#i need to tear into a customers throat and be charged with man slaughter because brother i slaughtered that man

[t4tstarvingdog]

jesus fucking christ i swear to god i’m gonna snap and fucking kill someone

[aressss1]

Sweet Nothings

(God!Technoblade x Male!Reader)

Read Me on AO3!

~~~~~~

You were very content with your life in this tiny village. Business was at its peak, and you were well known amongst the people. You had your regulars that came in daily, and you even had found an apprentice to help you out around the shop. Niki, was a great apprentice, learning how to bake and tend to the bakery on her own. The eagerness in her actions made you confident that she would be just fine taking care of the place in your stead, when you needed a break once in a while.

 One early morning, when the world was still dark, you walked the cobblestone streets to your bakery. The warm glow of the over hanging lanterns washed over your form. There was a cold nip to the air as you walked. Letting your eyes wander, your eyes spot the decorations overhead. Festival decorations, for a festival made in celebration of the era of peace among your lands, and for the blood god.

Today was Niki’s first day alone in the bakery. Your job today was to set up a booth and run it for the festival. You had the perfect spot to entice travelers from across the world to eat your delicious baked goods. Town square was the perfect place, but you… had scored the place closest to the entrance of the town square to set up your booth. The area that had gotten the most foot traffic in festivals. You were excited for what could come of this. Your bakery could very well thrive off this one day alone!

 The bakery before you was already lit up. You smirked knowing that your apprentice had beaten you to the punch. You twisted the doorknob and walked in whistling a familiar tune, signifying to Niki that you weren’t some stranger just walking in.

 “Morning boss!” Niki leaned out from behind the doorway of the kitchen as she said it. “You’re looking really handsome today!” Her eyes sparkled and you smirked. The garb you had chosen for the festival cost you a pretty penny, but it was worth it.

 “Well, a man has gotta look his best for his business don’t you think?” You ran your fingers through your hair, before putting your chef’s hat on. “How many goods have you made so far this morning my dear?”

 The beginning of the morning went by smoothly. You had set up your booth while Niki had made quadruple the amount of baked goods that you normally made on a regular day. Festivals were good for business and you didn’t want to keep the people waiting. Now… You wished the middle of the day went just as smooth.

 More foot traffic meant more problems… Thieves taking from your stock, people touching everything they didn’t intend to buy, people who weren’t satisfied being rude, and so much more. You had your hands full with everything. By the end of the festival when lanterns were sent into the sky to celebrate the blood god keeping peace across the land, you were out of breath. Your booth had seen it’s last customer of the day, and your head was still reeling. But that didn’t stop you from lighting your own lantern. You let it go as you still stood next to your booth, unaware of the fact that eyes lingered over you, as you closed your eyes uttering your thanks to the very blood god who watched you with curious eyes.

 His eyes spotted your lantern ascending into the sky, he didn’t make himself known to you, He scanned over you once more before he followed the lantern’s light, awaiting the moment that it would come down. When it did, he looked at your handiwork adorning the material. Drawings and script told a story of your gratitude, that, without the peace that he had given, you would be a broken man with no passion in life. This peace gave you enough to stand on so you could pave your way into a successful business.

 A slight smile pulled at his lips, a mortal had piqued his interest, there was definitely more he wanted to know about you. He would rest now and make himself known to you later. He held onto your lantern, keeping it for himself.

 Days passed, and you struggled with the volume of customers who had come in. So each day you adjusted your inventory, to keep up with your customers. There were times when you could breath in between bursts of people. You could cry at the success from the booth just days before.

 On one of your breaks, you sat down on a stool to help ease the discomfort in your back. You had been on your feet the entire day and you needed this break. You reveled in the silence and peace, you closed your eyes, letting out a little sigh. When the door opened, and you heard the bell sound off, signifying a customer, you gave off a small, tired grunt.

 “Welcome to my bakery, how may I help you-” When you opened your eyes all the air left your lungs, and you couldn’t say any more. In front of you, stood a very tall man, with long pink hair, a golden crown that reminded you more of a circlet gilded his head. His ears were pointed and downturned, making it obvious he wasn’t human. His eyes rivalled the gold that sat atop his head. Deep purple to black armor hugged his body and a royal red cloak spilled from around his shoulders.

 His eyes studied your face, and you felt a blush redden your cheeks. He moved around your bakery in the most graceful way you had ever seen anyone move and you fought to regain your composure.

 “Make yourself at home, take a look around and if you need anything you can just ask.” You bowed your head to offer your respect to him. When his eyes searched over you once more you cleared your throat. Was this guy a soldier? A commander? His aura was one that suggested he was a man of power. Even so, this guy didn’t know what to get… His eyes wandered around looking at all the pastries and other baked goods, it was obvious he was having trouble deciding on what to get.

 “Would you like a sample?” You offered, you almost shrunk at the man’s gaze, but you didn’t let yourself falter you held out a cupcake for him to take, and when he took it, you felt your heartbeat in your ears. When he hesitantly took a bite, you visibly relaxed when he gave you a smile, crumbs falling from his lip.

 “I’ll take some more of these.” His deep voice shook you to your very core. Strangely, as much as this guy was intimidating… He was alluring, and you packaged up more cupcakes for him, giving him an extra one, because he was a first-time customer. Or… At least you told yourself that.

 “Thank you very much! Here is your order and should you come back you will be welcomed with open arms!” You told him your name as he held his hand out with his payment. When he dropped it into your hand your eyes widened and in the palm of your hand were three gold pieces. Your heart dropped and when you looked back up, he was gone. You charged mere copper for your goods, not gold??? You were dumbfounded.

 Months had passed, and the mysterious stranger came in each and every day. Ordering and trying new things from you. He had become a constant in your life, and you found yourself growing closer to him. You found out his name was Techno, and he was a war hero. You could tell he was leaving bits and pieces from you, but you figured if he wanted you to know he would tell you.

 One night you locked up your bakery, and you were just about to head home. Your steps echoing off the cobblestone path once more. You looked up to see Techno, knelt down in front of someone, holding out a loaf of bread out to a straggler down on his luck. You had sold Techno that bread earlier. You couldn’t help but feel the smile tug on your lips. Techno stood tall after the straggler thanked him profusely, his eyes finding yours. You felt your heartbeat faster, as he towered over you.

 “You have brought beauty into this world and it’s a crime not to share it.” Techno cocked his head at you, his hand resting on your cheek. “I would like to see more of the beauty you create.” He drops his hand from your face, holding it out for you to take.

 You sigh happily, intertwining your fingers with his, happy to follow him wherever he would lead you. He led you to a place where you could see every star, away from the village. Foliage surrounded you and it was a nice change of pace rather than the buildings around you.

 Techno looked at you, as you marveled at the scenery before you. He basked in your presence; you were such a breath of fresh air opposed to every other mortal around. He watched you make your way to a nearby stream, kneeling letting the cool water flow through your fingers. Techno summoned forth your lantern. When you stood and faced him again, you were shocked at the lantern in his hands.

 “How did you get that?” You felt heat rise up to your cheeks.

 “It tells a beautiful story.” He ignored your question, “Of a man, who was cast out based on his preferences… Going on a hard-earned journey to make a bakery. Determined to be successful, while hiding who you truly are, is… Tragic.” Techno cupped your cheek, his eyes boring into yours. “I do not wish to take credit for your hard work because I slaughter those who wish to upset the peace.”

 Your eyes widened; the blood god was real… And he was standing before you, gazing at you with a fond expression. This beautiful man before you stroked your cheek with his thumb, and you felt your tears coming forth. You were scared, scared to tell Niki of your preferences, in fear she would abandon you. If any of your patrons knew, your business would be ruined…

 “This world is filled with cruelty.” His words caused shivers to go up your spine. “I… want to shield you from that cruelty.” He leaned closer and closer to you, his lips just barely grazing yours. “If you’ll have me.” He barely whispered, but you heard him loud and clear. You threw your arms around his shoulders, standing on your tip toes to push your lips against his. That was when your tears spilled forth.

 The two of you, melted into each other, the moon above shone down on you. Before too long this towering blood god cradled you in his arms, your head resting on his chest plate. You thought you were content with your life before… What you had before couldn’t compare to what you had now. Technoblade the Blood God had fallen for a mortal, and no one could take you away from him.

[phantoms-lair]

Ok, but Zuko's crew figuring it out after just a week or so and having had enough time to propperly convince him before finding Aang (because he might have seen reason but he's still stubborn and what else are they gonna do? Open a tea shop?) Zuko: *didn't think he'd get this far* 'THIS IS SO AWKWARD; WHAT DO I DO?!?!' Lt. Jee, who knows kids need other kids their age around them, seeing the Gaang: 'They're friend shaped!'

“Here we are, the Southern Air Temple.” “It looks amazing Aang,” Katara couldn’t help but be breathless at the sight. Even so she couldn’t help the feeling of trepidation. Aang was from a time of peace long past. No matter how much they told him otherwise, he wouldn’t truly understand what the Fire Nation was capable of till he saw t with his own eyes. And this was the place she feared it would happen.

Aang led them up a long and winding path, chattering excitedly about everything he knew about the place. “And that’s the field where we played Air Ball, and that’s where the air bison slept and-” he broke off, sadness filling his voice. “This place used to be so different. It was full of monks and life. Now there’s nothing here. I can’t believe how much things have changed.” “Maybe not.” Sokka was looking around with sharp eyes. “If this place was really abandoned, there should be all sorts of weeds and overgrowth.  But everything’s neatly kept. Someone’s been here, and a lot more recently than a hundred years ago,”

His voice was filled with dark suspicion, but it went right over Aang’s head. The last airbender perked up. “You’re right! Come on let’s find them!”  “Aang wait!” But it was too late. Aang had taken off on his air scooter, following the path as quickly as he could. He came to an abrupt stop, air dissipating, and stared at the two figures wearing blotchy grey clothes standing in front of him. One of them, a woman, dropped the bundle of sticks and weeds she was holding. The other, a man with sideburns whispered “An airbender...” under his breath. “Get Iroh, he’s meditating in the Avatar Chamber.” He then bowed deeply as the woman ran off. “Honored Monk, would you and your companions please join us for some tea. I know our leader would be honored to speak with you.”

Aang nodded, but he seemed a lot more subdued than before. They were led into a large room. Sokka kept one hand on his boomerang, just waiting to see if trouble would start. On the way they saw several more grey-clothed people staring at them in wonder.

“Iroh should be here shortly.” the man explained. “My name is Jee.” “Iroh’s the one in charge?” Katara asked. “Everyone but he himself would tell you so.” Jee had a half smile. “Iroh sees our little group as a collection of equals, but in times of crisis or question, we tend to turn to him or Zuko.”

“Who’s-” But before Sokka could finish asking who Zuko was (and for that matter who this group was) he was interrupted by heavy footsteps running towards the door and throwing it open. “Jee is it true?” An elderly man was panting, clearly not used to running like he was. “An airbender has returned?”

Jee nodded. “This good Monk and his friends just arrived at the temple.”

“Spirits be praised.” The mans face twisted as tears began to flow from his eyes. “That the balance might not be destroyed, it’s more than I dared hope.” Then he seemed to catch himself and dried his eyes. “Where are my manners. My name is Iroh, let me make you some tea.” “Thank you. I’m Aang, these are my friends Katara and Sokka.” Aang introduced. “But may I ask, please, how did people from the Fire Nation get here. I thought this temple could only be reached by flying bison.” “Fire Nation!” Sokka rose from his seat, grabbing his boomerang. Likewise Katara reached for the water Iroh was pouring into the teapot.

“Peace.” Iroh sad calmly. “No one here wishes any of you harm.”  “How can you say that?” Katara spat. “You’re Fire Nation!”

Iroh looked directly to Aang. “Will you hear our story, honored Monk?”

“I will.” Aang turned to his friends. “We can’t attack before we’ve heard them out.”

“Watch me.” But despite his words, Sokka made no move to attack.

Iroh poured more water in the kettle, to replace what Katara had taken. “I am curious myself, how you identified us so quickly.”

“You’re wearing ash-dyed clothes.” Aang explained. “That’s what Fire Nation people wear in mourning.”

“A custom no longer practiced, sadly. We have taken it for our own as we mourn the loss of so much in the world, and seek to save as much as we can. If we can call ourselves anything, we are Restorationists.” Iroh handed each of them and Jee a cup, before pouring one for himself.

“Our story began three years ago, in the Fire Lord’s war council. My nephew, Zuko, was about your age and had talked his way inside to observe and learn. Like all children of the Fire Nation he’d been raised to believe the Nation was perfect and the war just. And it was in this meeting those beliefs were destroyed.”

“A General suggested a plan that would end in the sacrifice of the youngest Fire Nation recruits in a gambit that would gain very little, for you see the Firelord cares as little for his own people as those of other nations. The War Room was usually divided into two factions. Those like the General who reveled in slaughter, and those like myself who knew there was nothing we could say to stop it. Except that day there was another.” “Zuko spoke out, loudly and passionately, about how wrong the plan was. He was told he’d have to fight an honor duel for his disrespect. Zuko was pleased to fight someone as dishonorable as the General. Only on the day of the duel, his opponent wasn’t the general, but his own father.”

Sokka drew in a hissing breath. “The Firelord made him fight his own father?”

Iroh took a long sip of tea. “He forced Zuko, yes. But it was not involuntary on both sides. My brother longed to be rid of his kind-hearted son, and saw the duel as an opportunity. But my nephew thwarted him.” Iroh smiled to himself. “He surrendered, refusing to harm his own father. As a result my brother couldn’t land a killing blow without being disgraced himself. Instead he scarred Zuko and had him banished in disgrace for his ‘cowardice’.” 

For the first time they heard anger in Iroh’s voice. “No child should have to learn so young that their Nation is disgraceful, that their family has no honor. It was a terrible lesson, and yet one he did learn. The Firelord gave him an impossible task in order to rescind his banishment, but it’s one Zuko has no interest in pursuing. Instead he set out to learn how much more of what he knew was a lie. I’m sure you know what he found.” 

“Zuko wanted to make a pilgrimage to the places most harmed by the Fire Nation, starting with the Air Temples, the Western Air Temple in particular. We told him only an Air Bender could reach it. We underestimated him. Within a day he had managed to get inside. What he reported back to us was...it was nothing less than a tragedy. The corpses of Fire nation Soldiers and Air Nomads alike were strewn over the temple, which, as you can imagine, had fallen into serious disrepair.”

“Over the next few weeks, we had removed the bodies of the soldiers and gave them tradition field rites as per the Fire Nation. But we agreed we did not want to disrespect the Air Nomads further by denying them the proper rites. We searched the temple in hopes of finding the instructions, which we did.” “Please Iroh,” Aang looked like he was a moment away from sobbing. “Can you tell me...I just want to be sure.” Iroh nodded. “We burned them on an outdoor pyre, eight people in attendance at the cardinal directions. Four people facing the pyre, praying for the spirit of the fallen monk, four facing away, praying to the spirits to guide them. When the fire burned out, we spread the ashes to the four winds.”

Aang let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” His voice shook and Katara pulled him into a hug. Iroh nodded. “But the search for the proper rites drove home to my nephew how much had been lost. We spent much of the first year at the temple, finding what we could on Air Nomad Culture, as well as undoing what damage had been done. We were few to start with, barely thirty people. But as we traveled, more came to us. Most were former soldiers of the Fire Nation who could not stomach what they were asked to do. Some were Earth Kingdom scholars, seeking to uncover what had been lost to the war. We have restored all but the Norther Air Temple, as well as several places in the Earth Kingdom.”

“What about the South Pole.” Sokka crossed his arms. “You said you were going to places the Fire Nation hit hardest.” “The South Pole is still occupied, and I doubt the current residents would appreciate us showing up. We have found some various parchment scrolls, which we have copied into our caches, but not much.”

“Hold up, what caches?” Katara demanded.

“We didn’t want to make it easy for The Firelord’s servants to destroy the histories of the fallen peoples again. All the information we’ve found has been copied and placed in caches. We have one places in each of the locations we’ve restored, as well as several other hidden places throughout the Earth Kingdom. The memories of these people will not be forgotten again.”

“You’re more than welcome to look through the cache here for any knowledge lost to you tribe.” Jee said kindly. “And we would greatly appreciate anything Monk Aang could add. We’ve done our best, but that’s not the same as someone who’s lived in the culture.”

Iroh bowed his head. “For that matter, we recognize that this place and the other Air Temples belong to your people. If your people do not want us in their ancestral home, we will of course leave.”

Aang felt a lump in his throat as he realized that Iroh, and probably the rest of the Restorationists, had made a mistake. They thought he was one of a group of Air Nomads who had escaped. Not that he was the last. And...and if they had been to all the temples, except maybe the Northern One, he very well could be.

“Would you mind if I took a look at the cache.” To be honest he was less interested in it’s contents and more...he just needed some time to sort all this out.

Iroh nodded his head. “Of course. The cache for the Southern Air Temple is in the Atrium of the Southern Wind. I trust you know where that is?”

Aang nodded and rose. “Thank you for the tea.”” He gave a small bow an left, Katara by he side. Sokka hung back a bit and heard a snatch of conversation as he shut the door.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Jee asked.

Sokka froze, listening carefully.

“It depends on what you think I’m thinking.” Iroh said amicably.

“I’m thinking your bastard of a brother never let Zuko interact with other children and he never had the chance to once he took the responsibility to undue sins from before he was born. You’re hoping the Monk and his companions will be friends to him.”

“You know me too well.”

Sokka slid away, not sure if he was disappointed or relieved.

“What are you thinking Aang?” Katara asked as Sokka caught up. “Should we make a break for it.”

“No, if they wanted to hurt us, they would have tried already.” Aang said heavily. He sighed. “I really am the last, aren’t I?”

Katara gripped his hand and Sokka slung an arm around his shoulder. “You’re not alone thought. You know that right?” Katara asked him.

He gave her a sad smile. “Thanks guys.”

The Atrium of the Southern Wind was a tall chamber that was open beneath the ceiling so the wind rushed through. Though open to the air, it let little light in, so when the opened the door the chamber was flooded with light.

There was a single person inside, shielding his eyes as the new light greatly outshone the small candle he had been using. “I told you, Miki. I’ll take a break as soon as I finish transcribing this. Codebreaking is easier than reading Monk Chaiyun’s handwriting.” He was significantly younger than the other Restorationists they had seen. He also seemed to be wearing a strange white fur hat.

Katara and Sokka instinctively stood in front of Aang, who chuckled. “It really was bad.”

The Restorationist’s head shot up, causing his hat to fall off with a startled squeak. “You’re not-How did you get up here?” Then he shook his head. “That’s egotistical, we got up after all, sorry.” he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

Katara and Sokka felt their stomachs twist. Iroh had said his nephew had been scarred, and they though they had understood what that meant. They had seeen plenty of scars on the men of the village, life at the mercy of the ocean wasn’t kind. Almost all members of the tribe has some scars, from light gashes on fingertips struck with fish hooks, to the broad slash across Chinuk’s chest from when he’s been hit with shrapnel from Fire nation cannons on their last raid.

Nothing they imagined prepared them for the burn covering most of the left side of Zuko’s face. It was like someone with a flaming hand grabbed it and held on. Knowing it was his own father who’d done this, who wanted to do this, sickened them.

Aang’s attention, though, was on his ‘hat’. “Is that a lemur?” he asked, delight entering his voice for the first time.

Zuko smiled. “Yeah. I gave him some food and he’s stuck with me ever since. Do you want to give him some food?”

“Do I? Aang excitedly asked.

Zuko reached into a satchel and pulled out some berries and handed them to Aang. Aang offered them to the lemur who sniffed, then grabbed one, scootign away to eat it.

“I don’t suppose you have some meat in there?” Sokka stared at the satchel longingly. 

“No, but I feel you though. We don’t bring meat to the Temples since the Air Nomads were vegetarians and we don’t want to disrespect them. But I miss it too. I do have some Rabbiyak cheese though.” He reached into the bag and handed a soft yellow wedge to Sokka.

“Good enough!” Sokka grabbed it and shoved it in his mouth, practically melting in joy. 

Katara laughed, both at her brother and her friend, who now had the lemur climbing over him. “You made a new friend, Aang?” Zuko perked up “Aang? You were named after Avatar Aang?”

“Avatar Aang?” Katara asked, thanking the Spirits that the Lemur was on Aang’s face, so Zuko didn’t see his reaction. 

“The last Avatar we have any information on,” Zuko explained. “He grew up in this very Temple. The last piece of information we have on him was that he was going to the Eastern Air Temple. We don’t know if he made it or not though.”

He didn’t. But neither of the siblings wanted to tell anyone from the Fire Nation that, not matter how much goodwill that cheese had bought from Sokka.

Sokka swallowed the last of the cheese. “Iroh said the cache in here might have some lost knowledge from our Tribe?”

“Oh he did?” Zuko looked surprised. “You’re from the Southern Water tribe? I mean, you’d have to be, we don’t have anything from the Northern.” He opened a stone chest next to him. It looked normal from the outside, but opening revealed a strange shape to the interior, as if there were teeth withing the lid. Zuko pulled out multiple scrolls, which he handed to the siblings.

Sokka opened one and was surprised to find a message within stating that this scroll was a reproduction, and described what the original scroll had looked like, from the type of parchment and ink used, to the carvings on the handles. The scroll itself contained information on building a rigging system for a ship.

“Are there Fire Nation Scrolls in here?” Aang asked, the lemur curled up on his head as it had been on Zuko’s.

“Yep.” Zuko scowled, which looked even worse with his scar. “Seems each Firelord does their best to wipe out a culture. Sozin launched the strike on the Air Nomads. Azulon pretty much destroyed all Fire Nation culture that couldn’t be used to prop up the war. So like, the Fire Festival is still on, because ‘Rah Rah Fire Good’, but the Festival of Rebirth, which centered around sowing the fields with ashes to benefit crops was struck from records and history books because it was ‘too Earth Nation’. A vast majority of our culture just...gone.” There was no hiding the bitterness is Zuko’s voice. “And despite the Earth Kingdoms being the single greatest force of Resistance, Ozai’s been obsessed with the Water Tribes, so I guess that will leave Azula with Earth.”

“If they don’t get stopped.” Sokka pointed out.

“I hope so.” Zuko sighed. “If the rest of the world would band together, they could have been stopped a hundred years ago, but too many keep saying ‘not my problem’ till Ozai’s armies are at their doorstep. Everyone keeps saying stuff like ‘If only the Avatar would return, but he’s just one man? Or woman. Like, sure he can bend all the elements, but you just need four people for that. Maybe try to work on stuff yourself rather than rely on one person???” 

“You don’t think the Avatar can save the world?” Sokka asked, eyebrow raised. Sure he like how easily Zuko admitted to the Fire Nation needing to be stopped, but still...

Zuko shrugged. “It’s less I don’t think he can and more...I guess I don’t feel he should have to, I mean, the Fire Nation is about the size and a half of Ba Sing Se. It wouldn’t have stood a chance if all the Earth Kingdoms gave a United front against it in the beginning, much less both Water Tribes assisting.  But only a few Kingdoms and the Southern Tribe did more than protect their own borders. It just doesn’t seem fair to put it all on one person.”

Thank you Aang thought. He wasn’t ready to admit who he was to the Restorationists. In fact, he would have been happy if no one had known. But Zuko saying it didn’t all have to be on his shoulders...no one but Gyatsu had told him that.

“This would mean so much to the Tribe.” Katara said softly, looking at a scroll describing building elaborate structures from ice.

“Would if be better to get the original or copies?” Zuko asked.

Katara gave him a look that was just shy of a glare. “What do you think?” “Depends on how quickly you need the information. We always put originals in the closest cache to where we find them. Like this Waterbending scroll-” Zuko opened one. “-we recovered from pirates in the Earth Kingdom. You can tell from this marking that the original is in our cache in the Fuxai ruins.” He pointed to a small green emblem at the top of the note explaining it was a reproduction. “That’s quite a distance from here. So if the goal is to get the information to your tribe as quickly as possible, it would be easier for me to get a few hands and copy all we have. We’d probably be finished by this evening, which means you could leave to return with it as soon as tomorrow morning. However if it’s important is the cultural history, it makes more sense to get the originals, even though traveling to all the caches would be months worth of work.”

“Oh,” That was...well thought out. It occurred to Katara this may not have been the first time the true owners  of what the Restorationists recovered had come claiming what was theirs.

“Do you think you could do both?” Sokka asked seriously. “Make the copies now and, since we’re going on a journey with Aang, we can swap out the new copies for originals if we pass by.”

“Certainly.” Zuko smiled. “And it gives me a convenient excuse to take a break form trying to decipher Monk Chaiyun’s script for a little while.”

“One question though. If you thought you could be done by tonight and it was important, why would we wait till tomorrow to leave?” Aang wondered.

“And the others say I’m reckless.” Zuko rolled his eyes. “You guys just scaled the mountain. You know how dangerous it is to navigate in broad daylight. In the dark? Even I’d call it a death trap.”

“Actually we don’t. We flew in on my flying bison.” Aang explained.

Zuko froze, then looked at Aang as though he was seeing him for the first time. “A...a real...you really are a...” His mouth opened and closed several times. “Can I see it?” he finally said, then buried his face in his hands as thought that wasn’t at all what he’d wanted to say out loud.

“Sure!” Aang rose to his feet, wind swirling around him. Zuko gaped openly, but followed the monk outside to where they’d entered the temple from.

Zuko hadn’t been the only one interested in Appa. A large group of Restorationists were staring, albeit from a good distance away.

“This is Appa. He’s been my best friend since we were little.” Aang introduced.

Zuko stared in wide eyed wonder. “Can I touch him?”

“Sure, Appa’s friendly. Aren’t you?’ Aang asked, as if expecting the bison to answer.

Zuko tentatively reached out  and touched Appa. He stroked it for a few minutes before impulsively hugging Appa, burying himself in the white fur.

“He’s so fluffy,” Zuko proclaimed in a muffled voice.

Katara laughed and even Sokka smiled. “Still not sure on the rest of them, but this Fire Nation guy’s alright.”

Katara smiled back at him, and at Aang, who was eagerly showing Zuko the best way to pet Appa. Yeah. This one was okay.

[panda-noosh]

Pass Me Your Blade {Assassin!Pidge x Assassin!Reader}

 Words: 5065

 Pairing: Assassin!Pidge x Assassin!Reader

  Summary: You had been ordered to kill the nobleman who went by the name of Zarkon. The job should have been an easy one – in and out, no bother. But all of that changes whenever you find out that one of the lead assassins at the Voltrol guild had been sent to do the exact same job as you.

  Warnings: Graphic violence. Graphic scenes of blood.

  Notes: if y'all sleep on Pidge i'm gonna flip a table. Also, I really like how this turned out for some reason. I love writing about assassins, and using all that fancy language from the olden days. I hope you guys like it too :)

  The thrill pulsed through you, just as it always did.

  It was a low thumping in the back of your head, an insistent need to get the job done, to do as you were ordered to do. You were not driven by spite of the person you were sent to kill, though you knew the details behind the persons reasoning for wanting this person dead; they had killed their family, slaughtered them in cold blood and left your customer to rot on his own. He had come up to the guild, shaky hands, looking over his shoulder – a new guy. He clearly had never hired an assassin before.

  This happened all too often. The rich and the higher ranked got off with things that the people of your status would be killed for. Hung in the streets, stoned, burned. You were shown no mercy purely because you weren't as useful to the government as a nobleman was.

  That was what drove your anger; the discrimination, the way you could understand exactly what your customer had gone through. You didn't remember your family. It had been long ago since they had been taken into captivity, forced to work for the higher-up before being slaughtered for not working hard enough. You had been the only one spared.

  You didn't remember it. You often chose not to think about it, losing yourself in the thrill of getting vengence.

  That was exactly what you were doing now. It was a paid job, but the satisfaction of ridding the world of evil was a good enough payment on its own. You would never tell your customers that, though. They would try and lower their prices if they knew you would do it free of charge any day of the week.

  You leaped off of the mast you were previously crouched on, cloak billowing out behind you. With one hand, you gripped the edge of your hood, keeping it pulled on over your head in an attempt to keep your identity at least slightly unknown, though you were certain any guards who happened to look up would recognise you instantly – or at least recognise the silver cloak you wore, the only thing that gave away the identity of the guild you worked for.

  In your other hand you held your knife. It was decorated with the blood of the guards you had taken down in the hallway. You felt guilt for killing them, that not having been your goal, but you had to get the job done, and they were in your way. There was no mercy you could have shown them that would have made your job any easier.

  You rushed across the grand marble floor of the palace you had infiltrated, making your way towards the double doors that would lead you into the nobleman's – Zarkon, you believed his name was – dining quarters. You were positive he was there; you had checked and double checked the analysis Lotor had given to you. After weeks of trailing this man, you were almost certain he should be dining at this moment in time.

  You kept your footsteps quiet. There was no point in rushing. Sure, you were eager. Eager to see the life drain from his eyes, eager to see justice be served, eager to get your job done – but being too quick on your foot would lead to people noticing you, would lead to your stealth becoming sloppy.

  But subtlety would have to be thrown out of the window eventually. You saw no above-entrance to get into the dining room, meaning you would have to walk directly through the double doors to finish this man off. You would have to be quick about it, giving yourself only a few seconds to inspect who you would have to take down before heading directly for Zarkon.

  You reached the double doors and glanced behind you one last time – there were no guards coming in after you. You were fairly certain you had rid of them all, some of them simply unconscious if they didn't cause too much of a racket. Those who had tried to grab you, or who had tried to call for help had been greeted with a knife in the throat.

  You grinned to yourself, turned on your heel, reached your hand out towards the golden handles of the door-

  Something slammed into the side of you.

  You grunted, falling to the floor. Your fingers knocked against the handle, sending a loud clanging noise to echo through the grand hallway you stood in. It must have also signalled the guards on the other side of it. There was no way they hadn't noticed the sudden jerk of the handle as you fell.

  But you couldn't worry about that now.

  You rolled onto your back, immediately kicking your feet up. You couldn't even see who had attacked you in the first place, but it most certainly wasn't a guard. The person had come from the rooftops – this person was an assassin.

  Competition.

  You nearly sneered, but instead took the time to clamber to your feet after having slammed your feet into the persons chest. You glanced around once you were upright, knife held in your hand – the blood would be an obtrusion, but it was the best you could do at this point. You had no time to clean it.

  That was when you saw the green cloak.

  Your eyes lit up in panic – Pidge Gunderson, one of the head assassins of the Voltron guild. You had heard of her, of course. She was renowned, even amongst the noble men. People feared her. She was small, but she was strong and she was fierce and she very seldom showed any mercy for people who got in her way.

  Apparently, that person was you today.

  The kick you had sent to her chest had most definitely set her off balance. As you stood up and looked over at her, you noticed her stumbling, gripping one hand to her breast and panting heavily. You had winded her.

  But that wouldn't be enough. She would recover soon enough if the rumours of her strength were anywhere near the truth.

  You gripped your knife tighter as she caught herself, eyes snapping up to meet yours. For a moment, neither of you moved. You kept your head down, trying to keep your eyes covered by the lip of your hood – she didn't care. Her hood had long since fallen from her head, revealing her dishevelled brown hair and her sinister eyes that were glowing behind a pair of circular spectacles.

  She panted, raised her knife and slowly started to circle you.

  “They always send their weakest ones on jobs like these,” Pidge spat. Her voice was low, clearly trying to keep up any air of subtlety that she could. “They should have known you wouldn't last a minute if you came across one of our people.”

  You didn't respond. If there was one thing Lotor had taught you during your time in the Galra guild, it was never to stoop to their level, never give them the satisfaction of a comeback. Especially if the assassin was as smart and quick as Pidge Gunderson.

  Pidge smirked at your silence, clearly impressed with your reserve. Assassins were known to be easily angered – that was part of what made them so scary, so feared amongst the nobility. If the nobility even stepped out of line once, rage from guilds all across the province would be triggered.

  “He's trained you well,” she continued. “But not well enough. You should have known to have stayed away as soon as you heard that I'd been given this job. Zarkon is my kill.”

   She jumped towards you then, but you were prepared. Your cloak flurrying behind you, you span out of the way of her first blow, landing in a crouch against the marble floor. Pidge was quick, though. She parried, immediately swinging her blade in a downward arc towards you, slashing it down your arm and cutting the fabric of your cloak.

  You hissed, stumbling up from your crouch. The cold feeling of blood dribbling down your arm was already starting to bother you, though it didn't stop you from sending your elbow up, slamming it into Pidge's chin as she came at you again. She grunted, her head swinging backwards, giving you just a few seconds to get away.

  Perhaps if you could get yourself up onto one of the masts, you would be okay. You'd be able to distract her long enough to allow you some time to get into the dining room, finish the job, and leave.

  But the risk was a great one, especially with your wounded arm. If Zarkon had guards with him – which he most likely did – you wouldn't be able to fight them all off with only one good arm.

  You cursed, your options dwindling. Lotor wouldn't be happy to know that you had come back to the guild with nothing to report on. You hadn't even gathered any useful information – you hadn't expected to run into trouble this large.

  Pidge recovered quickly from the blow you had sent to her. Her height made it easy for you to lose track of her, though the green cloak was far from subtle, warning you of her presence as she darted towards you.

  You dodged her first blow and swung your knife when she skidded past you. You heard her yell, your knife making contact with the side of her face, slicing her cheek. The cut was shallow, but it still drew blood – definitely not enough to keep her out of your way, but enough to distract her.

  You jumped up as she dabbed her fingertips against her now wounded cheek, one arm wrapping around the low masts. You grunted, biting down on your lip to disguise the cry of pain that so badly wanted to burst from your system as you did so – your arm was throbbing. Blood was pooling out around the wound, making tears sting your eyes as you felt it splitting even further with your attempts to pull yourself up onto the mast.

  It became too much. Your fingers loosened around the knife you had been holding, and you watched in horror as it clattered to the ground with a loud clink.

  Pidge's head snapped up to look at you, her eyes wide, alert. There was no way the guards hadn't heard that.

  You were proven correct whenever the doors to the dining room finally swung open. You cursed to yourself, pulling yourself up with one final burst of strength and kneeling down in the masts, looking down at the guards who flooded into the room.

  Pidge was still kneeling on the floor, delicate fingertips caressing the cut you had sliced into her cheek. She had looked away from you now, instead choosing to turn her death glare to the people marching towards her now.

  Your breathing grew shallow. Your knife was in the middle of the room. They would notice it. They would know there was somebody else in the room, another assassin alongside Pidge.

  You held your breath and watched the scene unfold, unsure of what else to do. There was no way you could retrieve it now.

  Especially not whenever Zarkon sauntered into the room, purple cloak billowing out behind him in a way that reminded you that this man truly thought he was a kind, some deity that should be praised and bowed to. It made you sick. For a moment, you were half tempted to just take the chance; jump down from the masts and attack him where he stood, no matter the consequences.

  You stayed where you were, the blood pooling around your fingers reminding you why you had fled from the scene in the first place.

  “An assassin,” Zarkon said as he walked towards Pidge. “What a surprise.”

  She didn't reply.

  Zarkon grinned brightly. Guards had grabbed Pidge by the shoulders at this point, her feet lifted off of the floor, green cloak dishevelled and her hair even messier. She didn't panic of flurry in their grip; she simply let them hold her, glaring daggers at the nobleman walking towards her.

  “Has Takashi not learned his lesson from the last assassin he sent to kill me?” said Zarkon. “What was their name? Allura? That poor girl – a beginner, I can only assume. She most definitely wasn't skilled in the art of subtlety, but that seems to be a running theme for people from your guild.”

  Pidge clenched her jaw, and you felt your stomach coil. The thing was, Pidge was good at being subtle. You hadn't even suspected her in the room with you until she had attacked. It was you dropping your knife that had roused the attention of the guards.

  Why wasn't she saying anything? She knew where you were. She had seen you scramble up into the masts. There was no way she believed you had fled without your knife – what kind of assassin would you be without your blade?

  Zarkon slowly trailed his eyes over the marble room, and it was then that he spotted the blade in question lying in the middle of the floor. You held your breath again, slowly ducking down a little bit further, hoping and praying to whoever was listening that you were hidden well enough.

  He frowned and approached the blood stained knife. It was short, almost laughable in comparison to the machete Lotor wielded, or the double bladed katana that Keith had. But it was your knife, and it currently had his guards blood on it.

  “This isn't yours, is it?” he asked. He kneeled down and picked it up between his forefinger and thumb, inspecting it. The blood dripped off the end of it, making you wince. “Who is with you, assassin? Who else is lurking around in my palace?”

  Pidge didn't reply at first. Her breathing had turned shallow, eyes darting around the room and yet she still refused to look up at you, hiding away in the masts.

  You felt cowardly. You wanted to do something. You oddly wanted to help, but you were weaponless, and you were injured. There was little you could do without risking both your and Pidge's life at the same time.

  Zarkon turned towards Pidge, his jaw clenched as her silence was the only response he received.

  “This was fun up until now,” he growled. “I was showing you mercy. I could have ordered my men to kill you on sight, and yet you are still breathing in front of me now. I suggest you tell me who is with you, or else I might not be so lenient.”

  Pidge spat. “Go to hell.”

  Zarkon's eyes darkened before he nodded to the guard who was holding Pidge. Your stomach dropped as the guard immediately pulled a dagger from his waist holster and held it to the assassins throat, causing her to grunt and writher a tiny bit in his grip. She was clearly trying to keep her dignity, not wanting to make too much of a scene in fear of seeming scared of a man like Zarkon; he was a coward. He got his guards to do his work for him, killed innocents purely because he feared the idea of competition. He made you sick, and now he was holding one of your own with a dagger to their throat.

  Because that was what Pidge was. You and her could have all the competition in the world, but Pidge was an assassin. She understood you. She knew what you had been through, and you both had the same goal.

  You had to do something.

  “Are you going to speak now?” Zarkon questioned. “One inch at a time, that blade will cut your throat. I will spare you if you tell me who your companion is.”

  “If you kill me, you'll never know.”

  Zarkon's eyes glowed. “You sure do have a smart mouth on you for somebody so small. How old are you, little one? Nine? Ten?”

  “I may be young, but I've seen things you wouldn't even dream of, Zarkon. I'm stronger than you in every sense imaginable. So do your worst.”

  What was she doing?

  Zarkon's grin only brightened. He nodded to his guard once again, and you watched in horror as the blade was dug a little further into Pidge's neck.

  She closed her eyes, breathing going erratic for a moment before she calmed down. Blood pooled over the edge of the dagger, dripping onto Pidge's sandalled feet.

  “Are you going to talk now?” Zarkon questioned.

  “The blade is mine,” Pidge hissed.

  Your stomach dropped. You weren't entirely sure you had heard her right – did she just claim that your fallen blade was hers? Did she understand how much trouble that could get her in? It was one thing entering the palace with one blade, but two would surely have her publicly hung for her crimes.

  Zarkon raised a bushy eyebrow, looking back down at your knife in his hands. You would do anything to retrieve that now. You needed to help Pidge.

  “You truly walked into my palace, intent on killing me with two guild blades?”

  Pidge nodded. “Two is always better than one, my good man.”

  “Funny how that works,” Zarkon growled, before he stepped forward and swung your knife towards Pidge in a surprisingly professional arc.

  Your legs took on a mind of their own, doing their own thing completely against your will. You were jumping from the masts before you could stop yourself, winding around a pole and landing in a crouch upon the floor. Your hood was still pulled on over your head, but a guard gasping, “A Galra assassin!” gave your identity away almost immediately.

  You didn't wait for the reaction of Zarkon. You needed to get to him as fast as possible.

  His arm was still in the air by the time you reached him. He went to bring it down towards Pidge, a killing blow, but your hands wrapped around his wrist and you tugged. He stumbled backwards, a cry of surprise escaping him as the two of you fell to the ground.

  You immediately took the initiative, straddling the nobleman and fighting your knife from his grip. He was yelling, screaming for his guards to do something, but all he had at the moment where the three guards who had been dining with him – you and Pidge had killed and knocked out the others.

  You span around, facing the two guards who were diving towards you. One of them still held Pidge, who was staring at you with wide eyes as you danced around the attackers.

  One of them pulled a sword from a sheath on his back – a proper sword, silver and glistening in the white light of the marble room. You smirked at it.

  “I always did enjoy a challenge.”

  You stepped forward, making it seem like you were going to try and clash your dagger against his sword – how stupid he must have thought you to be. Instead, your step forward turned into you rolling against the floor, back against the marble. The guard grunted, looking down at you, and it was then that you brought your feet up, landing them directly into the area between his legs.

  He cried out, eyes watering immediately. He doubled over, and you sent your heels into his chin, knocking him backwards.

  You stood up quickly, grabbed his fallen sword and stuck it through his chest before he could even comprehend the idea of standing up.

  The second guard came at you quickly. You span on your heel, immediately clashing your new weapon against his; now you had a sword. Now, your disadvantage was non-existent bar the fact that your skills in fighting were much more polished than his. Whilst the noblemans guards had been trained in the art of battle, you had been trained in the art of stealth. You knew how to creep around a man, how to take him by surprise; the guards knew how to charge, how to run into violence head first. They didn't know the manoeuvrers you did.

  That much was made clear in the way this particular guard struck his sword towards you. With the mix of shock from the death of his friend and the anger he must have felt, his moves were sloppy. There were tears stinging in his eyes as he made a sharp swing towards you; one you easily blocked with your sword. The shock off the swing wasn't even that big, meaning his hit had surely been one he hadn't exactly planned out.

  That was his first mistake; sloppiness.

  Zarkon was yelling in the background, still trying to stand up though the shock from the current situation was keeping him pinned to the floor.

  Pidge was writhering in her captives grip, yelling for you to stop being stupid, to get out of the way, but you weren't listening to her. The thrill was back again, and you couldn't help yourself.

  You would get both you and Pidge out of here.

  You swung your sword and the guard blocked it easy enough. He smiled as if he had won some kind of victory – that smile was quickly sheared as you parried and slammed the end of your sword into his neck. He gasped, sword clattering to the ground as his hands came up and wrapped around his own throat, his breathing suddenly turning into desperate gasps.

  You took your chance, swinging the blade and stabbing it through his stomach.

  Zarkon yelled. “Damn you! Damn you all!”

  He was still trying to get away. You could pay attention to him later.

  For now, you span on your heel and turned towards the guard holding Pidge. She was now staring at you with wide eyes, a slight smile on her face, but it shifted once she noticed where your attention truly was; not on her, but the guard holding her.

  Your gaze seemed to almost remind her that she was, indeed, currently being held in somebodies grip.

  She raised a brow, and to your surprise, she leaned forward and clamped her teeth down on the guards hands. The guard was in a daze, having just seen two of his friends be cut down with such precision, by a person so small, by a person beneath him nonetheless.

  He yelled, trying to pull his hand from between her teeth but she kept her grip tight. You watched on in slight amusement as she kicked her feet back, digging the heels of her shoes into the mans thighs until his legs gave in and he fell to the floor. Pidge immediately rolled out of his grip, and you found yourself tossing her your blade once she was free. She grabbed it, winked at you, span on her heel, and dug the blade directly into the mans throat.

  He stayed upright for the space of a few seconds before he fell to the side, blood spraying out between his fingers. In a matter of minutes, you were surrounded by three dead people and a panicked nobleman.

  You and Pidge stood side-by-side, casting glances towards the cowering nobleman. He was in the corner, knees bunched up to his chest, eyes wide and tear glistened. He wasn't even looking at his fallen soldiers, instead keeping his gaze directly on the two assassins in front of him.

  Pidge stepped forward. “What an interesting change of events, don't you think, Y/N?”

  You pursed your lips. “Just kill him and get it over with.”

  “There's no point in killing him. We'll let him rot here. He can't hire any more guards – not with the debt he's in. Not with the lives he's taken. We leave this palace and his entire empire falls.”

  Zarkon's eyes widened. “Just kill me.”

  “That would be mercy,” Pidge growled. “That is something you do not deserve.”

  She turned on her heel, placed your blade back into your hands before she walked out of the marble room. You watched her leave, your mouth open in shock; that was now what you had expected. You had expected her to put the man down as soon as she had the chance.

  But perhaps she was right; whenever you had to live with guilt, death seemed more of a mercy than life did.

  The night air encompassed you as you stood upon the lip of the rooftop that you visited one night out of every month. The stars were bright this night, the moon glowing a deep red colour; you had arrived earlier than usual just to see the red moon. Red. The colour of blood. Red. The colour you saw so often, the colour of the thrill.

  It wasn't calming. In fact, standing upon this roof now was almost a form of self hatred, reminding you of the people you had killed and the lives you had taken so you could afford to live as you did; certainly not in luxury, but you were well. You were alive. You were fed. You had clothes on your back and a family to go home to – a family of assassins, none of whom were related to you by blood, but that didn't matter. They protected you, and that was what made a family at the end of the day.

  “Where did it all go wrong, Pidge?”

  She stepped out of the shadows. You barely heard her. You very rarely did. You knew she was there though, watching you closely, keeping an eye on you like she had promised to do.

  She had been keeping her promise. You had saved her life that day, all them months ago, and she was now going to make sure no harm came to you.

  “I don't know,” she responded softly. “I prefer not to question it a lot of the time.”

  “That's odd of you,” you said, turning to look at her. “You question everything else.”

  She smiled lightly, ducking her head down with her arms folded over her chest. Once again, the hood of her green cloak was pulled away from her hair, releasing the light brown nest that she so rarely styled to look like anything more than a mess – but it suited her. You couldn't imagine her with anything else.

  “Questions are important,” she said. “They stop you from doing idiotic things. Sometimes questioning things is good.”

  “And what about impulse? Spontaneity? You miss out on such life changing events purely because you keep everything to a direct plan.”

  Pidge frowned. “That's not true.”

  “How is it not? I don't think I've ever seen you do something without a plan beforehand.”

  “You haven't known me for that long, Y/N,” she said, before she looked up at you. “That's what scares me the most.”

  You narrowed your eyes, unsure if she could see you in the darkness. The red moon seemed bright, but it did very little to illuminate the surrounding area. “What do you mean?”

  Pidge stepped forward then, startling you. You nearly took a step back, the instincts of an assassin welling up inside of you, driving you to protect yourself. But Pidge was no threat. Despite the scar you bore on your arm from the slash of her blade, or the scar she wore on her cheek from the slash of yours, you two were allies.

  Perhaps more than that, though you refused to ponder on such a ridiculous concept.

  “You've known me for no longer than five months, and yet I find myself thinking about you more often than not,” she said. Your eyes popped open in surprise.

  She took another step towards you, sighed. “You say I'm not spontaneous or impulsive, but I truly didn't mean for this to happen when I came up here tonight.”

  “D-Do what?” you stammered, before silently cursing yourself for sounding so weak. This was Pidge. You had nothing to be afraid of.

  “This.” She took the final step towards you, gently placed her hand on the back of your neck and drew you close to her. She paused, a breath away from your face. You could feel the warm heat radiating off of her, her skin boiling beneath the thick cloak she wore. You could smell the fresh blood on her, no doubt from a recent kill she had been ordered to be a part of.

  She let her gaze travel down to your lips, making sure you weren't about to pull away in disgust. A part of you was tempted – assassins weren't meant to fall in love. You were a killer. You didn't deserve to take lives and live a full one at the same time.

  But her eyes had trapped you, and the feeling of her small hand against the back of your neck, and the sound of her heavy breathing was enough to keep you frozen in space.

  And then she was pressing her lips to yours, and everything else fell into place at the same time.

  There was a constant weight on your shoulders, being an assassin. A constant fear that somebody was going to attack you, somebody was going to find the location of the guild and take you all out. That was always a risk, and it was one that left you on edge at all hours of the day.

  Never before had you believed that that edge could be taken off by something as simple as a kiss, but god did you suddenly melt.

  Your lips moulded against Pidge's, your body doing the exact same thing. You two seemed to fit perfectly together, her hands falling from your neck and resting themselves on your waist. You weren't entirely sure what to do with your hands, but found yourself placing them on either side of her face, pulling her that little bit closer to you.

  And the moment was perfect. Amongst the fighting and the violence and the lives you lived, this moment was perfect.

[storytaeme]

fantasy – vmin

All his life, Taehyung wanted to believe he was destined for something greater—he just never expected greater to be the crown prince’s lover.

vmin week 2017 – taehyung x jimin

❧ Elements: Fluff, Smut  |  Royalty AU

❧ Word Count: 6,520 words

❧ A/N: I’m late I know i’m so sorry!! I really hope you enjoy this one though. It was supposed to have much more content but then one thing and led to another and BOOM SEX. so yes :D

“What did the pirate say when he turned 80?”

Jimin waited, tapping his lip thoughtfully, his eyes glittering with delight.

“Aye matey.”

Pause. His finger stopped, his gaze flicked up to meet Taehyung’s. It was almost comical to watch the realization dawn on his face. There was a slow curl of his lips then the furrowing of his brows, throw in the parting of his lips and the way his body shifted back. Jimin tossed himself into laughter. It was mesmerizing to watch how quickly he transformed his entire position. Laughter sprung from his lips and filled the empty room while Taehyung made a drumming motion. Ba dum ts.

“T-that was terrible,” Jimin swiped away a tear, groaning, “why are you like this? I thought you were supposed to be funny.”

“I am funny,” Taehyung argued, “almost as funny as the time someone swallowed a wire from their braces and I told them to brace themselves.”

Cue the laughter. It was the squeaky one this time, the one that sounded like he was hiccuping and giggling simultaneously. Jimin practically flung himself on the side of his chair, prompting his right hand men to drift towards him. But he only batted them away, shooing them back to the door where they usually stood.

“Alright, fine, fine, I’ll concede just this time,” Jimin grinned, dabbing at his eyes again.

Taehyung skipped on his feet and did a flourished bow, “Thank you, your majesty.”

Kim Taehyung. 21 years old. Son, brother, friend. Lover.

In the time of knights and mythical dragons, of rich royalty and poor peasants, Taehyung was caught in between the two worlds. He had grown up in the disgustingly realistic income inequality where his parents broke their bones to support him and his brother and sister. Taehyung had lent a hand at the time as well, bringing their fresh produce to the markets to sell. They were one of the popular vendors, thankfully, and managed to garner enough to support the family.

Well, barely.

Village taxes were atrocious and all of it went into the luxurious life of the monarch. They fed the king’s belly and his men and women and share of mistresses. Taehyung had always spited them for it, but kept his mouth shut. He had to be the good kid, couldn’t pick fights with anyone if he wanted to live. The royal family didn’t take criticism very well, and it was the only form of governmental power they had always known.

“Taehyung, you get lovelier everyday,” an elderly woman cooed, patting his cheek as he handed her her purchases. He only chuckled because a nice front was all he could put up to ensure that business flowed smoothly. Taehyung was a charmer, sure, and that meant he had to use it to his advantage. “How about marrying my daughter? You’re at such a ripe age now.”

Ripe. The world left a bad aftertaste on his tongue, but he bit back his flinch and grinned at her. “But you know what’s even riper, Mrs. Han? Our apples. Fresh picks and I’ll even select the best of the best for you.”

“Oh, you,” she clicked her tongue but tittered, “but alright, I’ll take a few. But only the best, alright?”

Taehyung beamed right back at her and did so. It was all about the money.

“Have a good day, son, I’ll be back tomorrow for more,” she smiled before scurrying away to the next vendor for more groceries.

Smiling took a lot of effort, strained too much on his face muscles. This was his everyday life, he supposed. Harvesting fruits and vegetables from his family’s farm, bringing them all to the packed village market, using his natural likable personality to sell everything out. It worked. This worked.

Sometimes, he thought about whether he was meant for something bigger than this. Bigger than this tiny village. He wanted to explore, wanted to venture in the world outside of his little town and see what this vast universe could offer him. Alas, he did not have that luxury.

Taehyung thought that he could be content with the way things were, but that was until his world was turned around one particular day.

It was a blistering day with the sun raining down hell’s fire upon the village. Everyone was sweaty and pissed over how ridiculously high the temperature was. Taehyung wanted to argue whenever his customer complained about the high prices of their sales (they really weren’t that high considering the quality).

“But, Taehyung, these aren’t even fresh,” Mr. Park bitterly commented at his spread of lettuce and cucumbers.

“Mr. Han, I can assure you that they are. We just picked them this morning and cleaned it. It’s the best quality you can find around here,” Taehyung softly soothed him.

“Can’t you lower the prices just a little bit? Money’s a little tight.”

Money’s a little tight for everybody, Taehyung wanted to snap back. The heat wasn’t doing much to assuage his irritation either. “Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, “these are the best in the area so I can guarantee that this is the best price for it.”

“I can help,” a voice sounded next to Mr. Park.

Holy shit. Taehyung’s knees weakened and heart rate picked up. Mr. Park stumbled around too before dropping to his knees. The man flailed almost hilariously as he urged Taehyung’s customer up. His knights worked quickly to bring the man back to his feet, insisting that he shouldn’t touch such people. Taehyung wanted to snort.

The man instead pulled out a few silver coins, enough to cover a good amount of the produces Mr. Park had been looking at. “Will this do?” he asked, voice tinged with worry. “I have more if needed but I wasn’t sure—”

“Your highness—” his knight and Mr. Park interrupted at the same time. “You certainly don’t have to, your majesty. I can still afford it. Please. I wouldn’t subject you to that.”

His laugh tinkled in the air, carrying a sweet tune that would never exist in a world as bitter as those in the village. “You’re not subjecting me to anything, I assure you. This is the least I can do.” The man pressed the coins in Taehyung’s direction who glanced between the knight, the prince, and his customer warily.

He accepted it gratefully and bowed. “Thank you, your highness.”

“Give this man the best,” he giggled happily again.

Taehyung quickly worked on selecting the freshest ones to offer Mr. Park. With how much the prince offered, Mr. Park could’ve easily bought enough lettuce to last him the week. Taehyung packaged them carefully before handing it over to his regular. Mr. Park nodded a billion times to the prince, bowing in appreciation.

“Please, please stop,” the man pleaded, “it’s completely alright. I hope you have a wonderful day.” Mr. Park hurried away afterwards, fresh groceries in hand to feed his family.

He wasn’t sure what to expect, but it wasn’t for the prince to stick around, perusing over his goods. Suddenly, he didn’t feel like the ones he had up were adequate anymore.

Prince Park Jimin, the only heir to the throne, the next in line. He was a beautiful specimen, but it was hard not to be when he only had the best of the best to care for him ever since he was a mere infant. He looked almost ethereal with his sleek black hair styled neatly atop his head and clothes glimmering underneath the sunlight. Prince Jimin was a crowd favorite. It was hard not to love the man who was so humble and kind. He was always paying visit to the town, ensuring that people were happy. He listened well to the villagers, and was an all-around good-hearted man.

“Are these good?” the prince smiled up at him, Taehyung’s heart skipped a beat, pointing to the cherries.

“Yes, your highness. It’s our sweetest bunch yet,” Taehyung cleared his throat, fidgeting nervously with his fingers. It was hard not to be intimidated when the prince’s knight was glaring down at him as if he wanted to slaughter him and have him for dinner.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing to it again. Did he have a choice to say no? Taehyung nodded. He plucked one out from the box and slipped it past his lips, the act itself was beautiful, elegance in his movements. Those of the higher class had a different taste to their movements, Taehyung supposed. “Mm,” he hummed, going as far as to suck his fingers into his mouth to lick up the excess juices. “It’s very sweet.”

“Thank you, your highness.”

The prince grinned and, Taehyung wasn’t sure, but it bordered on a smirk. There was a glint in his eyes that made his stomach churn but he made no comment towards it—he couldn’t, not if he wanted to keep his head. “What’s your name?”

“Taehyung, your majesty, Kim Taehyung.”

“Taehyung,” he echoed in a murmur, “pretty name for a pretty boy.”

Taehyung could hear a pin drop in the sudden silence of his hears. Did he just—was he so old as to start hearing things? “I—um—”

“You don’t agree?” The prince was downright teasing him at this point. Even with the heat, he could feel his cheeks flame again. What was the right answer? Was he supposed to agree and sound like a big head or deny and risk getting his head sliced off?

“I’m, I’m not sure, your highness,” Taehyung stammered awkwardly, tugging on the loose collar of his shirt.

“Well, I think you’re really pretty,” the prince giggled, “how much for the cherries?”

Taehyung coughed, “Free of charge if you’d like, your highness.”

“Please,” he scoffed, “drop the highness thing. Think of us as friends, yes, friends.” Friends with the crown prince? Only in his dreams. “This hopefully should cover a box.” He dropped a few in front of Taehyung on the counter.

That would cover ten boxes and a half. Taehyung didn’t have the heart to refuse when it could certainly help his family.

“I’ll see you around, Taehyung,” the prince flashed him one last dazzling smile before walking on his merry way again.

The other boy was left in a daze, wondering if that really just happened. His parents had been pleased of course by his earnings for the day and promised a feast for that night.

And that happened again and again for several days. The prince would appear before him, tasting a few of the products before offering him an ungodly amount of money for a disproportionate amount of the produce. He would call him pretty each time, tell him that his groceries were as sweet as he was. Taehyung wasn’t sure where all these comments were going but he would be lying if he didn’t preen at the man’s words. It was the prince praising him after all.

Taehyung knew he was attractive, by commoners’ standards at least. He had strong features and the gentlest of expressions, he was tall and fit, but soft enough to come off as friendly. His skin was rich and tan, healthy from all the sunlight.

However, never in his life did he expect the prince, who was surely surrounded by beautiful people everyday, to think of him as pretty and to tell him as such.

“Taehyung,” Jimin, as he insisted Taehyung to call him, said after he purchased a bag of apples. “What time do you usually finish work?”

“Five in the evening, your highness.”

Jimin clicked his tongue. “What did I say about calling me that?” he asked sternly, making the other boy duck his head shyly. “Would you care to join me for dinner at the palace?”

What? Was he hearing things? “Excuse me?”

“The palace. Would you join me for a meal? Of course, I’ll be providing everything for you and I’ll ensure that you would be returning home safely,” Jimin explained then paused before adding, “unless you’d prefer to stay at the palace. My room can squeeze in one extra guest.”

That had left his mouth dry and he didn’t have time to assess whether Jimin had been serious or not when he broke into a laugh.

“So, how about it?”

“I, um, would but my family—I usually help prepare dinner and yeah,” he finished lamely. There was a huge chunk of him that felt fear over this entire situation, how odd it was.

Jimin clapped his hands together, “Oh, of course! My apologies for being so inconsiderate—” Taehyung was about to say that he didn’t have to apologize because royalty just didn’t “—what if I send over food from the palace and a couple of maids if you’d like? They can help anything and even clean your home.”

The thought of Jimin’s staff visiting his home left a sinking feeling in his gut. His home was far from fancy, far from the luxurious setting Jimin was probably accustomed to. “Y-you don’t have to,” Taehyung rejected.

Jimin caught his waving hands, halting his movements. “Please?” he asked sweetly, “so you can join me for dinner.”

“I—” Taehyung looked at the contrast between their hands, how Jimin’s were small, delicate, and clean but his were decorated in callouses and dirt. “I don’t have anything to wear,” he reasoned lamely.

“Don’t worry about it, it would just be the two of us,” Jimin beamed, squeezing his fingers. “Please, Taehyung?”

His hands were tied. So he squeaked out an “okay.”

The sheer excitement painted on his face had Taehyung’s heart twirling in his chest. “Perfect! Oh, okay, I’ll be back by then to pick you up and I’ll ensure that my maids will be there earlier to help your parents.”

“I should, um, tell them.”

“Of course! How stupid of me,” he giggled, “I’ll meet you there th—”

Taehyung quickly blurted out “no,” he coughed, “I mean, I’ll make my own way to the palace. You don’t have to.”

“Taehyung,” Jimin said. His tone had him clamping his lips shut. A shiver snaked down his spine at the look in Jimin’s eyes, one that had his entire body stiffening. “Let me take care of you, pretty, okay?”

Taehyung choked, “O-okay.”

“Perfect,” and that look was gone. Jimin was smiling again and his eyes disappearing. “I’ll see you then, Taehyungie.”

God, what had he gotten himself into?

When he returned home to his parents and informed them of his dinner plans, they had laughed at him, thinking their son had finally reached the pinnacle of insanity. Taehyung kept trying to convince them but they only brushed him off, that was until a car pulled up up front. Taehyung wanted to know how Jimin knew where he lived but royalty seemed to know everything anyway.

“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Kim,” Jimin smiled. He looked so out of place in the average household that was closer to shabby on the spectrum. His clothes glimmered with its golden pieces and his smile could rival them with its brilliance.

“Y-your highness!” his father was the first to recover and drop to his knees and his mother followed suit. They urged their children to follow but Taehyung could only stand stone stiff. Jimin has told him before that he hated it. As predicted, he crouched to encourage them to stand. “W-what brings you to our humble home, your highness?”

Jimin tilted his head then looked at Taehyung. “I was under the assumption that your son has explained the situation to you. I will be having him for dinner and, in exchange, I can lend you the services of the royal staff.”

I will be having him for dinner could be taken in two very different ways.

“That won’t be necessary, please, he would be honored,” his father cleared his throat and his mother hurried to Taehyung, mentioning something about preparing him.

Within minutes, they put him in the best threads they had which probably couldn’t compare to even the worst of Jimin’s outfits. However, it was the only thing they could gather up in such last minute notice. His mother was going to rip him a new one when he came back.

Leaving his family to Jimin’s maid made him a little uncomfortable, but he didn’t have time to regret as the prince himself pushed him into the car and allowed him to settle back against the leather seats. It felt almost like a sin for his filthy hands to touch the clean setup of the car, but Jimin kept insisting that he relax. The two talked quietly on the way back, mostly with the prince questioning him on his daily life. It didn’t feel right for him to do vice versa as, well, he was the prince.

Although Taehyung had seen the castle from afar, the up close and personal view left his jaw dropping. It was massive, stones layered over each other to construct a massive building fit for the royal family. They rounded the estate and went to one of the smaller towers, which he assumed was where they were heading for dinner. Instead of the staff eyeing him strangely, they instead regarded him with nothing but politeness. It was almost unnerving to have people serve him and offer him things when that had always been his role.

Jimin had ensured that they prepared a great spread for the two of them and he was right. He was most definitely right when Taehyung’s gaze landed to the full table stretched across the room. “I wasn’t sure what your favorite was so I sort of got them to make everything,” he chuckled almost nervously.

Again, all throughout dinner, Taehyung ate humbly, picking on things he liked and never asking for more. Though, that didn’t prevent Jimin from piling more atop his dish and having him fill his stomach to the brim. Jimin continued to ask him questions about his life, how he liked it in the village. “I’m just so curious,” Jimin grinned earnestly.

“This is like a prince and the pauper moment,” Taehyung muttered under his breath, never intending for the prince to hear it but he did and he asked the boy what he meant. “Um, like the story? The story about the prince and the pauper who exchanged places for a day as they looked alike so one could have a taste of the other’s life.”

Jimin looked genuinely surprised. “That sounds interesting, I must read that. I’m not sure how that would work with us though. You’re so tall and handsome.”

Taehyung felt heat sneak up the back of his neck and to his face, garnishing his face with a pretty coral color. “Ah, thank you. But you are–handsome, that is.”

“Not tall?” Jimin teased.

“Not taller than me,” Taehyung chuckled, then his eyes instantly widened, a “sorry” on the tip of his tongue.

“Don’t apologize,” Jimin giggled, “that’s what I like to hear. I want you to be relaxed around me, okay? We’re friends. Yeah, friends. I need you to be able to talk to me like this.”

That really was a feat considering Jimin was the actual prince and, if he wanted Taehyung’s head on a plate, he would have it served on a golden platter (he wasn’t sure why but he figured royalty would have a thing for decapitation). “Alright, I’ll try,” he murmured.

“And,” Jimin coughed, hiding his smile behind his fist, “if you’d like, I’d love it if you would join me for dinner from time to time. The castle gets a little lonely so it will be nice to have some company.”

It was a strange request, but Taehyung’s heard his fair share of it, he supposed. This time, it just came from someone who was on his way to ruling the entire kingdom. Taehyung could only smile and nod, agreeing that he would make some time to make it to Jimin’s dinners.

That was the beginning of it all. The start of their odd friendship kept a hidden secret from everyone else. Jimin’s closest maids and knights knew him, were familiar with him even and would go as far as to treat him like royalty in spite of his insistence that he really was still not. He sometimes slept over at Jimin’s place before returning in the early hours of dawn to get back to work for his family. Other times, the two would share a few drinks that left them all buzzed and warm—these days, Taehyung would end up teasing Jimin more, the two of them getting caught in a tussle that finalized with either of them pinning the other down, announcing their victory. It started with small touches, light swatting of hands, then a little bit of wrestling and pinching, before they started to feel comfortable with hugging and sitting on each other’s lap, tickling the other’s chin and kissing their cheek.

It was all supposed to be harmless and temporary. Taehyung thought that way—or tried to convince himself at least. However, it wasn’t until that one night that things spiraled.

Jimin had stolen a bottle of wine from his father’s private collection, bringing it to Taehyung with happy tittering. As they always did, they pulled out the cork and ended up in Jimin’s bed and popping open his television to watch some dumb show that was playing. Only this time, they managed to finish the entire bottle after cleaning out a few margaritas that his chef had prepared.

“Mmm,” Jimin hummed, nuzzling his face into Taehyung’s neck, hand placed on his broad chest. “God, this feels so nice and warm. You feel so good here. You should stay here all the time.”

Taehyung laughed, “If only, Jiminie. It’s nice here, I like it. But I still have my family and responsibilities.”

“I know,” he moaned, rolling over so he was practically draped over Taehyung, “but I just like having you here. The palace is always way too quiet, you bring a little more light into it.”

“That’s romantic,” Taehyung murmured, drawing his gaze away from the screen to look at Jimin. The prince was staring right back at him, big eyes peering into his soul. Absentmindedly, Taehyung’s eyes fell to Jimin’s lips. His plump, thick lips that wrapped around fruits so prettily, that rounded to form the syllables of his words. Taehyung had always found them pretty, thought them to be the sexiest part of Jimin.

The air crackled with heavy tension as the two remained silent, only their breathing echoing in the empty room. The maids have all gone off to bed for the night and Taehyung and Jimin were alone in his room. Jimin shifted a little, moving upwards so he was face-to-face with the other boy. He drifted closer and closer until their noses bumped, until he could fan his breath on Taehyung’s cheek, until their lips brushed. It started slow and steady, Taehyung unsure of what to do as his hand raised to the small of Jimin’s back to draw him tighter into him. Jimin moved his lips against Taehyung’s who followed his lead and swallowed Jimin’s small groans of pleasure. He pressed deeper and harder, lips seeking out Taehyung’s more insistently.

Kissing Jimin was like an instant addiction. Taehyung knew then that Jimin had ruined kisses for him forever. His tongue darted out to seek permission from Taehyung and the boy’s mouth opened for Jimin almost obediently. Their tongues tangled together, saliva mixing together and the sweet taste of sugar in their mouths. Hot breath mingled in the air in between them as their hands began to roam. Taehyung ran his hands over the hard planes of Jimin’s abs and shoulders while the prince felt up the softness of Taehyung’s belly. They kissed and they kissed until their lips were sore, until Jimin tugged Taehyung’s shirt over his head. He nosed down the other boy, along his jaw and down his neck, pressing wet kisses and grazing his teeth on the delicious caramel skin.

“Fuck, Tae,” Jimin moaned, his voice vibrating into Taehyung. “You’re so goddamn pretty.”

“J-Jiminie, please,” Taehyung whimpered jerking his hip up.

Jimin kissed his way up his neck and to his ear, nipping on the skin and tugging on it. “Want you on my cock, pretty. I want to see you. Have you ever touched yourself?”

The question had Taehyung blushing, entire body warm with humiliation that Jimin took in more than happily. “N-no, never,” he whispered, losing all sense of understanding as Jimin captured his lips again.

“Do you—do you want me to show you?” Jimin asked, eyes twinkling in the dim lights of the room. Taehyung managed to swallow thickly and nod. “Turn around for me, pretty, let’s see that ass of yours.” Taehyung, ever obedient, did as he was told and pressed his face into Jimin’s pillow. He was lying face down but Jimin propped him up so his knees were planted on the sheets and his butt in the air. The prince ran his hand over the curve of his pretty ass, whispering about how Taehyung had a fantastic ass. “Every time you bent down in the market,” Jimin moaned, “God, I wanted to smack this ass of yours. Make it all red and pretty in front of everyone.”

A gasp slipped past his lips at Jimin’s admission and Taehyung found his body lighting up with interest. His cock twitched in his pants, a familiar reaction around Jimin, yet also novel in the wake of his words. The thought of getting stripped naked, humiliated in front of everyone, lit a fire within him. Instead of feeling disgusted at the thought, Taehyung could already picture himself basking in the attention as well as Jimin’s touch.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Jimin growled, fingers digging into his scalp and tugging lightly on the thick locks. Taehyung whined a little at the sensation, loving the way it sort of stung. “Who knew you could be so desperate like this, pretty?” Jimin grinned wickedly, “You’re so pretty already, but I can’t imagine how great this must look, hm.” He smoothed his palm down his behind again, stroking it gently.

Taehyung felt the fabric slip down, the looseness of the comfort of his pants falling away. The sudden chill was almost immediate, but Jimin quickly countered it with his hand that radiated warmth. Jimin kneaded his ass, spreading the cheeks far apart before letting it squeeze back again. Each time with a groan louder than the previous.

The atmosphere was magnetic, drawing Taehyung in like a moth to light. Jimin’s touch seared fire into his skin, imprinting a new wave of pleasure each time. He had never known a presence to be so prominent, creating a bond that connected the two of their souls as one. He chanced a glance over his shoulder to see Jimin leaning closer and pressing a kiss against the plushness of his ass.

“May I?” Jimin asked, the sweet lilt in his voice ever present. It threw him back to the time they first met. Oh, how far they’ve come. Taehyung trusted Jimin, loved him even—but the latter he would take to the grave. He nodded his consent and Jimin beamed happily, peppering his soft skin with kisses that had him melting.

When he felt a sudden coolness touch that part of him, he jerked away. Jimin almost leapt away in worry, but apologized for the abruptness of it. “W-what is that?” Taehyung stammered, feeling the cold liquid drip between his cheeks and down his legs.

“It’ll make it hurt less, baby, I promise.” Baby. Jimin had never used pet names with him, but he never wasn’t objecting to the idea. It sent another dose of desire crashing upon him. Taehyung nodded and hid his flushed face back in his sheets.

The prince moved slowly and carefully, making sure that Taehyung was comfortable throughout the entire thing. Despite the initial sting when Jimin slipped one finger into his hole, one he never dared venture to, Jimin bode his time and continued to whisper sweet encouragements in his ear and soothing touches on his skin. He stretched the entrance, tugging on it at times whenever Taehyung moaned his approval. With that in mind, he managed to squeeze in two then three fingers inside of Taehyung.

“Such a good boy, Taehyung,” Jimin murmured, watching in absolute mesmerization as Taehyung’s tunnel sucked his fingers in. “Look at you, pretty, taking my fingers so well. You really do like this.”

He did, he really did. He enjoyed the friction much more than he should’ve. He felt a little pathetic that his cock was already dripping filth onto Jimin’s pure, silky sheets. There was something sinful to the act, of tainting something so expensive with his arousal. Taehyung could only groan whenever things felt good, wince whenever it hurt a little.

Jimin continued to move his fingers in and out of the tightness slowly, curling them from time to time to pry his insides open. However, it wasn’t enough. Taehyung wanted more, he wanted that release. “J-Jiminie, please. I-I want you.”

His fingers stuttered in their movements as Jimin gaped at the boy. “Are you sure? We can just stick to this for now.”

“N-no,” he breathed, “please. I—fuck, I just really want you inside me right now.”

Jimin’s throat moved as he gulped and nodded, shedding off his own pants and—holy shit. Taehyung was graced with the beautiful sight of Jimin standing stark naked before him. Jimin moved to pull the boy’s shirt over his head and toss it aside. However, all the boy could pay attention to was the smooth, unblemished skin. Taehyung could think of a million adjectives to describe Jimin’s beauty and none of them would ever do him justice. His gaze finally dropped to his cock, thick and hard, curving upwards with the blood that had rushed south between his legs. “See what you do to me?” Jimin snarled quietly, crawling over Taehyung’s nude form to cover his mouth with his again. “You’ve got me so hard, pretty. Looking at you all hard and wet for me, fuck. I want that all the time, want you always naked on my bed, stripped bare and open for the taking.” He nipped and nibbled on Taehyung’s swollen lips, loving the whines he drew from his lips. Jimin’s fingers toyed with his nipples, pinching and fondling them until Taehyung was crying against his mouth.

“J-Jimin, please,” Taehyung bucked his hips up desperately.

“Up, baby, let’s get you on my cock, yeah?” Jimin rasped, voice sounding a little breathless and sexy as fuck. “Since it’s your first time, I don’t want to hurt you so let’s have you ride me so you can control how fast and hard you want to go. Okay, pretty?”

Taehyung swallowed up all the compliments, absolutely adoring the way Jimin always called him pretty. He had felt attractive once upon a time, but it was nothing compared to the way Jimin showered him with praises of his beauty and charm. He nodded and backed away as Jimin settled back onto the sheets.

“Now, I want you to watch me,” the prince smirked, grabbing the unlabeled bottle he had used earlier and dropping a huge blob onto his cock. His hand quickly worked the gel along the length, his lips letting out a small hiss at the coldness of the material. “God, what have you done to me, Taehyung? You always have me so damn desperate for you, my cock always so hard for you. You’re such a filthy little thing without even trying, you sinful thing.”

The other boy babbled incoherent responses that only made Jimin’s lips curve into a smug smile. Jimin threw his head back, eyes falling closed as he continued to stroke his shaft. The lewd sounds filled the empty room, slick squelches bouncing off the walls to replace the silence.

“S-shit, feels so good, can’t—goddamn, can’t wait to be inside you, pretty,” Jimin gasped, opening his eyes and staring at Taehyung with a glazed feral look swirling in his eyes. He seemed almost manic, crazy. It was the kind of look that had heat bubbling up in Taehyung’s stomach. “Climb on top, pretty, slide that pretty ass down on my cock.”

Taehyung quickly scrambled over, straddling the boy and biting his bottom lip nervously. This was his first time and his heart was racing. Although he had always had the telltale signs that he was attracted to Jimin, acting upon it was a different story altogether. Jimin coaxed him slowly, words of encouragement tumbling from his mouth that spurred Taehyung’s confidence.

Taking a deep breath, he positioned Jimin’s cock at his entrance, tip swirling around the rim clumsily. He loved what it did to Jimin, had him groaning in protest at how Taehyung was teasing him, mocking how fucking desperate he was for Taehyung’s ass. When he finally pushed it in, there was a sharp pain that shot through him. He almost cried at how thick Jimin was, the head of his cock barely making it past the ring. The prince easily pulled him down to a kiss, distracting him from the sting as he slowly sunk lower and lower. Before he knew it, Jimin was buried deep inside of him. His entire body was throbbing and screaming, but Taehyung could still feel that brewing pleasure inside of him.

“You—” Jimin choked “—you can move, pretty. Take it at your own pace, yeah?”

The boy nodded and lifted himself up before sliding back down. His palms were planted firmly on Jimin’s chest for support as he moved himself along the cock, ass taking in whatever it could of the prince’s length. He rode him slowly at first, then faster and faster, before returning to a cautious pace. The mixture of speeds fueled the fire that had ignited inside his stomach. It was a deliriously good sensation.

More filthy praises fell from Jimin’s gorgeous lips, persuading him to keep going, keep riding him. The friction sent bolts of electricity shooting through him at a rapid pace that had his cock twitching. Every time he fell down, cock sinking deeper and harder into him, his cock bounced against his stomach. The tip was oozing precome, drops of it rolling down the length. Everything felt so good, felt so incredibly indescribable. Taehyung had never felt this kind of pleasure before, never in his life.

It was the sort of pleasure that would leave him coming back for more. Once you fell into this world, there was no rising back from this sheer thrill. Pants escaped his mouth, filling the room in the sounds of desire. Everything was wet and loud, echoing in the span of the room loaded with nothing but the two of them. Taehyung remembered all of Jimin’s little whines, his grunts, and stored them away for safe keeping and future reference in his memories.

“J-Jiminie, wanna c-come,” Taehyung sobbed out, “f-feels so—ah—so good. Hnnng, s-shit, so good. I’m so—oh God, mmph—so close.”

“Yeah, pretty?” Jimin panted, “you close? You want to come, pretty?”

Taehyung nodded eagerly, tears streaking down his face until the saltiness reached his tongue. “Please, yes, aaah—please, let me come.”

“Go on, baby, go on then. Let me see you come all over that pretty stomach.” Jimin grunted, jerking his hips up this time in tempo with Taehyung’s movements. The action had his cock hitting deeper inside of him, harder too. The tip of his cock kept pressing inside of him. His prostate had been worked to sensitivity and was then pushing harder for his release. “Let go, Taehyungie, I want to see you come.”

He didn’t need to ask twice, especially not when Jimin had wrapped his small fingers around the thick girth of Taehyung’s cock. He tugged on it, pulling on it hard and fast until Taehyung was spilling all over his hand. The milky white semen looked incredible all sticky on his skin. Jimin grinned as well, happy with the result. He continued to squeeze him until he released the last drop of his release.

Taehyung’s movements slowed as the adrenaline seeped away from his body, leaving exhaustion in its wake. It was then that he realized his thighs had been burning the entire time from the strain. “Up, baby,” Jimin breathed, “can I come on your face?”

Without fucking question.

Jimin maneuvered him so he was lying on his back then. The prince climbed on top of him, cock directly in front of his face. Taehyung’s mouth watered at the sight, and he could even feel his cock rising to attention again. “So pretty, look at those lips,” Jimin moaned, “you’re so pretty, Taehyungie. I want to decorate your pretty face with my come.”

“P-please,” Taehyung panted, lips parting almost unconsciously as he stuck his tongue out.

The other boy let out a pleased sound at the view and his fingers moved along his length faster and faster, precome already dribbling all over the place, all over Taehyung’s chest. It wasn’t long before Jimin was spurting hot come all over Taehyung’s face, streaking his pretty features with white that covered his lips and lashes. God, it was like a work of art he wished he could have it framed. Jimin came hard and let everything flow out naturally.

When the two finally fell back spent, Jimin quickly lifted Taehyung in his arms bridal style. He touched the warmth of the bath he had prepared earlier and thanked the heavens for heated tubs. Carefully, he set the boy down into the tub and let the warm water soak him. Taehyung hissed at his sensitive skin touching the heat, but felt all of his muscles unwinding. “There you go, pretty,” Jimin breathed, chest heaving with his lack of breath. “I’ll wash you all clean, okay?” Jimin grabbed a sponge and, despite his tired state, he began to scrub Taehyung and soaped him up.

“Jiminie,” Taehyung whispered when Jimin was concentrating on cleaning his chest, brows knitted. He looked up at the call of his name and the sight of his gorgeous friend looking at him with such intense affection. Jimin felt his own heart skip as he smiled, asking him what he wanted. “Kiss. Want a kiss.”

The request took him aback but he giggled and humored him anyway, leaning forward to press his lips against Taehyung’s. They still felt as soft as he remembered.

“You did well today, Taehyungie,” Jimin murmured, drying the boy and blowing his hair with the whirring machine.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” the prince hummed.

Taehyung sighed, “I want to do this again. I like this.”

“Yeah?” Jimin beamed, “we can definitely do this again, but for now, let’s get you into bed. You need your beauty sleep.”

The boy was pliant and soft in his hands, doing as he was told and slipped underneath the covers. “Goodnight, Jiminie.”

“Goodnight, Taehyungie.”