' so-to-speak, dressed in pure black kevlar with bat ears. the batman, she'd heard they called him. he served as both a symbol of hope and fear for the city that she was currently dangling her feet above. it was a particularly windy night in gotham the day that she'd found herself thinking this to herself. and normally, that would've put a lot of people off from visiting one of the highest skyscrapers in gotham in addition to sitting on the edge of it, as well. but bunny mask was feeling fearless.

she had just done away with a man about an hour ago, or so, and he had committed some very heinous crimes. so, naturally, bunny mask had doled out quite the extreme punishment to him: a death by an overdose as he had done terrible things with drugs to people. but it was a slow and painful one. a more than deserved one, in her opinion. bunny mask left no such calling card that this was her doing, however. this is because she was not a villain, she reasoned, like the men and women with gimmicky monikers who were still running rampant through the streets were. but bunny mask supposed at least some people had grown suspicious of all of the sudden unrelated deaths happening in the city. and that seemed to lead her to now, at this point in time, with an unfamiliar voice talking directly to her.

the haunting light green hue of bunny mask's skin was further illuminated by the sign lying behind the both of them as she turned to face who she learned was a man. no, not just any man. the fabled one known as the batman. silence spread throughout the air for a moment, as if bunny mask was waiting, anticipating that maybe he would elaborate further on what he was asking her. though it appeared, the bat believed she already knew what he was referring to: and he would be right if they were thinking about the same thing. bunny mask's lips curled into a small unreadable smile as she gazed at the man. her eyes were all white and glowing.

❝ you mean how the people of the city appear to consider you to be a hero and me, a villain? i have to admit, i somewhat share the same sentiment. what i am doing is cleansing your city of the sickness. it has been flourishing in this place, left unchecked, for far too long. and so many other humans are suffering because of it, ❞ humans, she said, because bunny mask herself was anything but. a light exhale escaped her lungs then. bunny mask was trying hard to understand what could possibly be his perspective here to not kill anyone, but admittedly, it was hard for her. he was rather infamous for sticking criminals either in jail or in institutions that they would repeatedly escape from.

❝ i only wish to bring peace to this place. everyone deserves it, do they not? i heard that this city has been wracked with trauma from it's inception; what with happened with the arkham family. and the alley, nicknamed crime alley, for the brutal murder that had occurred within it. there are so many other examples as well of bad things happening to the innocent. we must change it, and i intend to get retribution for the lives that have been lost, or are about to be lost here. before this place turns into nothing but a festering wound, ❞ bunny mask's intentions were noble. this, she knew, but the batman was more likely than not here to try to talk her down... right? or, perhaps he had already made her mind up about her: that she was no good herself.

but she believed in the ideology she'd made for herself and in revenge. so, either way, nothing would be stopping her from fulfilling her goals.

[sinceileftyoublog]

Pearl Jam Live Show Review: 8/29, Wrigley Field, Chicago

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Even when Pearl Jam have released a new record that happens to be arguably their best of the millennium so far, the band's priority when playing live is putting on a show. And when the venue represents a hometown return for Eddie Vedder, at the hallowed grounds of the Friendly Confines? Forget it. Last Thursday, Pearl Jam performed their first song from April's Dark Matter (Monkeywrench/Republic) 8 (!) tunes into their set. Wanting to ease in the crowd in, and perhaps themselves, the Seattle quintet opened with Ten closer "Release", whose slow-burn-to-shout-along pipeline has long made for a perfect introduction to the band's notoriously anthemic concerts. Ensconced in silhouetted light, they embarked on the tune's swaying melody, and at the point Vedder and the audience simultaneously shouted, "Release me!", a blue light came over Wrigley Field, as if to say that we were, for a moment, all on this Earth together.

Indeed, Pearl Jam has a way of uniting a crowd due to their willingness to play both rarities and favorites, appealing to newbies and die-hards alike. On Thursday, the sneaky "Of The Girl" gave way to campfire slice of life "Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town"; acoustic choogle "Off He Goes", a fan request, was followed by cascading Vitalogy favorite "Immortality". The band also provides moments new to even those who know their early 90s albums by heart. "Why Go" forewent its studio version's urgent thwack for a more patient industrial thump, while drummer Matt Cameron sped up "Even Flow", only for Mike McCready to steal the show with a behind-the-head guitar solo.

I also, though, have to give props to Vedder for continuing to never shy away from waxing on what he believes to be moral and just. The day before the show, I was working on my laptop in a restaurant and overheard a father, his daughter in hand, mention to the bartender that he was going to see Pearl Jam but hates when Vedder "talks politics." Okay, I realize Howard Zinn, to whom Vedder dedicated "Down", may not align with the majority of Pearl Jam's fan base, and few folks nonetheless are going to concerts to discuss political theory. But during "Daughter", when he included a tag from Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. 2", he spoke about abortion rights. Singing, "We don't need no thought control" alone is easy--mental gymnasts from across the political spectrum can choose to interpret that line as in alignment with their beliefs--but his amendment of, "Teacher leave our bodies alone," left no mystery as to what Vedder was talking about: the right to choose. I couldn't help but think about whether the dad from the restaurant was momentarily pissed off and how many more like him were in the crowd; it made me appreciate Vedder's outspokenness even more.

As for Dark Matter, it really is an album meant to be heard live. It's the first to feature contributions from touring and session member Josh Klinghoffer, and unlike the band's previous record Gigaton, it was banged out by the band in studio, a much more spontaneous-sounding effort than many of their recent releases. "Scared of Fear", a punk rock barnburner, sports huge guitar solos and virtuosic tempo changes. The chiming guitars and shouted vocals of "Waiting for Stevie", a song the band wrote while waiting for hours upon hours for Stevie Wonder to show up to a recording session, encompassed the upper decks of Wrigley, Vedder's declaration that, "You can be loved by everyone," an affirmation for the ages. "Dark Matter" was Cameron's time to shine, one-upping the studio version's mammoth beats alongside pulsating keyboards and guitars. Vedder invited a crowd member, Abby, to sing with him on "Won't Tell", which may as well have been planned considering it features a chorus practically meant for harmonies or a duet. "Wreckage", the album's best song, was a Petty-esque serving of heartland rock, containing the catchiest pre-chorus melody Pearl Jam has written in some time.

At first, I was a little skeptical of the band's inclusion of Dark Matter closer "Setting Sun" in the encore, a drawn-out song at the end of a particularly sticky night. But its build-up segued perfectly into "Alive", a song I've heard more times than I've told my wife I loved her, no thanks to its inclusion on classic rock radio rotation. At the moment Vedder launched into the final rousing chorus, the lights went on at Wrigley and stayed that way throughout the cliché but undeniable move of inviting the opening band on stage to help cover Neil Young's "Rockin' in the Free World". With Vedder donning a glittery Cubs hat and uniform over his Walter Payton shirt, and multiple Ian Happ jerseys adorning the stage (one said "Happer", so you know Vedder and Happ are buddies), even the most cynical, jaded music lover and baseball fanatic couldn't help but be persuaded into fist-pumping along. It's a testament to Pearl Jam that they can continue to inspire, three and a half decades in.

[aquarelliwrites]

What Kind Of Woman Do You Take Me For?

SHIP: Charles Leclerc x Reader

SUMMARY: After a dinner date at your apartment, Charles is forced to sleep over as to not get caught up in a snowstorm.

CONTENT: Mention of alcohol, domestic fluff, you/yours pronouns with fem!reader, no use of Y/N.

1.1k

"Well, this was lovely."

Charles used his napkin to wipe the corner of his mouth. You leaned back in your chair, your elbow coming to rest on the backrest of the one next to you. A vague silence washed over the dining room of your apartment, both of you observing the snowfall outside.

The view out of the dining and living rooms of your apartment was spectacular, and half the reason you were paying such a ridiculous price for it - the sprawling cityscape and background of rolling Swiss Alps breathtaking on evenings like this.

Was it really even evening anymore? You had sat down for dinner four hours ago - really, the date had actually started in the early afternoon. He had come in bearing gifts, with the first snowflakes adorning his coat, hair, and eyelashes. Then, he spent the better part of a few hours helping with dinner.

If you could count his sitting pretty on the barstool, drinking wine, and distracting you with gossip the entire time helping. You had a good reason to keep him away from the stove, however - the man was many things, but a culinary expert he was not.

"Is there anything we forgot to talk about?" You joked, tearing your gaze away from the panoramic view to the, arguably, far better one across the table.

He, to his credit, did take a moment to consider. You liked the way he looked when he was deep in thought. "I... don't believe so. How long has it- oh, wow. Midnight already?" The shock on his face, like all of his other emotions, was visible as soon as he caught sight of the clock hanging in the living room behind you.

"Nearing it." The snow outside was bad now - Switzerland was used to snow, sure, but was Charles? At night? In that sports car you saw him drive here? "You should stay over."

"Yeah?" His smile was teasing while he picked at a few crumbs on the tablecloth. "Are you propositioning me? Is that what this is?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Don't be ridiculous-"

"I came all this way-"

"Charles-"

"-all for an elaborate booty call? Really? Thought you were better than that, amour." Combined, the twinkle in his eyes and the smirk tugging upwards at the corners of his lips made you want to jump across the table and do unholy things to him. Not that you’d readily admit it.

You gestured to your matching empty glasses and plates. "Well, technically, I’ve been wining and dining you. Not a booty call. Come on, what kind of woman do you take me for, Leclerc?"

He shrugged, now picking at the tablecloth itself.

Clearing your throat was more uncomfortable than you’d thought. "The guest room situation isn't- um. I've got my office in there."

"Right, yes."

"...And I have a queen bed." That you didn't know if you wanted to share with him. This was- what was this? The third date? He had said he wanted to take it slow, get to know you. This wasn't exactly planned.

"Oh."

Another silence fell over the room. You felt like you were drowning in it.

"You can take the bed. I just changed the sheets this morning," you offered.

"No, no, I couldn't take that from you."

"I insist."

"No-"

"You're a houseguest. Fae rules."

"What? Fae rules?" He sputtered in surprise.

"Yes." You were smiling smugly, and he pointed it out.

"It's not a problem, chat." The tips of his ears went a little red at you calling him 'cat', but you continued. "The sofa’s comfy. I made sure when I was buying it just in case my, how did you put it, ‘booty call’ could be comfortable."

An extended quiet passed by before he nodded. "Alright."

"Alright."

You cleaned up together - he washed dishes, you dried them; he offered a piece of gossip about the people in his life, you returned one about an office affair you nearly got caught up in; he gasped in disbelief, you nodded solemnly; he caged you against the counter when you were done, you reciprocated his kiss sweetly, slowly.

He tasted of alcohol and dessert, mostly, then of mint after you brushed your teeth together and stole a final kiss. And your pillow.

"Bonne nuit." You whispered against his lips.

"Bonne nuit, amour."

To your credit, you managed to get incredibly cozy on the couch - spare duvet, blankets, pillows galore. You allowed yourself the luxury of imagining him lying in your bed, daydreaming about the way you’d look there with him. You then spent a good quarter of an hour debating with yourself whether joining him there would be uncomfortable for both of you or not.

Oh, god. Had he seen your stuffed animals? The thought nagged at you as you drifted off.

A click of a door roused you from sleep. You couldn’t really tell what time it was in the dark, but the room being so dark and the snow still falling heavily suggested it hasn't been more than… what? Two hours?

"Amour?" He whispered from the doorway. You hummed, acknowledging his presence, but not exactly comprehending it yet.

"Wha's up?" The only word your half-asleep mind could really think of to describe him then is cute - hair a little messy, shirt a little askew, sweatpant cuffs riding up a little on his legs.

He didn't answer, instead stealing one of the top-most blankets covering you. Before you could protest, he moved - sort of clumsily, which prompted a snickering laugh from you - to lay down on top of you. After he got comfy, you were pressed into the couch - his legs tangling with yours, his arms enclosing around your waist under your shirt, his head resting on your chest.

A more conscious you would probably hesitate a little, and a more conscious he probably wouldn't  have done what he did. Alas, tired people do stupid things, and you embraced him back quickly. You helped him cover himself in the stolen blanket, and your hands carded through his hair a little while neither of you were asleep yet.

"Thank you." You heard him whisper, and you made a little noise of agreement. 

"Didn't know if you'd want to sleep together."

"Hah, I thought you didn't want it, amour?"

"With you? Don't be ridiculous. If I had more confidence, I'd be throwing myself all over the opportunity." Your finger twirled a longer strand of hair, and you got to enjoy the way his fingers were mind-numbingly warm drawing patterns on your waist.

This was miles better than any sleep you could have gotten on your own.

NOTE: these fics keep getting shorter and shorter but i'm not lying when I say everything that could have possibly gone wrong while writing this went wrong. I'm truly shocked and appalled.

Rivals to lovers Max fic is hopefully still on the way - alas i got too ambitious with it and now it's looking like it's going to be the longest thing i've ever written. not yet sure if i should be excited or worried?

Liked this? Check out my masterlist!

[hearkenedsouls]

Bemused, she watched Benjamin's slow progress across the room for a moment before it dawned on her what he was doing. Unable to help herself, a quiet laugh escaped her which she quickly smothered with the palm of her hand.

"Yes," she agreed with Constance. "You can open your eyes Benjamin, I'm perfectly decent," she told him, with lingering amusement. In fact, with her hair freshly cleaned and pinned, she was arguably more decent than she had been for the last several hours.

"I need you to make sure I don't fall," she explained, reaching for his arm. "The doctor said I should rest my ankle, did he not? But I must stand for Constance to untie my dress, and I fear that balancing on one foot is not one of my many talents," she informed him, good-naturedly.

Gripping onto his arm, she stood patiently as Constance began to unlace her intricate bodice. It would be a relief to be out of the bloodied material: the attack was playing on her mind as it were, and she did not need the constant reminders each time she glanced down at her skirts.

"You can close your eyes again, Benjamin," she told him, as the material loosened on her shoulders and Constance carefully pulled her free. Thankfully, the blood hadn't seeped through to her shift and Constance was quick to dress her with a clean garment. Her hand gripped onto Benjamin more firmly, as the tugging of the laces caused the Queen to wobble slightly on her uninjured foot.

"Thank you," she told them both, once Constance was finished, and she returned to her chair. "We must not stay here long. I would like to make more progress on our journey before nightfall."

Despite the victory of being granted permission to stay, Benjamin wasn't allowed to bask in this. No, he quickly about-faced toward the wall, embarrassed at the talk of baths and hair-washing. It was true that he'd already witnessed a scandalous amount of Anne's long, haphazardly pinned locks, but to potentially see her entire head unpinned left him exceptionally rattled.

Behind him, he could hear Constance soothing her mistress with careful reassurances. She truly wasn't an unkind woman -- just fiercely overprotective. He couldn't begrudge her wanting to keep Anne safe.

Before long, the sound of sloshing water reached his ears, and Benjamin subconsciously straightened. The knowledge of the queen's present state was...well...he didn't dare picture such a thing, lest he become further upended, and when she beckoned to him, he initially assumed he'd misheard.

"Your Majesty?" he asked. With his hand upon his saber, he only turned his head slightly to the left.

"Benjamin, will you come here please?"

Ah. So he had heard her correctly. Proverbial alarm bells went off inside his head, yet he slowly, slowly, carefully turned so as not to behold anything untoward. Once he was fully facing the queen, he squeezed his eyes shut and started walking forward -- or rather, staggered while he searched with his palms uplifted. Refusing to open his eyes (what if he saw the queen in a delicate state?), Benjamin kept shuffling forward, only to give a strong curse once his shin collided harshly with a neighboring bedpost.

Constance clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. "Are you all right?" she asked.

Regardless of her query, Benjamin could tell by her tone that she was insincere, and wincing, he hopped up and down a moment to expel the pain, then awkwardly shuffled forward until he was, in fact, standing before the queen.

"Your Majesty?" he asked again. "What is it you need from me?"

"Open your eyes, for starters," Constance suggested. "You can't bloody well help if you're groping about like some ninny."

Benjamin knew she was right -- of course she was -- yet he refused to obey. Not until he heard it from Anne, herself.

[bibbykins]

jungkook.... whining... while oc rides his dick.... brain is shortcircuiting rn

I... I have no words for how this came out of me at the speed it did. This is kinda funny to put out when the next parts are gonna be pretty sad (not too sad ofc) but lmao nonetheless

So, Beg (M)

Words: 1.2k

Note: This is a drabble for The Household's Bunny Series

Pairing: Soft yandere! Jungkook x Chubby! Camgirl! Reader

Warnings: 18+, dom/sub dynamics, riding, whining, name-calling, flustered jk, cream pie, unprotected sex, degradation, praise, brat! reader, finger sucking

Jungkook knew many things about himself, arguably he knew even more about you. The most basic being you were a sub and he was a hard dom. There had never been any question about how well puppy dog eyes fit on your face as you begged for sweet release and the way a sadistic smile would curve onto his features as he ripped your request to shreds. He was cruel, dastardly, and evil. He was a cry baby brat's worst nightmare, your worst nightmare, and if you didn't know that by now, after this little show, you would be learning that lesson days after it ends.

"Fuck." He grit out as he threw his head back.

If only he could focus on how sorry you would be among the base need to empty himself within you as you swirled your hips slowly.

You clicked your tongue, "Kook, that's a bad word." You stated matter-of-factly, "I told you to say nice words if you want to be rewarded." You clenched around him but ceased movement when he tried to push his hips up, a difficult task considering how his limbs were tied to his bedposts as you had been countless times before.

He let out a breathy laugh, "You're just so soft and tight, bunny." He resisted the urge to tell you all about how screwed you were. He did agree to let you take control, figuring you would hardly know what to do. Had he known Taehyung had given you tips beforehand, he would've never agreed to this torture, "C'mon, baby, be nice to me." He did his best not to make it sound like a command but the pressure in his dick as it pulsed inside you did him no favors.

You rolled your eyes at his poor attempt to get mercy. Flattery was the oldest trick in the book, and one you had mastered, so he would have to try much harder. You looked down at the idol before you and fought the urge to sigh dreamily, "You're so pretty, Koo." You mused, hands rubbing over his defined abs and slowly making your way up his chest, "I never knew you would look this cute all needy and desperate." You could see his face flush even more as you rolled your hips against him slowly. Letting out a shaky breath you continued, "Don't you think you're a cutie?"

His eyes rolled back as you leaned down, breasts pressing against him, while your mouth hovered over his, "Baby." He tried to warn you but only received a light kiss.

"Say you're a cutie." You ordered, "And maybe I'll move some more, hm?"

Jungkook was no stranger to praise, and he knew he was attractive. His physical appearance had rarely been an issue to him, but with the way you looked down on him, he couldn't help but hesitate, "That's ridiculous-"

"Bad." You giggled against his ear before your lips found purchase on his neck, sucking harshly and enjoying the groan you ripped from him, "Tell me you're a cutie."

Jungkook found himself weak when it came to your affection and had no choice but to surrender, at least a little.

He sighed, "I'm a cutie, now just-" The words died on his tongue as you sat up and pulled yourself from him before sinking back down. He swore nirvana was on the horizon as you swiveled your hips.

"So hard for me." You gasped out, nails pressing into his stomach. Fuck, he loved when you marked him up, "Feels good." You moaned with a small giggle.

He nodded, his release gaining on him after what felt like hours of this torment, "It does, so sweet and tight-"

You couldn't fight your smile much longer as you stopped moving again. The disgruntled noise that left Jungkook’s lips only drew out your laughter, "So beg for it." You challenged, leaning down to look him in the eyes, "Beg me to ride you till you cum." The flare of dormant dominance in his eyes made you clench around him. You were sure if you hadn't reinforced the silk ties, he would've broken out ages ago.

"Bunny." He grit out, definitely warning you but the brokenness of his tone while your walls fluttered around his cock made it significantly less intimidating.

Unable to hold back much more, you captured his lips in a messy kiss. Your hands cupped his face as his tongue tangled with yours, "Beg, and I'll ride you till we both cum." You offered and he groaned, "Misbehave, and I ride you till I cum and have you use your hand to finish." You pouted, bouncing a little, chipping away at his sanity.

"You can't be serious-" He groaned when a hand of yours reached down to rub your clit in slow circles, but he could feel you clench around him in pleasure.

You grabbed his face with one hand, fingers slightly squishing into his cheek. Your grip was much more gentle than his, but it surprised him nonetheless, "Now, now, be good." You trailed your fingers that had previously been on your clit to his mouth, "Think about it." You whispered as he took your fingers in his mouth, licking messily to taste you as much as he could, "You wanna cum inside me? Fill me up nice and full? Make me your pretty little bitch?" The profanity only made his eyes roll back as he lathed his tongue over your digits and nodded. You ripped your fingers from his mouth and a whine bubbled in his throat, making you smile that beautiful smile he loved so dearly, "So beg me, sweetheart."

He was losing patience and control, "Please, bunny, ride me." He muttered.

"What was that, pet?" You provoked a glare from him with a sly smile.

"I need to fill you up, my pretty bunny." He rasped as you began moving slowly, "Please, I need you." The whine in his voice pushed your hips at a quicker pace that made him throw his head back against the pillow and moan.

"Sound so pretty for me." You cooed with a shaky voice as you found your high approaching way quicker than you expected, your sex feeling the effects of teasing Jungkook as long as you did, "I'm not gonna last long." There was a breathless chuckle in your voice that made his heart melt.

"Cum for me, baby." He groaned, "Fuck, I want you to cum nice and pretty for me and I'll fill you up." He wanted so badly to thrust his hips up and make you fall apart but as your nails dug into his skin while you cried out his name, he couldn't help the gratification of having the girl he admired ride him so desperately.

Seeing this needy and sweet Jungkook was more than enough to send you over the edge as you called his name with a scream while you fell apart. It didn't take long for him to follow you into the depths of desire.

Minutes later, you've untied him and collapsed on top of him with heaving breaths, "You know when I catch my breath, you're gonna get it, right?" He breathed and you looked up at him tiredly with a pout.

"Do you know how hard it was trying to control you?" You accused, "Cut me some slack."

He chuckled and it was one of your favorite songs, "Imagine how I feel with how much of a brat you are."

You gasped in fake offense and went to smack his chest but he grabbed your hand and used the leverage to flip you both over and capture you in a deep kiss. His stamina was really no joke.

Tip Jar

[msookyspooky]

Love your work, could you write something about Severen where (and this might be a little dark and I completely understand if you're not comfortable writing it) him and his S/0 purposely lure in guys who are predatory to his gf and then slaughter them? (Kind of like when Jesse murders the two car jackers that threaten Diamondback)

This ain't dark to me bc this is exactly what I would do as a vampire. Just drain predatory men looking to take advantage of a girl walking alone at night. Hell, modern vampire me; I would go after pedos online too to meet up with and be guilt free...I like junk food I guess.

Hope you don't mind me twisting this a bit and adding some spice bc we know Severen. 😏

Severen with a S/O that lures victim's

It was easy food. A young, innocent looking, pretty thing like you wandering down dark alley ways and down old back roads at night. Severen never had an issue with getting victims but you made it so easy; you both were fed early every night. What used to be him waiting a few hours for blood by hitchhiking or causing trouble in a shithole bar turned into only an hour or two after dark to feed and the rest of the night to yourselves. However...The victims always made his blood boil unlike anything he experienced in his 150+ years of life.

You always attracted pieces of shit that had one thing in mind. Always trying to grab you, grope you, kiss you, shove you against a wall and take what they wanted. Human you would be terrified... But now? You could easily snap any mans neck that went too far. It didn't faze you. If anything, it made the transition from human to vampire so much easier. Getting blood from draining the life of horrible people that arguably won't be missed.

You both usually tag teamed. He'd wait in an alleyway you had to lead the guy to. Or you'd hitchike, drag on the conversation and have Sev slip into the back of the truck or shoot the driver while he was distracted. It was bonding as you both laughed and got a kick out of initiating fear into people that who knows how many victims they had done the same to. Those nights of tag teaming were the most common and fun.

But sometimes you had to do most of the work to get them alone. Sometimes the chase and lure game dragged on too long for your boyfriend/mates liking. Severen would watch from the shadows as you danced with the victim in the bar, held their hand and flirted with them, whispered sweet nothings before leading them to a secluded area to feed.

Severen was a confident man that trusted you completely. He wouldn't be with anyone if that wasn't the case. However, your senses could still feel Severen nearby seething if the man got too disrespectful with you. You were his and how dare anyone put their hands on you. You shivered at the rage you would feel radiating from him whenever a guy grabbed your ass and you had to go along with it. The glare he'd have on his face as he finally revealed himself to make the kill was intense.

He'd take out his anger on the poor piece of shit that tried to touch you. "You think you can touch whatever ya want? Huh buddy?" He'd have on a smirk and that crazy look in his eyes as he gave them a painful death. Slow, torturous and showing just what he can do if he's enraged enough.

Most of the time it was just pure rage if they tried taking advantage of you but whenever you had to flirt to lure them; it always made him just a little territorial.

He wouldn't hesitate to grab you by the back of your head and lean into you. Pressing his bloody mouth to yours with a growl in the back of his throat. Eyes hooded and almost glaring at you even if his body was pressing into you.

"...Ya sure did take your good ol sweet time getting this sack of monkey shit out here. Did you have to let him grab your ass?" He'd grumble, hands pressing you as close as possible into him. Purposely putting his hand over what that man did. You couldn't help the coy smile as you breathlessly asked, "Jealous Sev?" It always earned him shoving you a against the nearest wall or picking you up while gazing into your eyes hungrily. "Maybe I am... I just ain't too eager on anyone touching you but me. You're mine, darlin'."

Making him a bit jealous with a victim was foreplay for the night to come if nothing else. Even if he knew you would never get with such lowdown scumbags...It still made him bristle the longer it drew out. You may or may not do it on purpose once in a while.

Sometimes if a man was too aggressive it pissed YOU off enough to make the kill yourself without his help. He'd always smirk and watch with satisfaction at the terror you inflicted. Those kisses were different. Attentive, running his thumb along your cheeks as he cupped your face, gazing down at you and softly asking "You alright, honey?" Physically he knew you were. It was mental and emotional damage he was concerned with. He'd sweetly kiss your forehead and ease his way down to your lips if you nodded. If you shook your head and it was more traumatic than you intended, he'd wrap you in his arms and promise to make the next few kills till you felt better.

[aquilaofarkham]

title: the little death rating: T+ word count: 2,409 summary: Two years after his fight with Death, Trevor’s injuries start catching up to him while Alucard realizes that humans are more fragile than he thought. 

For @trevorsmellmont ❤️  Thank you so much for commissioning me!

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There’s a sharp pain pooling beneath his right arm, coursing through his ribcage. Trevor ignores it just as he’s ignored all the other aches, jabs, and stings over the past two years. Two years of building something better, something sustainable to last far longer than its young, admittedly green founders. Countless days, weeks, and months erecting homes, gardens, and pens for those dumb gentle animals who think the entire townscape is their personal pasture. Not another mistake of allowing them to wander aimlessly straight into the castle. As if heifers need to learn how to craft medicine or conduct what’s being referred to as “electricity”.

The work will never be finished. Even on days like this when the sun burns hotter than any circle in hell. A few drops of warm salt-ridden sweat crawl past Trevor’s pressed lips and into his dry mouth. Pain and thick heat were never enough to stop him before—he tells himself this, barely certain of his own supportive thoughts (a new concept taking root in his mind). Take it slow, don’t push yourself, idiot. This cabin made from the earth will get built eventually. Another family will receive their forever home to fill with lots of babies. Old wounds beg to differ as Trevor’s arms begin to weaken, each movement slower than the last, struggling to keep up with Greta’s superior pace. She’s always known her way around a mallet.

Another bead of sweat gets caught in Trevor’s lashes, sparing his eyes from temporary discomfort. Though it wouldn’t have mattered as they’re already past any sort of respite. He looks for distraction but can only see the blurred shapes coming from a huddle of bodies, despite being a short distance from them. He knows it’s only Sypha and Alucard with the village children, which gives Trevor some relief.

There’s more comfort to be felt when he remembers that one of those little monsters is his own, nestled in Sypha’s lap then placed in Alucard’s gentle arms. She has a name far too long for any toddler to pronounce—Elizabeta Belnades Tepes Belmont—so what rolls off her developing tongue instead is simply “Liza”. She’s innocent now but once she leaves this little man-made paradise and ventures into a harsher world, she will take more after her mother and father. Grabbing whatever life offers with both fists, clawing and biting her way through every obstacle until her teeth are reddened with bloody meat. For the time being, they relish Liza’s soft cheeks, wispy hair, and the way she throws herself at whichever adult happens to be in her nearest vicinity. The other children are helping her socialize by playing games and embracing frivolity; a tactic Trevor remembers from his own upbringing, though with less games and even less frivolity. 

“Think you can handle one or two more?”

Greta’s voice manages to cut through Trevor’s mental fog. Funny how she asks if he can “think” about anything especially at this suffocating moment. She must have noticed the way his lips curl into a happy doped up grin while observing his family and couldn’t help but inquire. As any close, loved and valued friend would.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“What’s wrong with looking a bit further into the future? Now that we all have one.” 

“Looking is one thing, but seriously suggesting is something else completely. My… performance in certain areas isn’t as up to snuff as it used to be.”

As Trevor says this, things deteriorate and get a bit fuzzier from his eyesight down to his chest. Out of focus. Painful. He keeps talking, keeps ignoring the inevitable. Always ignoring what his own body screams for.

Greta wrinkles her nose at his statement. “There are children present, Belmont.”

“What? I’m referring to the house. I barely managed to get one wall up while you’re already on the fucking roof.”

“So dramatic. You three really do deserve each other. And you’re still young.”

“On the outside, maybe.”

She laughs at his lie, misinterpreting it as another piece of mild self-deprecatory banter he might never be able to live without. Greta says something else, perhaps her own personal jest to counter his, but Trevor cannot hear. Breath grows heavier, forcing out a raspy “it’s fine. It’s just my chest”. Barely able to tell if Greta actually said anything about his sudden condition. Or rather, not so sudden. No, this has been building over quite some time now. His muscles and bones screaming, begging for relief or death, and end to everything—whichever comes first. Feelings that only worsened over the years.

Trevor loses control over his legs, now practically boneless. The collision between his head and the ground is nothing compared to the inner war over his heart. Whether it will finally succumb. Greta immediately calls for help—he thinks without confidence, once again. Trevor can still hear voices, but not their exact words. Not Sypha when she demands to know what happened. Not Alucard when he begs for him to stay conscious. Not even Liza as she cries for her papa.

Then all the chaos in the world fades into slow darkness.

--

Alucard stands outside the closed bedchamber door, contemplating how often he’s touched Trevor’s body. Lithe fingertips have memorized every crevice, scar, soft and rough spots alike. Not just as a lover with wandering hands underneath blankets in the dead of night. Or a friend who holds him steady on both feet when he needs it. But as this family’s self-appointed physician. 

Perhaps the prince of two worlds took after his father after all. “Polymath” is what Alucard used to describe Dracula and the very same word others have referred to him as, mostly in the realm of medicine. He knows more than anyone, little offence given towards the herb dispensers and leech farmers (only to be polite for his own townsfolk). Thus, through the anxieties and trembling hands, Alucard gave Trevor his diagnosis: heat exhaustion along with a muscle somewhere in his chest that decided to go rogue and strain itself.

The son of Tepes, the only local doctor worth trusting, and arguably the co-leader of their little prospering hamlet paces across the hall like Trevor did the day Liza was born. He’s on the other side of that closed door, resting. Bedridden from heat exhaustion and a fucking pulled muscle. It bothers Alucard. This shouldn’t have happened to someone who stood up to the personification of Death and pissed in his eye. A stupidly common and easily treatable inconvenience to the human body shouldn’t be the end of a fucking Belmont.

It shouldn’t—unless Trevor’s scars have anything to say about it. The ones on the inside and outside. Inside, unseen, and untreatable. There’s a harsh revelation to be found there; one which the prince has been purposefully avoiding up to this moment. Alucard can try as he wants, use the tools left behind by his father and mother as though it were their final death wish, but he might never tend to what pains Trevor on the inside. He’s a Belmont, undeniably so, but Belmonts are human despite the many recurring signs pointing to the contrary. Then there’s Sypha with her magic, but she’s human as well. Greta and Liza are still human. Humans are more susceptible to dying easy, little deaths even when they follow world-saving victories.

Where does this leave Alucard? Thoughts spiral down, down towards darker places the longer he nervously hovers outside the bedroom. He’s been known to awkwardly stumble into deflection, insisting he’s only half human whenever certain someones bring up this topic of necessary conversation. Meaning he might as well not be human at all. Not when the bodies of those he loves change so rapidly while his remains petrified. It’s only been two years, filled to the brim with countless hours he wouldn’t ever want to trade for the entire world. But the thought of one night as they nestle themselves into bed and Alucard touches either Trevor or Sypha’s chest only to feel an anomaly within their hearts. The earliest sign that time and age will eventually betray them as it does for all mortals—it could be the one thing to break him.

Alucard stops himself at the opportune moment, right before he starts thinking about his mother and father. Did Dracula ever contemplate Lisa’s mortality? Was the decision to never turn her easy or the hardest thing he forced upon his unstable, immortal conscience? Arms crossed over his chest like a protective cage, fingernails digging into the fabric of his shirt until it hurts, Alucard swallows a bitter glob of spit and reaches for the doorknob. Sypha will have to accept the fact that he couldn’t wait for her. He quietly thanks her for the lessons she taught him. If he needs to talk about something—truly talk, no sarcastic wit or banter, just the raw emotions—Alucard no longer hesitates. He won’t, not as he enters the room and immediately sees Trevor still in bed, not quite altogether there. At least he can manage a decent smile and wave of his hand.

“Evening.”

“How does your chest feel?”

“Still a bit tight, but I’ve been taking deep breaths like the doctor ordered.”

The amount of strain heard in Trevor’s voice worries Alucard. Hopefully the Belmont has learned something from the recent past, so he won’t be stupid and suggest anything having to do with leaving bed or getting back to work.

 “I think I should get up.”

“I think that’s a poor decision.”

“Are you saying that as my physician or because you’re letting that pretty little blonde head of yours get too worked up?”

No. Yes. Both? If only Trevor didn’t look up at him with those glassy eyes (can he still see him?) the colour of stained glass windows erected in cathedrals he felt so unwelcome inside. If only that smile, somehow both soft and shit-eating, wasn’t in place of a more serious expression. Then maybe Alucard could voice his concerns without being accused of acting overbearing—an accusation grounded in solid evidence but he’s not ready to admit that yet. Not out loud.

“Normal, healthy adults do not become bedridden after pulling a small muscle in their chest.”

“Belmonts aren’t normal… or healthy in my case.”

Alucard’s brow furrows. “I want to think you’re healthy—” I need to. “—that you’ll live long enough to see the children of this village have little ones of their own. Liza included.”

“God’s sake, she’s only two years old. You and Greta, always talking about looking one step too far into the future. Let her be a child before adulthood rears its ugly maw.”

“Try not to change the subject.”

Trevor lifts his head off the indent pressed into his sweat drenched pillow. “Alright. Fine. I feel much better. I won’t push myself and give my heart some more time to recover.”

No response coupled with broken eye contact; sure signs of Alucard’s reluctance to accept his rather weak assurance. The Belmont has no other choice.

“Come here. Sit.”

Another moment’s hesitation before Alucard complies. Feeling his weight upon the mattress, Trevor blindly reaches for his wrist until calloused fingers grip cool, unblemished skin.

“Now lie down. No, no. Not like that. Place your head right here.” He pats his chest and with a fleeting amount of guidance, Alucard’s cheek fits perfectly between his breasts. Two hands smooth over the dhampir’s curves before one before one rests on his silk smooth head and the other against the small of his back. Alucard lied about one thing: his own body can change in small yet noticeable ways. Without the need to fight for the lives of others, whether today or tomorrow, sharp edges turn softer. Trevor and Sypha have finally let themselves breathe as well, let go, and enjoy all of life’s pleasures.

“Hear that?” He asks Alucard.

“... It’s slow.”

“Slow and strong like it should be.”

Alucard wishes he could bottle up that heartbeat or place it in a box. Preferably a music box to listen to its soothing melody long after its original body and soul are both eventually gone from this world. Who knows? It might make things hurt a little bit less like when he redrew his parent’s portrait or built a much larger nursery where his own used to be. Not a lot, but Alucard could possibly live with just “a little”.

“Speaking of Greta…” The baritone of Trevor’s voice sends deep vibrations through his broad chest, tickling Alucard’s cheek. “She said something about more children.”

“More orphans joining us?”

“No, even though I know how much you love those damn orphans. She asked if we could handle one or two more.”

“What did you say?”

“I implied that she was taking after Sypha’s influence by being wonderfully insane.”

Alucard chuckles in agreement. That sounds like Greta. “You never know. It might be good for Liza if she has a younger sibling.”

With the sound of Sypha’s well timed arrival, he’s mercifully saved from Trevor’s lengthy speech about how patience is apparently a virtue and tirades about his “performance” or lack thereof. Greta reveals herself shortly afterwards with a still crying Liza in tow. So many bodies gathered around one inebriated individual, here for him and him alone. Trevor’s consoled yet exasperated expression directed at Greta in particular says “isn’t there someone more important you could be helping right now?”

Sypha is the first to voice her gratitude after fussing over her exhausting loved one. “I will never be able to thank you enough, Alucard.”

“I think the bed did most of the heavy lifting, love.”

Trevor is given an affectionate, somewhat caring glare in response but his focus is demanded elsewhere once he suddenly notices Liza jumping onto the bed. She snuggles herself between him and Alucard, wetting their shirts with her tears.

“Easy there, you little monster. Papa’s still a bit tender.” Not that she can understand or care.

There’s an aura of relief felt amongst everyone in the room—less with Alucard who smiles bittersweetly. It’s a truth he knew he had to acknowledge before it tore his heart open. Trevor and Sypha will die one day and he will have to bury them. He’ll bury Greta, he might even bury Liza. Not today thank all the gods, or tomorrow, not for the next few decades if fate is kind enough. 

But the day will come. And it will be Alucard’s own little death.

[missinghan]

falling for the first time ⤖ bang chan

❖ genre : hogwarts au; fluff

❖ word count : 2,1k.

❖ warning : explicit language

❖ summary : your plan of putting all effort into avoiding bang chan as much as possible has been going smoothly for almost seven years until he asks you for a dance at the Yule Ball. or alternatively, your families hate each other but wait...has he always had those golden flecks in his eyes?

❖ author’s note : here’s the song they’re dancing to 🖤

one.

The once cold ballroom has waited for eons it seems, for a real heart to beat a new rhythm into the matter that made it. 

Meanwhile, you too have been waiting (for two-ish hours) in the corner with your cup of root beer abandoned at a table for your dance partner. You’re currently half-clutching your dress and half-panicking because Chan wouldn’t miss an event as extravagant as the Yule Ball. He’s not the type to be sour over little things either just because he didn’t win the Triwizard Tournament. Or perhaps someone else just happened to ask him? 

A blood-curdling shriek bursts your eardrums. 

Jeongin gives you a nudge with his elbow from behind. “Grilled scream-cheese?” he asks with a mouthful of gluten and carbs, a plate of a sandwich with a (literally) screaming slice of cheese slapped in the middle. 

“No, my appetite is ruined,” you say, pushing it away slightly and heaving an audible sigh. 

The Ravenclaw boy makes an alarming noise—something similar to ‘uh-oh’ and swallows the big bite from before as fast as he can. “Where’s Chan?”

You only shrug, “Don’t know. Don’t care.” If only you could do that with the train of thoughts that have been going in and out of your ears for the past a hundred and twenty minutes. 

“Y/N, you look troubled,” he purses his lips, frowning at you. 

“I’m not,” you voice in denial, trying your best not to come off as snappy. No, you will not give up your facade that easily. You won’t leave Chan’s ego nor Jeongin to rest without a fight by saying that you actually want to dance with the heathen!

“Yeah right, let me-“

“Don’t. What if he’s already asked someone else?” You momentarily shudder at how sad you sound. The root beer shouldn’t have hit you this hard. “I mean look at him, he’s Bang Chan. I’m pretty sure those girls from Beauxbatons have been eyeing him up and down since the Tournament.” 

Jeongin lets out a huff of laughter in disbelief. “Are you even hearing yourself right now?”

“One of you guys could have asked me. Or I should have paid Jisung to be my partner yesterday. I just, I don’t know, what am I saying? I’m confused.”

Your friend is officially done with your bullshit so he decides for himself that he will now set down his food to make your first and last Yule Ball arguably unforgettable. “Honestly? I can lie and say I would dance with you if you weren’t so full of pride. But truth is, none of us asked you to dance because we all know how badly Chan wants this opportunity. Wake the fuck up! He’s been planning this since forever. I’ll go look for him, wait here,” he points a finger at you before running off, leaving your heartbeat pause awkwardly like a broken record. 

The ballroom feels significantly colder now. 

“Miss Y/N?”

Ah, perfect timing. What’s another way to phrase ‘being an absolute idiot at a ball’? Oh right, it’s ‘talking to your professor five minutes before the first dance while your friends are socializing left and right’. 

“Yes, Headmistress McGonagall?”

Your professor peers around when she realizes that you’re all alone. “Are you and Mister Bang ready?”

“R-ready?” Suddenly, you feel out of place. 

“Well, of course. It’s only traditional that the three champions start the first dance!”

“Oh.”

two. 

Only the celestial bodies above can know how melancholy you are. But you’re met with a sky without stars tonight. 

With your head on your elbows, lips pressed into a straight line, your gaze falls from the endless canvas of darkness to the hustle and bustle of students leaving the Great Hall to head back to their designated dormitories. A sigh. You definitely don’t need to know what they’re going to do for the after-party. Ryujin used to show you an article on this peculiar machine called ‘a laptop’ that the more you sigh, the faster you age. If Chan keeps doing shit like this to you, you’re gonna be all old and wrinkly by the time he comes here. 

If he is going to show up at all that is. 

The moment you peel your eyes away from the overcrowded main gate, a broad figure is shuffling himself through his drunk Quidditch teammates, sloppy couples, and burnt out professors. He dashes through the empty hallways to reach the spiral staircase, skipping three steps at a time, risking the chances of falling on his face just to get to you. 

Pulling himself to a halt at the last step, Chan sees you all curled up against the balcony railings and feels a pang of guilt wash over his innards like a wave. You’re pulling your legs toward your chest, defeated eyes gazing into the space ahead while your hair falls to your face messily. Like you’ve gone through the depths of the Fourth Dimension, struggling through dark matters and a rite of divinity at the end of the line. All for him. 

You’re beautiful. 

And the amount of affection that’s piling upon his rib cage? Astronomical. 

Your gaze is averted away; even with a slight scowl, sloppy clothes and messed up hair, you still flare radiance. He thinks that if a meteor shower is happening right now, you can still outshine it. “You came,” you mention. 

For once, Chan finds himself at a loss for words. “Y-Yeah,” he manages to swallow. Yeah? What the fuck, Chan? Is that all you’ve got to say? 

“I-I’m sorry, Y/N. Yeji accidentally mistook one of Minho’s potions for her allergy medicine so I gotta take care of that before coming,” he scratches his forearm awkwardly, head hung low with guilt. “I didn’t know it would take that long…”

“Oh.” Wow, jealous stinks. This isn’t pre-school, you’d better snap out of it. “Let’s head back. I wanna check on her before passing out.” 

“She’s fine now, sleeps like death. Chaeryeong is there too, you know, just in case.” Chan feels perplexed as he tries to coax anything but the ‘head back’ option from you. 

You tilt your head. “And...?”

“I’m afraid you owe me something?” A slow smile begins to outstretch upon his facial muscles, deepening the dimples on either side of his cheeks that you adore the most. “A dance, I believe,” he makes a thinking face while striding toward you. 

Coldly, you stand up to dust your dress. “I don’t want to.” You’re not having it, he can tell. But does Bang Chan ever give up? 

“A bet is a bet, Y/N.”

Chan’s hand fishes inside the pocket of his trench coat to take out his wand. His hand delicately gives it a swift flick; once, and twice followed by a low mumble from his lips. Immediately, light pulses from the tip of the wand before shooting upward, disintegrating into a million bits as though a starry night is embracing the both of you. He does the same action again to cast a different spell. Music laces through every fiber of air without effort, like honey being poured into your ears. 

“It’s just one bet,” he pouts with a hand fully extended toward you. 

You should have realized how good Chan looks tonight. A black dress shirt that’s buttoned below appropriate, matching trench coat, silver accessories lining his fingers and ears with naturally tousled hair from running here. He looks so gorgeous that it almost suffocates you, that it almost makes you want to hiss ‘fucking unfair’ out loud. 

Enchanted by his poise and grace, your body reacts without the consent of your mind. You seize up when you unknowingly place your hand on top of his, the touch sending electricity down your spine. A simple response has become all too complicated for your brain to process. 

You grow breathless the moment he grabs you by the waist and pulls you flush against him. “Yeah, a bet so you’ll leave me alone,” you remark sarcastically to ease your nerves. 

“Look, it’s not my fault that the Goblet of Fire chose me to participate in the Tournament,” Chan chuckles lowly, eyes crinkling into crescent moon shapes while he sways you to the soft melody. Dots of light continue to float around weightlessly, reflecting the golden flecks in his eyes. He’s ethereal in the worst way—the way that isn’t healthy for your heart. 

But you soon slap on another scowl when you realize he just reminded you of why you’re even here in the first place. If only you weren’t so salty about Slytherin winning your team over at the final Quidditch match before the holiday occurs. Let’s just say you weren’t exactly in the best mind state after getting your ass kicked in your favorite sport. 

And Chan wasted no time to slip in between the line of comical humor and your ultimate torment. Which results in—if you get to attend the Triwizard Tournament, he will leave you alone for the rest of your life; but if he is the chosen one, he gets a dance with you at the Yule Ball. 

It’s really not all that bad if you think twice about it. Dancing with Bang Chan, the Slytherin’s Quidditch team captain, the student with perfect academics and conduct for six years straight, and now one of the Triwizard Tournament champions this year. 

Music threads through the atmosphere and lifts away gravity. You can’t count how many times you have stepped on his toes due to nervousness because you’re too much of a coward to look him in the eye. But he’s the only thing you can seem to focus on right now. 

“Besides, don’t you think this is a good opportunity to get rid of the tension between us?” Chan asks honestly, and this causes you to perk up. 

“What?”

Lights are twinkling with every step as Chan spins you around gently, your dress billowing out prettily as your heels click against the cold concrete. After that, he swiftly pulls you back into his arms and you exhale in relief like you were meant to be there all this time. 

“Don’t act dumb, you’re terrible at it. I know the only reason why you’ve been avoiding me since first year was because of our families’ stupid grudge. ”

Your eyes are cast downward, sadness glinting in your round pupils. “Either way, my parents wouldn’t like to see me talking to you. And look at what we’re doing. It’s going to be catastrophic if they find out.”

“Well, they can’t just magically appear now, can they?” Chan leans a little closer to lock his eyes with yours. 

And you break it seconds later because you’re an absolute coward for a Gryffindor. “We’re attending a magic school. Anything is possible.”

“Did they even tell you what the actual problem was in the first place?” he huffs out in faint annoyance. 

You shake your head. “I don’t think they’d even remember.”

“Then would you stop giving me that look as if I just shooed your owl way every time I said ‘hi’ on my way to class? Have you ever thought about my feelings? About us being civil for once? Like friends? Or even more so?”

“I-“ 

“We’re not our parents, Y/N.”

Your heart becomes all erratic at his words. It’s nothing like those fully-fledged, tear-jerking nor cheesyass confessions that you’ve gawked at one too many times, but it makes your heart flutter and stirs up those cliché butterflies inside your stomach. This can’t be compared to the Yule Ball—it’s even better than that. Because it feels as though you and Chan are the only presences that graze the surface of this land. There’s no one to judge, no fingers to point, no gossip spreading like wildfire. 

It’s perfect. Almost. 

“Us...it’s not- it can’t happen. It’s not supposed to happen. It’s not possible, Chan.”

Wordlessly, he stops, moves both of your hands to his shoulders, and wraps his arms around your torso. The sound of your heartbeat against his is so in sync they just drown out the music completely. Time is frozen in place, leaving you to hang on the edge with him, hanging onto this single moment as thin as the red string of fate. You’re waiting for him to do something, say something. 

Just then, Chan cracks a wry smile and pulls you closer by the nape of your neck, resting his forehead comfortably on yours. “We’re attending a magic school. Anything is possible.”

[cheeky-kookie]

Overruled | KTH

Taehyung/Reader | Angst, Slow Burn, Royal!AU | Prince!Taehyung x Princess!Reader

Word Count: 12.4K

Summary: You always knew that you were viewed nothing more than an asset when it came to the heart of men. The luxury of meeting someone who saw you for you almost didn’t exist. It just took your whole life being ripped apart to find yourself lucky enough to come across one.

Warnings: Language | Violence | Blood | Imprisonment | Mentions of Death | Non-Main-Character Deaths | Taehyung Risking It For The Biscuit |

AN: This took me forever but thank you guys for sticking with me and waiting for it! I have so many ideas and just not enough time! Keep your eye out for the others I have coming.

Tonight, like many other nights, you sat at the main area with your father. Your eyes wandered the crowd gracing the ball floor. It was a mess of gowns and bodies spinning and turning to the time of the music. It was the same thing every time one of these was hosted. You watched as the nobles enjoyed themselves and drank until there was no care left for them in this world.

If you looked closer within the mass of fabric swirling in front of you, you can see the smiling faces of the ladies as they were enthralled with the idea that the handsome men spinning them on the floor wanted to dance with them. Every one of the couples synchronized with not only the music but with the others as well. All weaving around each other with ease.

This event, like the others, was only for the nobles and other royalties to butter up to your father and win his good graces. They wanted that slim chance to marry you, for that matter. If they win you, they win the crown and unite their kingdom with yours.

Your eyes landed on a man, whom you recognized as one for the princes from the neighboring kingdom. You had only met him once before in passing, but you had to be good with faces. He was making his way through the crowd of people, in the direction of where you sat. Once in front of you, he bowed to both you and your father.

“May I ask the fine lady to dance?” He asked, offering his hand out to you, though you weren’t entirely sure if he was asking you or your father.

A curt nod from your father made your decision for you. You stood, returning his bow with your own, “I would be honored.”

Taking his hand with your own, he led the way onto the floor. Turning you in his direction, he placed his other hand on your waist. Soon, both of you were in sync with the others letting the music guide your movements.

In the many years you had been alive and the many dances you had to endure, you realized no one liked to actually talk. You were nothing to these men who ask for your hand and drag you around the floor. To them, you were a transaction. You were just one step of a bigger picture. Nothing more than an item looking to be sold to the highest bidder.

You didn’t blame your father. He didn’t like doing this to you. It was just how it had to be.  

So, you stayed quiet keeping his eye contact as he led you around the floor. You felt many eyes on you as you two spun throughout the crowd, not needing to look to confirm whether they were really. Your movement was always watched whether it be from your people or the lady-in-waiting who does your bidding whenever you call. You held the smile on your face so the eyes watching would think you were having a wonderful time, and maybe if you smiled enough you could will the idea into existence.

Oh, how you wished it were willed into existence.

A large bang was heard loud enough to be heard over the sound of music and the chatter of socializing. You stumbled as the man directing you halted with no warning. The music slowly dwindled to nothing as each person playing grew curious of the sound. The sound of people talking and whispering amplified by the newfound silence.

Another loud bang.

This time, you felt your heart rate raise a little as you watched as your father motioned to a knight near him and spoke to him as few knights slipped out of the many doors in the room. The man next to you seeming more alert than before though you were more preoccupied with the look in your father’s eyes. He looked put together but his eyes held the one thing you never thought you’d see in them. Fear.

A third one.

With the sound of that one, the room fell into chaos. The doors flung open, splinters and chunks of wood scattering into the air from the brute force of the entry. Unknown figures entered through the destruction armed and ready to attack any and all.

You watched as the men that were attending the ball unsheathed their weapons and jumped into the mess of intruders to help the many knights who have been overwhelmed. The man whom you had been dancing with had left you alone amongst the scared guests.

The whole room was filled with the clanking of metal and yelling, but it was drowned out by the sound of your heartbeat as your adrenaline took over. You realized you were in the open and maneuvered your way toward one of the many columns scatter throughout the room. Once behind it and in cover, you let out a shaky breath you had no idea you had been holding.

You peaked around the pillar; your eyes scanned the room for your father. You noticed him on his feet, fighting against some man who you assumed had entered with the intruders. Deciding to try to make it to him, you searched the rest of the room.

Your eyes only met destruction and bodies; some being the enemy and some your own people. Your eyes even found the image of a small child crying into the chest of his mother who laid on the floor covered in her own blood and unmoving. You leaned your head back against the pillar trying to erase the image to no avail.

With an uneasy breath, you started to head toward your father. You eyed the hand of a dead body as you moved through the chaos, grabbing the dagger from his lifeless fingertips. Once in hand you grasped the hilt, not noticing your knuckles turning a shade of white from the amount of force you gripped it with.

You took a step backwards to avoid a scuffle that was coming from your left, causing you to trip over some debris. You kicked yourself back against the wall as you tried to avoid being the next person lying on the ground in a pool of their own blood. The knight fought against the other man, neither aware you were even there.

You stood back up looking for your father once again. You found him mid fight with the same intruder as before. Closer now, he noticed you were still in the room. He locked eyes with you, which seemed to be all the distraction the other man needed. The blade was shoved dead in the middle of the king’s chest and his eyes grew wide and he grasped at the sword. Once out of his chest, your father fell to his knees and then to the ground.

Your whole world shifted as you felt the sting of tears threatening to blur your vision. Amongst the terrified screams and fighting, your own gut-wrenching scream could barely be heard. Instead of falling to your own knees like you wished you could, you fought against the feeling of your lungs collapsing as you gasped for air; having it knocked out of you from the metaphorical blow.

You started to make your way toward his body when multiple of the heavily armor-clad trespassers noticed you. You couldn’t hear what the one yelled over your still coursing heartbreak, but they started moving in on you. That’s when you took one final look at your father and ran.

You hopped over the heaps of bodies that now scattered the room and ran out one of the broken doors, barely avoiding the swing of a blade that ran astray from a battle you pasted by. Once out of the main room, you found the fight was still going on in the halls as well.

You desperately looked for a way to escape. Deciding the left was arguably safer, you hurried down the corridor. You rounded the corner, knowing there was a passage a few halls further that exited out into the garden where you could hopefully find shelter. You felt two hands grab you and you weren’t entirely sure if he had come from in front of you or behind. Pinned to the wall, you tried fighting him off. You shook your arm free and, with dagger still in hand, you thrusted it between his helmet and chest plate. His eyes grew wide as he released you, choking on his own blood.

You stood frozen, eyes looking between the man now on the floor gasping for air and your own hand now soaked in red. Just as quick as you froze, you were brought back into reality. You switched the blade into your other hand as you wiped the blood off your hand onto your dress which had already been ruined.

It felt like hours before you made it to the passage that lead outside but, it had only been mere minutes. Opening the door, you sucked in a breath of fresh air; something you felt you had been deprived of for too long. You leaned against the now closed door. The newfound silence only broken by your staggered breathing and the sound of your kingdom aflame in the distance.

You heard a conversation in the distance, it not being loud enough to understand. You hoped the dark of night would conceal you from those who you didn’t want to see you. Your breath hitched as you heard the voices come nearer. You had gotten so far, and it wouldn’t mean anything if you were caught. You decided to risk it.

You ran for the hedges, hearing the men now hurrying toward you. You were almost to shelter. Almost. But your foot landed on an uneven patch of ground, causing your ankle to twist and you to tumble down to the ground. On impact, the dagger flew from your hand. You searched the ground for it, but it was too late.

You felt your heart leave your chest as two men grabbed your arms pulling you up from the ground. Kicking, you tried fighting against them, but their strength was too much for you. You didn’t give up, even if it was a useless task.

You were pulled back into the building, which was oddly quiet. It only confirmed the worst, that your kingdom had now fallen. You assumed whoever wasn’t dead was taken as prisoner. The halls became familiar as they tracked back the way you came to the grand chamber.

Once there, your eyes landed on the mass of bodies being moved into a pile at the end of the room. Then they found your own father’s. He was surrounded by a few men, one obviously the king of the intruders and the other, you could only see the back of.

“Your majesty, we found her fleeing. If I’m not mistaken, this is indeed the princess.” One of the men holding you hostage announced.

but to disgrace your father and irritate you. Angered, you demanded they let you go and continued to do so, hoping annoying the poor men would work.

“What would you like us to do with her, sir?” The other asked.

“Shut her up, will you?” He asked, exhaustion dripping from his voice.

You saw the man next to you raise the hilt of his sword and swing it down at you. You couldn’t say what happened next because you in fact had no idea because your whole world went black.

When you woke, you expected to be laying in your bed under your duvet. The hard surface you found yourself laying on was not your bed and it was a rough reminder of the events that took place before you were knocked unconscious.

You opened your eyes being met with the sight of the dirt floor. Pushing yourself up off the ground, you groaned as the pain in your head increased with the new position you now sat in. Your dress was dirty and ripped around the bottom. You weren’t sure if it happened while you were running or when they dragged your unconscious body to where it is now. You noticed the blood you wiped off your hands had darkened as it dried into the fabric of the skirt.

Slightly disoriented, you looked around trying to focus on anything other than your ruined dress and the pounding of your head. You made out an old wooden bench that probably would fall apart if too much pressure was put onto it. Above that, a small window. There was barely any light flowing through but enough for you to determine that it was early morning. Turning your head the other way, your eyes focused on the metal barring you within the small room.

You pulled yourself onto your feet only to trip from the rush of pressure that went to your head. You gripped the bench and pulled yourself onto it hoping that it wouldn’t buckle from the weight. Once sitting on it you leaned your head against the wall and closed your eyes. Your vision still blurring in and out whenever you concentrated to hard on something, you hoped closing them would relieve some pain.

Your mind flashed back to your last conscious memory. The image of your father on the floor and the man standing over him looking at him like he was just some pest that finally got what was coming to him. And then, you were locked away in your own dungeon. You had never really ventured to the castles personal prison on your own accord, so you had no idea what it looked like until now. The only confirmation that you were still within the walls of your home was the residual smell of smoke from the town that was burning the night before.

Tears ran down your cheeks as you let your body fall sideway until you laid on the bench. You didn’t even try to hide your cries, for no one was around to hear you. The impact of your world exploding seeming to be too much to handle and the only thing your mind knew to do was send droplets out of your eyes and sobs from your chest. The only sound to comfort you being the echo of your own cries in the empty dungeon.

What you noticed while you were in your own personal hell that time seemed to blend together. You seemed to wake and sleep whenever your body wanted you to. The only indication of time you had was the little bit of outside you saw through the window. Even then, you weren’t sure exactly how long you’d been locked up. If you had to guess, you would say you were there for maybe a week at the most. The only interaction you had with anyone was limited to the guards bringing you food. Other than that, it was just you alone with your thoughts.

It gave you time to grieve the loss of your life and what you had always known. You spent the first few days crying, having the only words of wisdom being the guards telling you to shut it whenever they decided it seemed fit to feed you. You cried less, though you felt like the hole in your chest would never be filled. You had never gotten to say goodbye and that broke open healing wounds whenever the thought crossed your mind.

You were sitting, staring at the bars from the bench when you heard someone entering the area. You perked up, confused. This was too close to the last time you were fed; it didn’t seem right.

You watched as a figure found its way in front of your cell. From what you observed, he had no idea you sat a mere few feet away. The lantern he held in his hand lighting what the small window of your cell didn’t reach. The back of him looking oddly familiar, but you knew you had no clue who this was or why they were amongst the prisoners of the castle.

You stood, curious of the man. You studied him as he searched the area, finding an old wooden chair. He kicked it into the corner farthest from the cells before setting the lantern town next to it. He proceeded to then sit in it, resting his hands on his legs. His eyes focused on the ground.

You reached the outer wall of your enclosure, lacing your hand through one of the bars as you peered through it in his direction. He seemed almost as if he was overwhelmed or tired; maybe both.

“You seem down,” You croak out, surprised your voice didn’t fail you. You didn’t think it would fail you because you were afraid but because of its lack of use.

His head slowly lifted, reaching your eyes for the first time since his presence was known. Your breath hitched just from the intensity of his glare. His dark locks fell around his face in waves resting right above his eyes, casting a shadow onto them. His head turned to the side ever so slightly as he examined you from the distance.

“I am,” He spoke; his voice as deep as the glare he still held on you.

For a moment, you let the silence take over. His eyes never broke off of you as his words sunk into your being. It wasn’t much of a reply, but it was a reply. It was more of a response than you’ve gotten within days.

You swallowed trying to wet your throat before speaking again, “I didn’t expect you to respond. No one does.”

His eyes didn’t waver away from you as he took in your words. Another silence set in but now that it had been broken, it seemed so much heavier than before. Part of you wondered what could possibly be going through his mind as he stared so intently in your direction, though you knew better than to ask. So, instead, you waited for a response if there would be one.

“Well, surprise.” He said, leaning back.

He rested his upper half against the back of the wooden chair, his body finding a more relaxed position. Even then, his eyes still held on you. For the first time in days, you wondered what condition you were truly in. You assumed you were full of mud, possibly bloody and bruised. You felt exhausted and you knew your face showed it. Not once did your appearance come to mind, but under his intense stare, it was a passing thought you couldn’t shake.

Still unsure if you had full trust in your voice, you cleared it before hesitantly adding to the very short conversation, “Why are you down?”

He didn’t seem to hear you, or well, he chose not to acknowledge your question because he didn’t attempt to reply. You couldn’t quite blame him for his lack in communication. If the roles had been reversed, and you found yourself on the outside looking in, you probably wouldn’t have even batted an eye in your direction.

You let out a quiet sigh, knowing full well whatever socialization you had been gifted had come to an end. Even so, you were oddly satisfied that someone had given you the time of day. It might have been the bare minimum, but it wasn’t nothing. For that you were grateful.

You pushed yourself off of the bars of the cell, letting your hand drop from the one you were grasping.

“Is that dried blood?”

Shocked from his question, you looked down at where you had wiped the mess that had been on your hands days prior. You had almost forgotten about the stain adhered to the fabric you had been wearing, but without a doubt when you looked back down there it was.

You leaned back forward to look at him through the gaps between the bars. He was still looking in your direction, though his eyes seemed to soften as he waited for a response.

“Yeah,” You let out a shaky breath. Memories of that man pinning you against the wall flooded back to the front of your mind. You felt your w burn as you fought the tears, “Yeah, it’s dried blood.”

Silence fell again, which seemed to be a reoccurring theme within the conversation, though this time you weren’t yearning for it to continue. You looked away from him and blinked, hoping the brimming tears wouldn’t cascade down. It was quiet enough you could make out the sound of faint footsteps getting closer to your own cell. You pushed off the door again, this time actually making it to the only seating within room.

You could tell he too could hear the footsteps. He sighed, standing up from his sitting position. He then gripped the lantern that had been comfortably sitting next to his feet the whole time. Just as he did so, a guard rounded the corner, food in hand. You assumed the food was for you.

A peak out the small window of your cell told you more time had passed that you expected, and that it very may well have been time for them to bring you food.

Taken aback by another figure, the guard halted. The unknown man nodded at him in recognition.

“Ah, we have been searching for you,” The guard announced, “The king is in need of your presence, sir.”

You watched as the gentleness in his eyes he had shown you moments before disappeared, only to be replaced with the same tired look he held when he first sat down in the chair. You felt bad for him even though you were the one imprisoned. You wondered if him wandering the prisoners ward was him escaping whatever thing was wearing him thin.

“I’m always needed,” He sighed but still proceeded to maneuver around the guard before disappearing the way he had come.

The guard shook his head disapprovingly, before sliding the food into the cell with little to no care. He muttered something to himself you couldn’t quit make out from your seat on the bench and then left you on your own.

If you hadn’t lost track of the days before, you had now. It had been a few days, or maybe a week, since you had found yourself in the company of the unknown man. You weren’t entirely sure how long it had truly been because you barely noticed the difference between the warm rays of the day and the soft light of the night.

It was hard to focus with your mind being so numbingly bored. You actually started to look forward to the times they brought you the god-awful slop they fed you. The guards, though not the best conversationalists, still bought a difference into your very dull life. They at least bought something to the table that the dirt floor and the rusted iron bars could never do.

You found yourself mindlessly picking at your fingers. The amount of mud and dirt caking to them had become quite evident and you weren’t exactly fond of the idea. You felt disgusting having been in the same clothes days on end. You had come to the conclusion that you’d be wearing this torn up garment until there was nothing left of it.

You heard the squeaking of a lantern echoing from down the hall. It was late, past the last feeding of the night. The guards should have left you down there to drown in loneliness by now. Your eyes fell on the light making it closer to your cell. Even within the small haze of the lamp, there was no mistaking the eyes of the man approaching. He wore a simple shirt contrasting the more up done one you saw him in the first time. Even late in the night, he looked well put together.

Once in front of your cell, you watched him locate the chair he sat in before. He then proceeded to grab one of the torch sticks, lighting it with the fame of the lantern. He stuck it back on the wall, it lighting not only the hall but the cell you were confined into.

You slowly stood up off your seat, curious as to why he was down here again. Or better yet, you were just curious of who he was. He shot you a passing glance as he then bent back over, grabbing something off the chair. You made your way slowly to the barred off area, peaking through the gaps between them. All you saw was his back and the way his shoulders moved under the fabric concealing them. You felt a wash of familiarity come over you like before, but you would have remembered meeting a face like his.

You quickly adverted your gaze when he turned back around, not wanting to admit you might have been staring at him for a tad too long. He walked forward, hands holding what seemed to me a mass of cloth. He stopped inches in front of the bars, his gaze meeting your eyes. He threaded his arm though the bars, handing you what was in his hands.

“It’s not much,” He paused, releasing it to you, “But I figured it would be better than wearing what you are currently.”

You stood silently, excepting his gift. You were taken slightly aback. You had been attacked, chased, and knocked out. You had been thrown in your own castles dungeon and fed like a dog. You didn’t know what to expect but an act of kindness from anyone wasn’t it.

Hurrying back towards the dimmer end of your cell, you set the clothes down on the bench and examined them. The whiff of clean clothes enticed your senses, making your heart race. It was foolish to be so excited over a clean set of clothes, but you were.

Uncaring to whether you had prying eyes, you began to strip out of your dress. It dropped to the floor, along with all the horrible memories it kept reminding you of. You didn’t care that the white shirt that he gave you was eerily similar to the one he was wearing. You were just glad to be out of the thing now laying in a lump on the floor.

Once in fresh clothes, you walked slowly back to peak through the gaps. He sat in the corner, same position as the first time you saw him; arms resting on his legs and head hanging low. You made the conclusion that most likely didn’t try to steal a glimpse of you changing. You watched him for a moment, not wanting to interrupt his thoughts.

“Thank you,” The words come out as almost a squeak, voice being weakened by the lack of use yet again. He lifted his head, eerily similar to the time before yet no intense glare. His eyes were soft, and you were able to see they were a dark brown when not consumed behind the metaphorical mask he wore. He straightened up, running a hand through his dark locks.

“Wish I could have done more,” He said, voice quiet but the silence of the hall amplifying every word that left his lips.

Your heart panged at the kindness being shown for it was a nice change, but the constant state of fear you had come to know gnawed at you like a gnat.

“But why?” Your voice hoarse but you forced the question anyways.

He hummed to himself for a moment, as if contemplating whether he wanted to give you the answer before looking you in the eyes once more, “I wouldn’t want to be wearing someone else’s blood.”

Silence fell between the two of you as you absorbed his words. Your eyes drifted to the dress in the corner before looking back at him. You didn’t know what his reasoning would be, but you never thought it would have been that. You also didn’t expect him to break the comfortable silence, but he seemed full of surprises since you met him.

“What happened?”

You saw the way his eyes caught the refection of the torch fire as the flames danced within them but behind that you saw what you only could decipher as concern, or guilt.

“I was attacked. I did what I had to.” You spoke, his eyes still trained on you.

He nodded in understanding. He then slowly stood up from the chair and reached for the lantern on the ground grabbing that as well. He started to walk towards where he came but stopped in front of the bars of your cell.

He glanced over, “I hope you’re able to get rest.”

The odds of that happening were slim to none, you both knew that. Still, it was another nice gesture that he in no way needed to do, especially to someone who was imprisoned. You wondered why he seemed to be so kind to you, but maybe he was just that. Just as quick as he turned to look at you, he started to leave all the same.

“Can you at least tell me your name?” You ask but it comes out more as a plea. He halted his movements and turned back to you. You watched him turn to look at you once again, this time you watched as one of the corners of his mouth perked up ever so slightly.

“Taehyung.” Was all he responded before both he and the light had disappeared down the hall.

Part of you, almost all of you, wanted something to grasp onto, even if it was just a name.

Fresh air.

The concept seemed so foreign to you now. You were used to the damp and the musk by now, but your mind traveled to that night where everything went downhill. You remembered the fresh air you had inhaled and the slight smell of roses that had engulfed the night.

So, there you were on the tips of your toes leaning dangerously close to the edge of the bench. Your fingers grasped the edge of the small, barred window of your cell. You had been hoping to possibly get a breath of fresh air from the open window.

Somehow, you had propped yourself up enough to barely see out of it. You were surprised to find that your window was located by the very garden you had been fantasizing about. Honestly, you were surprised at yourself for not trying this sooner. Seeing any color other than the brown walls of the dungeon was welcoming enough.

You felt the suns rays hit your face and you closed your eyes in satisfaction. You felt a cool breeze kiss your face and the smell of roses wafted in your direction. You sighed in content, just happy to feel something from the outside world once again.

“What are you doing?” A deep voice broke the silence you were enjoying, scaring you. Your grip on the ledge failed as you tried not to stumble off the edge of the bench. You fell onto the dirt floor despite your attempts not to.

You sat up slowly and turned to the source of the voice. Your voice dry as you responded, “I miss outside, Taehyung.”

You had grown accustomed to his sporadic visits. Ever since he had bought you a change of clothes, he seemed to show up more often though it was never for long. You noticed that he was not much of a conversationalist, but you believed that to be because he always seemed to have something on his mind distracting him. You could see it in the way his eyes never felt they were in the present moment.

He looked away avoiding your glance, “I’m sorry I interrupted.”

The room grew quiet as you watched him walk towards the seat he had claimed as his own. He seemed a little more dressed up than the past few times he had decided to grace you with his presence. His hair though, still fell across his face in waves of black.

You pulled yourself off the floor and walked towards him, leaning against the metal to look at him better, “You always seem so distracted.”

He looked up from his hands and bit the inside of his cheek. He looked as though whatever was on his mind was on the tip of his tongue and he was biting it right back down. He directed his attention down the hall and away from you and your observation. He obviously having no intentions of responding to your statement.

You dropped to the ground, sitting with your legs crossed, “I didn’t notice that my cell was one of the ones located by the garden. I could smell the flowers when I felt the breeze hit my face. I used to walk the garden with my father before, well...”

You raised your arms, motioning to your cell. Taehyung’s eyes found your eyes once again. You let out a  laugh, finding the irony of the situation funny. Here you sat caged away when right outside your window bloomed freedom and life.

His eyebrows raised at your laughter obviously surprised by your outburst. He watched as your smile faded, and your eyes glossed over.

“I miss him,” You sighed, “He wasn’t the best, but he cared.”

“I’m sorry,” He said, and you felt as though he was apologizing for more than just your father’s death.

Your hand traced one of the iron bars in front of you feeling the cool metal under your fingertips. He watched as you did so, finding your ability to be so calm when everything you had known had crumbed to be quite astounding.

“I’m sorry can’t fix what has already happened. I just wish he had gotten a proper burial.” You sighed, looking away from your hand and finding Taehyung’s figure against the wall, “So, why do you hide down here with the prisoners?”

“You’re better company,” He responded, which surprised you. You weren’t expecting him to answer your question because up to this point he had been a master of keeping the focus off him. He always somehow flipped it back onto you and if he couldn’t do that, then he grew silent.

“Me?” You asked not being able to hide the innocent shock that laced your voice, “I’m sorry, but I’m sure there are plenty of people who could keep you in good company that aren’t locked away.”

He chuckled dryly, “You speak to me like I’m real. Up there, it’s scripted. They’re too afraid of what might happen if they said the wrong thing. It’s ‘yes sir’ and ‘anything for you’ but I never hear people’s wants and their feelings. No one wants to have a conversation.”

You felt a wave of familiarity in what he was saying. You felt as if things started to finally make sense for the first time since he began visiting. From the guilty look in his eyes to the kind gestures he had shown. He had felt familiar, but you never knew how until that moment. Your eyes widen at the realization.

“When your father’s the king, you don’t get to just talk.” You replied almost monotoned, knowing too well the way people treated the offspring of royalty even if they were royalty themselves.

His body stiffened at your words. You could tell he wasn’t expecting you to make the connection and it threw him off guard, body going defensive automatically.

“How did you-“ He paused with a loss of words.

“Because that’s how I felt,” You sighed as you remembered the countless nights sitting up hoping someone would truly want to treat you like a human being and not some figure or purchase, “I knew you looked familiar. I- I couldn’t quite place it. I knew I hadn’t met you before. I’d remember a face like yours. I did see you though, standing over my father’s body before I was knocked out.”

“If it were me, none of this would have happened,” He said, gaze falling on your position on the ground.

“You can’t help who your father is,” You reassured not completely sure why you felt the need to, “But, if I were to be frank, your father is a piece of shit.”

For the first time since he had begun coming to your cell to keep you company, you heard him truly laugh. It wasn’t one of those fake ones he had shown you, but a genuinely bubbly sound. It flowed into his whole face, brightening it.

“Yeah, I guess that’s one way to put it,” He responded, a boxy smile gracing his lips.

He began to visit more, and you hated to admit you waited for him. Every time you heard footsteps come toward you the idea that it could be him crosses your mind. Your heart rate would quicken and the bit of energy that your body would produce was evidence enough that you hoped it would be him instead of a guard there to feed you.

You couldn’t blame yourself. If it weren’t for him, you probably would have gone mad from isolation. It wasn’t hard to understand why the prisoners your own father had held for information gave in so quickly. Being alone with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company and entertained could drive anyone mad.

It led you to think of why you were in fact, still alive. You would have thought you would have been discarded by now since you really had no more use. Taehyung’s father had successfully taken over your father’s kingdom from your understanding. Your own father having no siblings of his own left you useless for there was no one to barter you off to. There was no gain from keeping you.

With you deep in your thoughts, you had not been aware that Taehyung had found himself before you. He watched you as you fiddled with your hands, eyes not focused on anything specific. Your mind somewhere far off.

“Care to share what’s on your mind?” He asked, pulling your thoughts back down to earth. You realized he liked to ask you about your thoughts on things and actually hear them. It was much different than the way many had treated you as you grew. You were so used to being a pawn that being treated like a human was refreshing. It was different, but nice.

“Why am I still here?” You asked voicing the very thing that plagued your thoughts, “Your father has nothing to gain from keeping me imprisoned.”

He hummed, “My father doesn’t share anything with me. If he does, he had made the decision long before telling me. He’s never trusted me with much more than simple duties. He thinks I’m troubled.”

“You seem far from troubled,” You responded, finally moving from your spot on the bench. You followed his voice.

Taehyung stood, leaning against the wall directly across from your cell. His arms were crossed across his chest. Normally, you would find the stance intimidating but the way his body was relaxed with no tension made you feel the opposite. A smirk formed on his lips as he let out a halfhearted scoff, “He just doesn’t like anyone who disagrees with his point of view.”

“Your father is warped,” You shook your head, “He would have gained much more from this if he had just sent you to court me. Alliances are worth far more than enemies.”

His eyes found yours at your words and you watched as emotions flickered through them before settling on anger, “My father doesn’t look for the most profit; he thrives in power. He takes joy in destroying cities and taking them as his own. Yes, it would have been smarter to align ourselves, but he would have drowned knowing he didn’t have full control.”

You watched as he shifted uncomfortably in front of you, running his hand through his hair. The conversation not being one he was enjoying, obviously.

Unsure on exactly why you felt the need to, you shifted the conversation, “What do you take joy in?”

“I enjoy going to theatre and viewing artwork,” He responded after pondering for a few moments of silence, “Actually, despite my father’s distain towards the bards, I also quite enjoy their music.”

Your mind wandered for a few moments at the idea that he enjoyed any form of art. It opened up a new layer to him you had barely had a grasp on before. Oddly, you felt elated at the tiny reveal.

“I used to like wandering the garden after raiding the library and finding a quiet place to read. My father didn’t let me leave the castle very often but sometimes he would take me to see a show. I also quite enjoy them.” You responded, a soft smile laying upon your lips at the memory.

Taehyung couldn’t keep his eyes off you as you babbled about what you liked. He also couldn’t help but mimic your small smile though his was more out of guilt than fondness. You seemed so full of life, the one thing he craved from others, and yet you were thrown behind bars to rot. It didn’t sit well with him.

Clearing his throat, he pushed off the wall to move closer to your cell, “Um, I actually bought you something. I figured you were getting tired of the same stuff they’ve been feeding you.”

You watched as he rummaged around in his pocket for a second before pulling out a small wrapped package. He then reached through the bars separating the two of you, placing the item in your hand. His hand barely grazed yours, but you could tell it was warmer than your own.

Curious, you unwrapped the paper surrounding whatever he had smuggled you. Your heart raced at the sight of it. It wasn’t something you normally would be ecstatic about the small piece of pastry in your hands said otherwise. You then took a bite, closing your eyes at the sweet taste and the rich flavor.

“Thank you,” You say softly once you finished chewing.

“It’s nothing,” He said, “I have to return, but I’ll be back. Keep your head up Y/N.”

He gave a small wave before disappearing. You let out a deep breath, eyes finding the pastry still in your hands. Even though he had been gone only moments, you already missed his company.

Trying to do the one thing Taehyung requested was probably one of the hardest thing’s you could have done, but you did it. The only thing keeping you head above water was his visits and the stories of life he brought back with him. It seemed silly but hearing about the minuscule drama that flowed through the halls of the castle gave you entertainment. It made you feel alive still.

From what he had told you, it had been about two months since the total takeover of your home and your very own imprisonment. He does his best to keep you in the loop considering losing track of time down in the dark and the musk was easy to do. You appreciated him for it.

You’ve grown fond of him and you could tell by the way the small smile that never seemed to leave your lips when he was around or the way your stomach twists in knots whenever he told stories he was fond of. But you were definitely certain you had because even when the two of you sat in silence, it was just as comfortable.

Even now, no words between the two of you were being shared but you were in no rush to break the silence. His presence was enough.

“You don’t deserve this,” He sighed from his seated position on the ground, obvious hurt in his voice.

You felt for him. He was a man who was taught right from wrong but forced to stand behind a man who lived for chaos. The same man that drove him to find solace in the dark of the dungeon and confide in you.

Even then, he didn’t say much. You just noticed he would come down bothered and watch to make sure the guards didn’t follow him. Once comfortable, he would fall into what you had come to find as his true self and a very kind man.

Ironic considering who his father was.

You sighed, “This isn’t on you.”

“It doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad for it,” His response quick and slightly irritable.

You could tell he had worked himself up. His eyes locked on the ground and his leg bouncing endlessly to ease the tension through his body. The need to touch him to help calm him down shot through you but passed quickly when your brain deemed it impossible to accomplish. You settled by placing your hand on the metal in front of you, not comforting you or him in the process.

“Tae,” You breathe out, afraid to be any louder, “I’m still alive, therefore, I still have a chance to get out of here free.”

You spoke words that neither of you really had faith in. The odds of you walking out of the cell alive were slim, let alone alive and free. The fact you were even still breathing was a wonder in its own. Though he knew it wasn’t plausible, you still watched as his leg quit bouncing and his eyes broke from the dirt. He still opted to stay quiet.

“You deserve more,” You said filling the silence, “You’re a good man. I’d hate to see your father take that from you.”

You looked away from him decided to give him some privacy. It was odd; the way he got so worked up over the idea you were still behind the iron bars. The very bars under the touch of your fingers. Even abnormal as it was for his reaction to be the way it was, especially since your situation wasn’t a new one, he didn’t deserve to be ogled.

You felt warmth envelop the outer of your hand. The idea of pulling your own hand away flashed through your thoughts, but when your eyes met with another resting on the top of yours all feelings of that were lost.

Taehyung had moved closer, enough to where he could touch you. His thumb grazed your skin in a soothing movement, and you felt the tension you didn’t even know you had flee.

“I’m not sure how but,” He paused, and you surprised yourself with how fast your heart had begun to beat, “I’ll figure something out. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.”

The warmth of his hand gone in seconds and part of you longed for it to return. Instead, you watched as he pulled himself off the ground. He didn’t need to announce he was leaving. You knew. He brushed his pants off once standing and you watched dust fly into the air in the minimal sunlight. He then started his way down the hall.

“Don’t do anything to get you hurt,” You pleaded loud enough for him to hear you. He paused his step and turned to look at you from the distance. It ironically reminded you of the time you asked for his name though this time the smirk didn’t grace his lips and his eyes didn’t light up in amusement. You felt as though your voice would fail you as you somehow managed to speak the last bit out, “Please.”

He nodded his head and disappeared. Part of you, if not all of you, had a hard time believing he wouldn’t.

Kim Taehyung wasn’t the one for business meetings. He had been through his fair share of them and they all were so boring and drawn out. He also wasn’t a fan of family dinners. There was too much baggage to weigh him down within one for him to enjoy it. And frankly, he wasn’t a fan of his father. So, when his own father had announced that he had invited important clients for dinner and he was expected to show, he was in no surprise very indifferent. Could anyone blame him? It was the trifecta from hell.

He had really planned on skipping out, but with his father specifically seeking him out and asking personally it meant business. No one, not even the kings son, would go against him; or could for that matter.

A light knock on his bedroom door echoed into his silent room.

“Yes?” Taehyung asked, his eyes flicking to the door that remained closed. He really would rather had not been bothered, but he couldn’t ignore it.

“Sir, your father wished for me to remind you to be in the dining room before the guests arrive.”

As he always did. His father didn’t think he could get dressed for the day let alone show up to a meeting on time. It was all for appearance. He wanted people to know he had an heir to his thrown. He wanted people to know that once he was gone, there would be another to stand in his place. His empire would still run strong.

“I’ll be there.” He called back to the staff, feeling bad for the poor woman.

Once he figured she had disappeared into the massive castle, he proceeded to fling his legs off his bed and go to his wardrobe. He dressed in his less formal clothes, but they were put together enough for his father not to feel like he was bringing shame to his name.

He then made his way out of his temporary sleeping quarters and turned down the corridor. He had gone a few doors down when one in particular caught his eye. He paused his step, looking at it. The door itself wasn’t the thing that caught his eye. Actually, it looked exactly the same as every other in the castle. The archway that framed the door was the reason he had stopped.

Taehyung moved in closer, seeing lines etched into the stone of the doorway. His hands reached out, touching the lines carved in deep enough he could feel every bump under his fingertips. A small smile formed on his lips when he realized they had to be height marks. He was under the impression that you were the only child, so he assumed it to be yours.

“Ah, Sir, there you are,” A voice said causing his eyes to drift away from the notches on the wall to the person in question, “I was just going to check on you.”

Taehyung cleared is throat and let his hand fall from the wall, “I was already on the way. Have they arrived?”

“No, but the king requested me to go fetch you.”

“Well, it’s only down the hallway,” Taehyung sighed, “Or does he have you escorting me there as well?”

The man took a step back and bowed, leaving him to find his own way.

The eating quarters only took moments to walk to and when he rounded into the room it was still empty except for the staff fluttering about making sure everything was ready for the arrivals. He sighed, fully taking in how long of a night it truly was going to be.

The guests arrived a while later, leaving both him and his father to greet them before all taking a seat at the table. He had taken in that the guests were royalty from a few kingdoms away which struck him confused because his father wasn’t one to be social to others. From what he gathered his name Prince Lee and he brought along his own son.

The dinner went as neatly as it could have. Barely anyone had talked, which wasn’t a surprise to him in the slightest. If they did speak, it was to address the staff. No one decided to speak until the short wait for the dessert.

“So, why did you ask us here?” The Prince inquired, causing Taehyung’s eyes to leave and look at the guests.

His father stared at them for a second eyeing the man before responding, “I am aware that your sister was the queen of this kingdom before her passing, am I correct?”

Taehyung felt his stomach drop. He hadn’t realized the royalty his father had invited was in fact royalty related to you. He glanced between the two men. Both were obviously overconfident and neither showed any emotion.

“Yes, you are,” the Prince said taking a drink from his glass and setting it back down, “But as you said, my sister has passed and long before you became in possession of his kingdom. So, why am I here?”

His father chuckled, “I have something you might want.”

Taehyung choked on his drink, which summoned a glare from the king next to him. He sent a small, closed mouth smile to his father in attempts to apologize, not that it would matter in the long run.

“And what might that be?” He asked, eyebrow pulled up as he questioned.

“You are aware they had a child,” the king hummed. Each passing moment made Taehyung want to leave the room, but he had to know how this would play out. He had to know if you would be safe, “I still have her if you were interested. Of course, there would be a price.”

The silence that fell over the table was deafening and Taehyung was afraid that they may hear his own heartbeat which had been pounding since the mention of you. He itched to fidget with something to ease his growing anxiety, but he couldn’t, so he kept glancing between the two.

“What makes you think we want her?” The other questioned.

“She is your kin, is she not?” His father responded causing Tae’s eyes to follow where the sound came from, “I thought I would show good faith and offer you her life. You should be honored I even thought to.”

“She would be dead if you didn’t think you would get something out of this exchange, so what were you thinking? Tell me, and I will deem whether it is worth it.”

The staff came into the room. The hands maneuvered around the room picking up dishes that were done, refilling drinks, and placing the dessert down onto the table. Tae’s eyes followed them around appreciating how it was so well choreographed. Each person moving in and out without interference from another. Normally, he wouldn’t have paid much attention, but he was looking for anything to distract him from the tension in the room.

“I was thinking of an alliance. I heard there were talks of conspiracy against me and my kingdoms. I would be a fool to ignore them. So, I offer you the girl for your arms if need be.” Taehyung’s father offered, his eyes scanning the man across the table.

The other laughed, “Maybe you are a fool if you were to believe my father would ever ally himself with someone of your nature. The girl may be royalty of our blood, but she isn’t worth the risk and embarrassment of being associated with you and your tyranny.”

Taehyung grew cold at your uncle’s response despite how much sweat he had been producing. Without a reason to keep you alive, you would be executed. Both himself and you knew that would be the case despite his denial. He had never felt more shame than in that moment. His own father was the reason you weren’t worth being saved. They had no idea who you were so none knew how worth it you truly were.

He’d risk it if it were him.

“It’s better to keep me on your side rather than not, though I see you made your decision,” The king warned causing Taehyung to cringe internally. Threats were all his dad was good at.

The man on the other side of the table rose, his eyes locking with the other’s, “We are more united than your makeshift kingdoms and unreliable loyalties. Know that if you try, we will take you down. My welcome has worn so I will take my leave.”

Both king and prince watched as the guest exited the dining hall. The silence within the room was eerily loud. Taehyung wouldn’t dare try to talk as all he would get in response was the anger buried deep within his father from a deal that fell through. Not only that, but he was afraid his own voice would give away how shaken he was from the encounter.

“A public execution seems fitting for a royal, don’t you think?” The King voiced to no one in particular. Taehyung swallowed hard at the image that flashed through his mind.

“Isn’t that a little drastic?” He asked, a risk in itself.

His father turned his head and locked eyes with him, “I refuse to let them make a mockery of my name. They will regret their decision.”

The King then stood, slamming his hands against the table. Taehyung flinched back at the action. He then watched as his father exited the hall, leaving him alone with the dining staff. All of them wearing the wide eyes as they too felt the fear he had.

He cleared his throat shaking all of them from their trance, “I am done. You may proceed.”

As he stood, the staff began to clear the dishes and clean the table. He barely noticed the routine they had placed amongst themselves this time. He was too distracted with the knowledge that you had just been officially given a death sentence.

If his father had done this closer to when he had forced himself into power, Taehyung wouldn’t have been so torn. Yet too much time had passed, and now he was drawn to you. He found himself wanting to spend his time with you, even if it was within the dungeons of the castle.

He wouldn’t be able to witness seeing you hanged.

The dungeon was quiet, as it has been for the past week. It was just you, the bars that held you within, and the drunkard that had been thrown within a cell a few down from you that didn’t know begging wouldn’t get him anywhere.

You hadn’t realized how reliant you had become to the Prince’s visits. It was lonely being there with nothing but your thoughts. You tried your hardest not to let them consume you because you’ve seen what isolation does to a solid mind.

Time seemed to still be a foreign concept to you. The only way of being able to tell was the small window that would fade from light, to dark, to back again. Though, when you looked out from it, you were able to see that your garden was indeed looking less vibrant than before. You assumed that autumn would be on its way soon.

The rickety bench laid beneath you, somehow still able to support your weight despite the use it had endured within the past few months. Your arm found rest laying across your eyes shielding the sun that peaked through the window. Your mind wandering to daydream about freedom. Something you knew would most likely always stay a dream.

The clearing of a voice broke through the silence, “Am I interrupting?”

Your mouth opened slightly at the familiar voice. You removed your arm from your eyes as you went to push yourself into the sitting position. There he stood on the other side of the bars. His hair was disheveled and hung into his eyes.

“Not much for you to interrupt, is there?” You respond, standing up and walking towards the metal. The closer you got, the easier it was to see that he seemed concerned behind all the fringe. Despite his obvious distress, he gave a weak side smile at your attempt at a joke. It fell almost instantly. You cocked your head to the side slightly, trying to meet his brown irises, “What’s wrong?”

He stayed silent at your question, his eyes finding the dirt floor below him. His weight shifted from foot to foot as he tried to process what was on his mind. You didn’t push him as you figured that he would end up letting what fogged his mind out into the open. He wouldn’t look so troubled if he didn’t plan on telling you.

Yet, there was no need to tell you. You already knew from his actions.

“There was a meeting a few nights ago,” He started, his eyes finally finding your own, “I was surprised he wanted me to attend. When I found out that it was a prince from a near kingdom it made more sense. He wanted to look the part of a great king. When he arrived, I come to find out that he was the brother to the queen, your mother. My father offered him a deal. Your life, for an alliance.”

You nodded, taking in the information. The corners of your eyes stinged as you held back tears, “And they didn’t take the deal.”

“No,” Taehyung swallowed hard, “My father plans on making an example out of you. He scheduled a public execution within the next few days. I- I don’t know what to do.”

A tear slipped down your cheek at your solidified fate, “Nothing, there isn’t anything you can do. This was always going to happen.”

It was your turn to find comfort looking at the dirt below as another tear slipped. You told yourself that you were never going to get out of this situation alive many times, but the reality was finally hitting. Your will seemed to dwindle within seconds as you watched the hope you shouldn’t have held onto get crushed under the news.

Taehyung reached through and grasped your hand, enveloping it within his own. He tried to sooth you the best he could with the barricade in the way. He would have brought you to his chest if he could have, but alas, it was impossible. It was almost painful to see you so distraught.

“I figured you’d want to hear it from me,” He said, the sadness in this voice evident.

You looked up at him. His eyes were red and glossy from him holding back his own tears, you could tell. You almost wanted to thank him for being so strong because you just couldn’t anymore. He pulled the hand he had within his own through the bars and up to his lips, placing them gently against your skin. If only you were able to relish in how they felt on you then on your own impending doom.

He pulled away, letting your hand go gently. You pulled it back to you and laced your fingers around the metal in front of you, “If only we had the chance to meet in different circumstances, Kim Taehyung.”

“I agree,” He voiced. He straightened his body and bowed to you, “Princess.”

Your heart ached and this time it wasn’t for your life, but for him. Your whole life, you knew that you were nothing but an asset in a bigger game. Men came from many kingdoms to be in your good graces, and your fathers, so the families could merge and become a greater force. You always knew that a prince would come and sweep you off your feet, even if it was just for their profit.

But this prince in front of you was nothing like the ones who always stared over your shoulder seeking your father’s approval. He yearned for the day to shed the foul taste his own father left in many’s mouths. He was thoughtful and understanding. He saw you as a person. That was something no one seemed to be able to do. Even now, with your dirty clothes and matted hair, he bowed to you as if you stood before him in a gown looking to be courted.

When he stood, he held a sad smile, “I have to make an appearance, or they’ll send out a witch hunt for me.”

“Do what you must,” You respond. He nodded and turned on his heels, “Thank you.”

His movements halted more a minute at your thanks before he then continued down the hall.

Taehyung couldn’t shake the sick feeling he had in his stomach as he stood behind his father in front of the towns people. It was only a few hundred, far less than home, but he assumed the night his father came parading into the town there were many casualties. They might have had more in number before then.

He was used to the dirty glares; He had gotten them since that night, not that it was new then either. The staff that hadn’t died in the attack continued to work within the walls for the new royals, though the stares and cold air were obvious. Yet, the look of the commoners faces as they waited for the king to speak in itself spoke wonders. None of them wanted to be there. None of them had respect for the new King.

Taehyung didn’t blame them one bit.

He shifted his view from his father slightly to the right. His eyes landed on the execution stage, causing his stomach to churn. It was simple, which was all it needed to be. The rope hung slightly too high for your small figure to reach, which he assumed why a step stool lay not too far off. A man stood there, dressed in black, readying himself for his job.

It didn’t take long for the King to grab the crowd’s attention, them fearing that if they weren’t their village would go right back up into flames, “We are here for the execution of the only blood left to from the king before me.”

As he said that, you were dragged onto the scene. It was almost a mockery as they cleaned and dressed you up as if you didn’t just spend months within the confines of a cell. Your hands were bound, making it easier for the guard to drag you around. They also gagged you, so you weren’t able to speak. Taehyung assumed it was so that your words couldn’t influence the town into a revolution, and so no one could hear you scream.

The crowd itself seemed shocked; most probably assuming that you had already perished with the first attack. They didn’t know about your blood-soaked gown or the will you used to even survive that night.

The walk to the execution stage seemed to take so much longer than it should have. Taehyung could have blamed it on you struggling within the guards arms, but really, he knew the real reason was the anxiety of what he was about to witness.

He wondered if this was what the people who had loved ones on death row felt as they were forced to watch them hang.

But then, you were on the stage standing under the rope. The struggling had stopped. If there were a chance for you to escape your fate, it would have happened before then. You scanned over the crowd, exceedingly calm for what was about to happen.

Taehyung could hear his heartbeat in his ears as your eyes found his and stayed on him. He couldn’t help but wonder what was going through your mind at the moment. He couldn’t even properly filter through his own thoughts; he couldn’t imagine yours.

The executioner then placed the bag over your head, cutting your eye contact off and shielding the onlookers from the gore that was about to occur. Then, the rope was placed around your neck and tightened. Then he left you there, alone, as he went to stand by the lever and awaited his orders

Taehyung’s mouth went dry as his father demanded the attention of the audience once again, “Your kingdom was a disgrace when I came. It didn’t take me but moments to take over and make it my own. We are cleansing the kingdom with this execution. With my actions, we will rise to become untied and undefeatable. It’s time we-“

The King’s words fell off as he coughed, blood splattering onto the ground. The crowd erupted into a murmurs and screams as the sword that punctured through the king’s chest was withdrawn, leaving him without support. He fell to his knees holding the wound that was now profusely oozing blood.

Taehyung stood, sword still in hand. The blade itself was drenched with the blood of his father. The guards that surrounded them drew their own weapons, pointing them at him. He kept his composure, though honestly he felt anything but that. The sound of his father hitting the floor echoed in the silence.

“Stand down.” He voiced outload to the guards. It came out far more steady than he thought would have, but he wasn’t complaining.

He watched as the men debated doing as he demanded, though the shallow breathing of his father seemed to be proof enough for them to still stand strong. His eyes risked a look down at the dying man. The pool of blood under him continued to grow beneath him, staining the wood he laid on. Then, his chest seemed to have stilled.

Taehyung always knew his father would parish from the hands of someone he had wronged, because frankly, he was a horrible man. Yet, Taehyung didn’t know he was going to be the one to perform the fatal blow. It didn’t surprise him that he felt no remorse.

“I said stand down,” Taehyung said, more power within his voice, “As King, I demand you to stand down.”

The guards still seemed hesitant, but one by one they sheathed their swords. Taehyung followed suit, placing his own bloodstained weapon back in it’s cover. He glanced once more at his father’s corpse before turning to it. He pushed the body with his foot as if to double check that he was in fact dead. He then refocused his attention on what was important.

He jumped off the platform and hurried his way over to the execution stage. He waved off the executioner from the lever, making sure there could be no mistake.

He sighed to himself at the image in front of him. He had watched quite a few executions in his time, having the father he had, but they all were faceless. He didn’t know them, but he knew you.

He reached out and pulled the knotted rope from around you neck, freeing you from death’s possible grasp. Once freed, the rope swung freely though it would soon still once more. The bag thrown over your head was next, giving you back your sight once more.

Light flooded into your vision, confusing you. Your eyes adjusted slowly, and they found the familiar eyes you had come accustomed to seeing while you were imprisoned, though this time there were no bars obscuring his face. He was just as handsome as the last time you saw him, maybe even more now that both of you were out of the dimly lit dungeon.

He reached around you, untying the knot that tied the gag. You looked at him, “What did you do Taehyung?”

His eyes hardened a little at your whispered question as he moved to work on the ties on your wrists, “Nothing that wasn’t going to happen anyway.”

Your eyes then focused on the body lying in the distance and you sighed. Of course.

Once your hands were free from the restraints, he moved back within your line of sight. He only spared a second of a warm glance before addressing the crowd, “You were brought here under the assumption that there will be an execution today. I’m sorry that the plans had changed. The princess is not sentenced to death anymore. Please return to your normal routines.

As much as he sounded like a true leader, he looked nervous and shaken. With your now free limbs, you shuffled over toward him taking the chance to lace your hand within his in attempt to lend him strength and comfort.

He looked over at you, eyes once again softened. A soft squeeze of your hand telling you that you had made the right decision.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, appreciating the dress you were wearing. You never thought you would miss the process of getting dressed up in extravagant dresses to socialize with other royals. After being a prisoner for months with nothing but one change of clothes the whole time, you didn’t necessarily mind now.

To be honest, you thought you were dead. It wasn’t hard to deny the awful truth when the days behind the bars turned into months. What solidified it was when the bag was placed over your own head and the noose tightened around your neck. It was hard to deny anything at that point. You were going to die.

But nothing came despite the obscured vision and the rough twine rubbing against you.

Your savior being none other than the man you had found comfort in for months. Meeting his eyes comforted you yet again despite all your confusion.

You never thought that he would have taken his own father’s life just to save your own. He literally risked everything to save you, even his own life. You owed him far more than you ever think you could return since everything you owned in your life already belonged to him.

He still was king.

A knock echoed into your room, breaking the comfortable silence. You peered over at the door as it creaked open only to close after the new presence was within the walls.

The man leaned against the wall taking in the view, causing you to feel as though you needed to hide from embarrassment. A boxy smile crossed his face at your reaction. Trying to ignore him, you returned to your reflection making sure everything was in place.

“Why haven’t you gone down to the event?” You asked, taking a peek at him from the corner of your eye.

Taehyung let out a small chuckle at the idea you proposed at him, “A King shouldn’t ever enter an event without his Queen by his side.”

A small smile crossed your lips as you turned and walked towards him. He excepted you as your wrapped your arm around his own. He leaned over placing a gentle kiss upon your head before he escorted you out of the room and down to the hall.

-   -   -

Thanks to @ggukkieland for giving me support this whole time! Here’s your tag love!

-   -   -

[realcube]

yachi + degradation 😈

navi | masterlist | taglist 

thank you to anon for this request <3

summary: yachi catches you masturbating and this gives her something to prove - that she can make you feel better than you ever could on your own 

content warning:vagina-having! reader, dom!yachi, masturbation, mommy kink degradation, strap-on, overstimulation, orgasm denial, arguably ooc - aged up!

During the whole three years you and Yachi have been together, you’ve only had intercourse four times: once on Yachi’s birthday, on your birthday, valentine’s day and that one time you had both finished reading a rather erotic work of fiction. 

So since your sex life was less than active, you can only imagine how needy, desperate and wild your cunt must’ve felt after accidentally following a few too many links and ending up on the hub. 

Of course, there was only one way to soothe the intense ache between your legs and that was by rummaging through your bedside drawer, passed all the abandoned paperwork to grab the neglected, hot pink strap-on which was buried underneath and pounding it in your pussy with your own hand, using it more like a dildo.

You sat on Yachi’s shared queen-sized bed - under the impression she was coming at the usual hour of 6 o’clock - with a towel tucked underneath you and your head tossed back in bliss, your eyes squeezed shut as you tried to absorb every little ounce of pleasure that the strap provided, which wasn’t nearly enough to fully satisfy you.

However, what you forgot to take into consideration was that today was a Friday, meaning Yachi got off work early, hence when she arrived at the apartment and entered her room, she was greeted by the glorious sight of you completely nude on the bed, legs spread to vigorously pound into yourself with the strap in one hand, using the other to massage your breast.

Yachi could have stood there, staring at you for ages and you would’ve even noticed but what did catch your attention was when she instinctively dropped her purse, the thud causing you to instantly snap your head over to look at her. All the colour draining from your face as you met her gaze. 

Her face had changed to adopt a new colour - red - as she stared wide-eyed at you sweaty, frail body that lay sprawled out across her bed, your soaking cunt left open and vulnerable to her touch. 

Something about seeing you in such a state was enough to evoke a certain feeling in yachi that she’ d never experienced before, at least not in regards to her sex life. Dominance.  

There was no exact way she could put her explanation into words but if she had to try: it was as though all her stress, anxiety and frustrations from work had been building up inside her and now that she had laid eyes on you sitting defenceless and submissive on her bed, she was ready to erupt.

Before you got the chance to even attempt to choke out an apology, Yachi stalked over to you, her oddly calm aura sending a shiver down your spine. Once she arrived by your side of the bed, she halted by your spread legs and casually slipped her blazer off while gesturing to take the strap from your trembling hands.

“May I?” Her voice didn’t exactly sound sinister, more neutral. However, that was enough to frighten you to your core as this was Yachi we’re talking about; you genuinely expected her to faint when she first saw you in this position. Yet she somehow made her way over to you and was now offering to hold the strap to do god-knows what with it, all while remaining composed.

Once you let go and she was now in full control of the dildo, her lips curled into a smile and before you got the opportunity to question it, she rammed the plastic back into your cunt with frightening speed, resulting in a moan escaping your lips which only fuelled Yachi further.

After a few more thrusts, your arms shakily made their way over to take the plastic from her possession - she was too powerful with it - but she yanked it away at the last second, “No, it’s fine. Let me take care of you; sit back, relax. You clearly must’ve thought this piece of plastic could pleasure you more than I could but we’ll see about that.” She hummed, her glare flickering between you and the hot pink dildo in her hands.

Due to her timid personality, it should come as no surprise that every time y’all got intimate, Yachi was always on the receiving end of the wrath of your strap so now that she was stepping up into dominance so suddenly, you didn’t dare to reply.

She was pleased at how quickly you succumbed to submission for her, rewarding you with a little kiss on the forehead before stepping aside to strip into nothing besides her undergarments. Then, she unhurriedly put on the strap around her hips, basking in the sweet little needy whimpers that fell from your lips as you tried your hardest not to touch yourself.

Not a second was wasted between her aligning the strap by your cunt and bucking her hips back and forth, absolutely mesmerised by the way your walls greedily enveloped the whole dildo until there was hardly any pink left in sight.

It wasn’t Yachi intention to give you a moment to accommodate to the straps’ large size, but that’s what she ended up doing as she sat frozen between your legs, eyes flickering between your lewd facial expression and your cunt stretching around the plastic.

Almost a minute had passed and Yachi hadn’t moved an inch, leaving you incredibly needy for stimulation so you found yourself involuntarily jutting your hips against the dildo for the slightest sense of relief - but of course, it was short-lived as Yachi almost immediately snapped out of her trance to grab your waist and hold you in place.

“Don't move. Don’t pretend like you can get off on your own.” she murmured, slowly shifting her hands under your thighs to part your legs further to the point were your hamstrings were burning. 

Slowly but surely, she began rocking her hips back and forth, focussing on keeping her pace consistent rather than speedy while also searching your insides for the sweet spot she was sure to exploit later. 

Although she wasn’t the fastest, the feeling of the dildo’s length rocking against your desperate core along with Yachi’s oddly expert finger movements against your clit was enough to make you whine and plead for more. 

“Yach- Yachi~” you moaned, gripping the bedsheets to cope with the aching in your thighs and the intense amount of pleasure Yachi sent pulsating through you. “Mor--”

You were cut off by Yachi sticking the two fingers, that had previously been working on your clit, straight into your mouth. Obediently, you silenced yourself to instead graciously accept her fingers while she continued to furiously pound into you. 

The last time you had anything close to sexual pleasure in the last 3 months was when you opened a low cabinet and the door swung open and hit your sex, so it shouldn’t be surprising that even with Yachi’s excruciatingly slow pace, you were about to orgasm within barely a minute of her entering you. 

That is, if she let you. 

Once she noticed your breathing become increasingly frantic and your thighs twitching, she realised that you were rapidly approaching your high so she did what any sweet girlfriend would do - she pulled out. 

Your grip on the duvet loosened as your lids fluttered open to reveal your eyes, glossy with tears as you stared innocently up at Yachi - unable to talk due to her finger still in mouth but attempting to communicate how much you need her with your eyes. Even your legs began to oppose her grip so you could use the friction from your thighs to maintain the pleasure slightly. 

Once Yachi noticed your pleading gaze, she simply scoffed, “You thought you could satisfy yourself without me. I’m gonna remind you of how much you truly need me.” Her voice was smooth and honeyed like the most romantic of poets, but the threatening tone in her voice made you shudder - more than you already were.

And she was right. After bringing you to the edge of your high, she’d pull out to leave you begging underneath her - and she’d do this every single time, by now you had lost count as to how many times. 

it worked, though. By perhaps your 5th ruined orgasms, the only thing on your mind was Yachi; she was the one who brought you to your climax so she was the only one who could help you reach it. From the way she’d bob her fingers in your mouth to how her hand was able to leave red marks on the side of your thigh - everything about the way she was in bed as so unlike her yet so hot.

After god-knows how long of being her little, devoted slut, you were finally breath a sigh of relief as the follow chain of words fell from her lips once she noticed you were approaching another orgasm:

“Go on; cum. But you better make it loud for me.”