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xjoonchildx · 1 year

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kanalia | jhs x reader | chapter five: the king is a fool

banner by the amazing, incredible @kth1

⚜️summary: secrets and uncertainty plague a young queen in her arranged marriage to a kind but distant king. the farther she drifts from her husband, the closer she gets to one of his most trusted men.

⚜️pairing: queen!reader x royalguard!hoseok

⚜️rating: mature, 18+

⚜️genre: royal AU, historical AU, smut

⚜️warnings: infidelity (it’s complicated, y’all) mentions of pregnancy, fertility issues. OC struggles with depressive thoughts and episodes.

⚜️word count: 10K

⚜️notes: the queen is hot and bothered, literally & figuratively. the king puts several Ls in the disappointed but not surprised category, everyone gets drunk at some point. lord min is a terrible archer, yeona remains round and winning. the queen could melt steel with her sexual frustration, lord jung is not faring much better but at least he knows what he's doing, slightly awkward marital smut. the queen fights with everyone.

i could never have finished this chapter without these amazing authors & minds @miscelunaaa and @vyduan and one person who would probably level us all with her first fic if she decided to write one, @hobi-gif. please let me re-iterate how much it means to me that any one of you reads my stories, and it would make me endlessly happy to talk to you about it. you can talk to me here 💕

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Hyeri is curious.

She examines the stains at the hem of your walking dress with narrowed eyes, pausing her thorough study of the red-brown splotches only to steal the occasional furtive glance your way.

Her lips purse as she shakes dirt loose from the grooves of your walking boots. She watches the sediment fall to the floor with a raised brow, uncharacteristically quiet as she reaches for the broom to sweep the mess away.

But her bewilderment only grows as she draws closer.

The older woman’s posture stiffens as she regards you, lips pulling into a thin line as she takes in the state of your wind-swept hair and grimy fingernails. You must reek of the ill temper you’ve brought back from your ride, the smell of it as pungent as the sweat and horse on your clothes. She tests your temperament in much the same way as she tests your bathwater, query as feather-light as the fingertip she skims along the surface.

“Are you… well, this evening, Your Grace?”

“As well as I ever am,” you answer succinctly, accepting her hand and stepping carefully into the tub. Woven into the spaces between each of your clipped words is rebuke; a silent warning to proceed no further. Your handmaid, who is by no means a meek woman, has the good sense to heed it.

So Hyeri says nothing as she takes a comb to the tangles in your hair, working them apart with peach oil. She says nothing as she scrubs away the dirt embedded beneath your normally pristine fingernails. And she says nothing still when you wince at the ache in your thighs as she helps you from the bath.

When the heavy chamber door finally pulls behind her, shutting the stares and the questions safely out, you make your way to bed. You extinguish the lamp on your nightstand and welcome the shadows.

And then you succumb to the darkness that envelops you, inside and out.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Steamy heat has put an end to weeks of pleasant fall weather.

You’ve sought refuge this afternoon beneath a tree at the edge of the castle’s sprawling open field. The oak, though grand, offers scant protection from the midday sun. A bead of sweat trickles down your neck and disappears into the linen at your décolletage.

“Between you and me, I’ve always found hunting to be an appalling sport.”

Boram shakes her head at the scene in the distance. The King and his men claim to be training for an upcoming hunt, but by all appearances, there is little training taking place. Instead they look to be bandying about like mischievous little boys, scrambling for position in front of the straw targets with bows in hand.

“I find it to be an exercise in vanity more than ability. Little more than male preening disguised as sport.” Boram dabs at her brow with a handkerchief and sighs. “What do you think?”

You don’t answer Boram’s question on account of your distraction. Try as you might to keep your eyes on the dashing elder Lord Kim or the charming young Lord Jeon or – heaven forbid, your husband – they wander to Lord Jung instead, over and over and over again. Your gaze pulled to his strong face as though drawn by a magnet.

He turns his head and his dark eyes find yours across the distance.

The butterflies you’ve felt in his presence before are not to blame for the unsettled feeling that comes over you now. The very sight of the man makes your stomach turn over, as though you can taste the vivid recollection of the last time you saw him.

The memory of that wonderful ride – and of the horrible way it ended – are still bitter on your tongue. Like picking the most beautiful fruit in the orchard only to find it sour and decaying inside.

“Your Grace?”

You blink.

“I say this to you as my friend and not my Queen,” Boram says, pausing to clear her throat. “You don’t seem yourself today. Is there anything you want to talk about?”

“Nothing at all,” you lie quickly, smoothing down the damp curls springing up around your ears. “I’m fine, truly. Though I suppose it is possible the heat is making me cross. I can barely think in such conditions.”

“Awful, isn’t it?” Boram laments, reaching over to give Yeona’s belly a tickle. The baby curls into herself like a starfish, giggling as she rolls around on the blanket. “Yoongi says it will take a rain to break it. But until then, we must all suffer.”

“And suffer we shall,” you echo under your breath, watching Lord Jung load his bow in the distance. He sets his lithe body in a precise stance then draws his arm back and releases his arrow. It flies in a tight arc and lands just below the bullseye on the target. The men erupt into raucous cheers. You resist the urge to scowl.

“As for the hunting,” you add, “I think men are just as guilty of the frivolity they so often accuse women of. Not that any one of them is likely to admit it.”

“No, I suppose not,” Boram laughs. “Men are not known to be skilled in the art of introspection.”

“They certainly are not.”

And why should they be? Men never have to stop and consider the consequences of their actions. They alone decide the rules of engagement. They are free to be as vain and as frivolous and as thoughtless as their hearts desire. Horrid, infuriating creatures.

Lord Min steps up to the target. His stance is uneven and his arrow is wild the very second he lets it loose. It flies yards from the target and lands off in the grass. The men jeer loudly.

“Poor Yoongi,” Boram winces as she watches the men tease him. “He’s never been much of an archer, I’m afraid.” But the good-natured Lord Min appears to take it all in stride, shrugging off their taunts as he trades his bow for a fresh tankard of ale.

The King takes his turn next – the lines of his body thicker and stronger than Lord Jung’s, but no less elegant. The men circle around your husband as he draws the bow back with one strong arm. He takes careful aim with his arrow and deftly plants it just above the target’s bullseye. The sound of the men’s whooping echoes across the field.

And so it goes for a while, with the men taking turns loosing their arrows to varying degrees of success.

Lords Park and Jeon both prove to be adequate archers, hitting the targets more often than not. The elder and younger Lord Kims are less skilled and spend the lion’s share of their time plucking arrows from the grass behind the targets. Lord Min quickly gives up on the endeavor entirely, opting instead to sit with his ale and heckle the others.

But the two best archers on the field refuse to be distracted by drink.

The King and Lord Jung set an arduous pace, loading and firing their arrows in quick succession. Even at a distance, even with your meager knowledge of archery, you can discern that both men are quite evenly matched in terms of skill. They load, fire, and strike their respective targets with precision.

On and on they persist – despite the brutal heat, despite the fact that the other men have begun to tire. One by one the other Guardsmen surrender, abandoning their bows and collapsing onto the grass to watch.

“These two seem quite serious, don’t they?” Boram notes.

They certainly do. The air of silly fun that’s sat over the group for much of the afternoon is all but gone now and what began as a diversion for all of the men has clearly become a challenge between just two. The other Guardsmen seem to sense the shift in atmosphere as well, their faces earnest as they watch the King and Lord Jung compete.

Physically, the two men are quite different. The King’s muscular arms and chest serve him well as he steadies his bow and fires. In contrast, Lord Jung’s body is lithe, sleek. He moves with an agility the King cannot. But both wear matching expressions of determination. And though this competition might have been amiable at the start, it’s now evident that neither man is willing to leave the field without a clear victor.

Lord Min calls out to them both – voice too distant for you to make out his words – and the men appear to nod in agreement. They both step back from the targets, increasing the difficulty of each shot. But it takes only a few more arrows to prove that the added distance is no hindrance to either man. Both set their stances again, both aim and fire, and both land their arrows with ease.

The Guardsmen sitting nearby fall silent, and in the absence of their racket the King’s answering growl of frustration echoes over the entire field.

“Oh my,” Boram whispers. “I’d heard there was some tension between them, and it would certainly appear to be so.”

It certainly would. Right now, the King and Lord Jung look more like rivals seeking to settle a score than lifelong friends.

The King’s agitation is apparent in every move he makes, in the way he jerks the arrows out of the straw targets and stalks back into position. Lord Jung’s agitation is equally apparent. He accepts a skin of water from Lord Min without so much as a thanks and hands it back once he’s drained it.

It’s a strange thing to see the handsome Guardsman challenge his King with the very same passion in which he’d defended him just days prior.

“Has the King spoken to you about it?”

“No,” you admit stiffly, “He has not. Are you determined to keep me in the dark, as well?”

“Heavens, no,” Boram protests, pulling Yeona into her lap. She hands the baby a rice cake and Yeona sets to gumming at it right away. “I would never want you to think that I’m speaking ill of the King, is all.”

“I could never think that of you.”

There is hesitation in Boram’s face when she flicks her dark eyes back to meet yours.

“Well, the details I have are few,” she starts slowly. “But what I know is that the King expressed a wish to see Lord Jung married again and Lord Jung, from my understanding was – ” she pauses, carefully considering her next words,“ – less than amenable to the idea.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Yoongi says they fought over the matter. Quite thoroughly, from what I’ve been told.”

“I see,” you say, taking great care to keep your expression impassive. “And did Lord Min explain why Lord Jung is so opposed to marriage? He’s still a young man. I can certainly see why the King would think it a logical proposition.”

Boram’s lips purse as she thinks.

“I do not know that I can say. Though I consider Lord Jung to be a dear friend, he can be terribly private about some matters.”

You cut your eyes towards the field to search for the man in question.

Does she really know Lord Jung? Do you? Today there is no sign of the man who’d leveled you with a smile in the Great Hall, no trace of the man who’d teased you about riding clothes before helping you onto your mount. The man you see now wears a strained expression as he watches the King take aim, his energy volatile like a pot ready to boil over.

Perhaps you’d been foolish to think him so different from the King. Perhaps they are as evenly matched in the art of duplicity as they are the skill of archery.

“So what will come of it?” you ask after a while. “Will the King – make him marry?”

“I don’t know,” Boram admits. “And therein, I suppose, is where much of the tension lies. Lord Jung has already taken a bride once in service to the Kingdom. I can’t imagine he’d be inclined to do it again.”

There’s a sudden commotion on the field then, an outburst that has Lords Park and Jeon on their feet. The younger men rush to meet the King and Lord Jung mid-field, nodding as the King speaks. Both take off running at once.

“I’ve no clue what that is all about, but I do wish they’d end this already,” Boram grumbles, watching the young men disappear behind the tree line as they go off in search of whatever it is the King’s asked for. “I don’t know how much longer I can last in this heat.”

“Nor I,” you agree, watching the King and Lord Jung speak to one another. Both men look sober, the lines of their faces hard. “But it seems we’ll all have to endure it for just a bit longer in order to humor this contest of male prides.”

Some arduous minutes later, Lords Park and Jeon make their return to the field.

The dust kicked up by the horses they ride precedes them, the ground parched from weeks without rain. Both men arrive in a cloud of grime – Lord Jeon on the King’s mount and Lord Park on Lord Jung’s– and dismount without delay, handing the reins over to their elders.

So this is how they will decide the victor.

“Well, let’s hope they keep their wits about them,” Boram sighs. “Lest they both break their legs in the heat of competition.”

“Yes, let’s,” you mutter.

The King is first to take his turn, of course.

He mounts Jeonsa with ease despite the horse’s grand height and takes his time warming the warhorse up. The King runs his mount in circles around the target until he’s satisfied with his plan and the timing of his shot. He steadies himself against the jostling with his strong thighs, pulling his bow back to fire. The arrow hits the target just below the bullseye.

The men, who’ve spent hours now drinking in the hot sun, erupt into a chorus of ruffian cheers.

Lord Jung wastes no time taking to his own mount. His horse is leaner and quicker than Jeonsa, and it’s clear that he commands complete control of the animal’s every step. Both horse and rider move as one as he urges his mount faster, straightening his back to fire. The arrow hits the target just above the bullseye.

The men are getting rowdy now, egging on both competitors as they circle on their horses. Their shouting is louder, more animated, and you would not at all be surprised if there were a few healthy wagers underway. You wonder which of the men they’ve bet on.

You wonder which of the men you would bet on before pushing the thought away and reminding yourself that you’re not particularly fond of either at this moment.

The King circles Jeonsa around the target once again, taking his time about it. He seems to consider every circumstance surrounding his next shot – the angle, the speed, the light wind that blows east. After a great deal of circling and thought, he rears back to release his arrow.

It lands on the target, just above the arrow planted by Lord Jung.

The shouting from the men becomes a low roar.

Lord Jung pointedly ignores the commotion, rolling his shoulders as he stares down the target, brow knit in concentration. Soon he’s urging his mount to move, the pair fluid as they circle the target.

Just like the King, Lord Jung circles longer for this shot than he had for the first. Twice he draws back as though ready to fire and thinks better of it. But after painstaking deliberation, he finds his stride. He pulls his arm back and sets his stance. Then he releases his arrow.

And it misses the target entirely.

It flies off the end of Lord Jung’s bow with astonishing speed, gliding just to the right of the straw and landing off in the distance. The men are on their feet now, jumping and yelling and slapping one another on their backs. Lord Jung shakes his head in disgust.

“Well,” Boram reaches for her basket, loading her things into it with haste. “That’s settled now. I certainly hope at least one of them feels better. Let’s move into more liveable conditions, shall we?”

You open your mouth to agree just as you spot the King barreling towards you atop Jeonsa, leaving the men celebrating his victory on the field behind.

You nearly stumble over the hem of your dress in your rush to rise to your feet. Your husband is grinning widely when he reaches you, stopping his mount long enough to extend one large hand. You place your hand in his and he dips his head to plant a kiss on your fingers.

“Well done, You Grace,” you demur, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “A hard-fought victory.”

“Thank you. I’m quite pleased with the outcome.”

The King acknowledges Boram with a smile before turning his mount to ride back to his men. You put a hand to your brow to shade your eyes and watch as they cheer for him – reward him with the adulation he’s clearly worked so hard for.

But a thought occurs to you as you examine the scene in the distance.

There is no sign of Lord Jung.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The King comes to you that night – hair damp and smelling of fine soap, breath tinged faintly with ale.

He coaxes you to your knees just as he’s done so many times before. His fingers slide against your most secret place, slippery just as they’ve been so many times before. And then he’s pushing inside you, hard and hot just as he’s been so many times before.

But there is something different about him tonight.

Your husband’s touch is rougher than you remember. His grip on your waist is harder than you remember, large hands moving from your waist to your backside to dig his blunt fingertips into the soft flesh. His thrusts are more forceful than you remember, more erratic, powerful enough to push you up the length of the bed.

You fist your hands into the bedding and push back, refusing to allow your knees to buckle under the pressure. That earns you a low groan from the King – a sound that strikes a strange chord inside you; sends a shiver racing up your spine. You press your hot face into the sheets.

Perhaps Namjoon is still feeling the effects of an arduous afternoon in the hot sun. Perhaps he’s still in his cups after a night of drinking with his men.

Or perhaps it is all just a trick of your mind.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Morning brings no improvement in your mood. Quite the opposite, in fact.

You wake snappish, jarred from a fitful sleep by the sudden appearance of light in your chamber. Shafts of it – hot and harsh – stream through your windows, spill across your duvet, assault your eyes. You bury your face in the pillow in a futile attempt to avoid it, sweat beading at the nape of your neck until the uncomfortable warmth forces you to quit the bed.

But the rude manner of your awakening is only one reason for your irritation.

The other is the lingering tenderness between your legs, a dull ache you can feel with each careful step. The sensation is more an annoyance than a true discomfort, but it vexes you nonetheless. Each muted throb serves as an unwelcome reminder of your visit from the King, of the peculiar way he’d bedded you last night.

Your face flames as you think of it.

What is he about, your husband? And what of the juvenile, chest-thumping nonsense you’d witnessed yesterday afternoon? The combative way he’d gone up against Lord Jung and the grand show he’d made of coming to you to fête his victory. Boorish, absurd behavior – all of it.

You go about your morning ablutions in silence, unwilling to meet Hyeri’s eyes for even one moment. You are in no mood to withstand her meddling today – well-intentioned or otherwise – and so it is for the best that she helps you wash and dress in relative silence.

If there is something the older woman means to say, she has the good sense to swallow it, murmuring only a quiet warning about the heat as you slip out the chamber door.

And heavens, how you are wholly unprepared for the heat.

It, too, has worsened overnight – the air around you nearly thick enough to drink. You hurry towards the aviary, spurred on by the promise of the shade beneath its trees, but by the time you are finally seated at your desk you are soggy and sticky all over. Slick with sweat between your thighs and beneath your arms and breasts.

Perhaps you should have heeded Hyeri’s warning.

The thought rankles you as you open your book and attempt to pick up your story where you’d left it. You start and stop the same sentence over and over again, the heat so tyrannical that you can barely breathe, much less think. Even the King’s prized birds refuse to fly under such conditions – opting instead to perch on the highest branches, wings lifted to cool themselves with the occasional passing breeze.

The stillness unnerves you; makes your aggravation mount with each unbearable minute that ticks by and before long, you throw your novel down in frustration. This will not do.

Loathe as you are to spend another day confined to the castle’s thick stone walls, there is no avoiding it. You’ll not survive another half hour in this heat, which means you’ll certainly not be able to pass an entire afternoon in it. You huff as you throw your things back into your basket and stalk off towards the aviary’s entrance.

But perhaps you should have been more mindful.

Immersed as you are in this black mood, you don’t notice the brambles growing at the edge of the heavy gate. You brush past them in a hurry, only to be wrenched back by the thorns that take hold of your skirt. You tug at the material with your free hand, successful only at tearing a hole in the fine linen but unsuccessful at pulling yourself free. You drop your basket in the struggle and the contents spill out, an apple rolling to a stop at your feet.

It is then that you do something very unladylike, something that would have earned you an exaggerated gasp from your sister or a sharp rebuke from your mother.

You swear. Loudly.

You summon all of your frustration and scream what is perhaps the most undignified word you know at the very top of your lungs, the vulgarity echoing in the aviary’s eerie quiet. And though it’s done nothing to solve your current predicament, there’s something truly satisfying about speaking the nasty word out loud, about shouting it into existence.

That is, until someone coughs.

“I take it you need some help, Your Grace?”

You clap a hand over your mouth as you whirl in the direction of the voice.

Lord Min approaches slowly, eyes sparkling with amusement as he takes in your sorry state. You’ve no idea where he came from, but at this very moment you’ve never been so horrified and grateful to see him, all at the very same time.

“Yes, I – ” you start and stop, flustered by both your behavior. “ – I’m stuck. The brambles are caught in my skirt and – ”

“Oh yes, I see,” he says, leaning down to examine the mess you’ve gotten yourself into. He tugs at the bottom of your skirt and you wince at the sound of the fabric tearing. “You’ve got yourself quite tangled up here, haven’t you?”

“I believe I have,” you admit with embarrassment. Lord Min gets down on his knees and begins plucking thorns and burs out of the fabric, brow knit with concentration as he attempts to extricate what remains of your fine linen dress.

You clear your throat.

“My Lord, I hope I didn’t – Well, rather, I hope you were not offended by that word you heard me say. It’s not a word that I usually use, not really. Well, not ever. What I mean to say is that I know of coarse language, of course, but I’m certainly not in the habit of using it.”

“What word?” Lord Min interrupts your rambling from his perch at your feet, eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Did you say something, Your Grace? I must not have heard it.”

The corners of his mouth curve into a cautious smile, which you return with a timid one of your own. His teasing is welcome. It brings badly-needed levity to your embarrassing situation and lightens the heaviness of this atrocious day.

“What’s this, Min?”

At once, the gesture dies on your lips.

Lord Jung comes into view by way of the same path taken by Lord Min, though his sudden appearance does not bring you the same kind of relief. Quite the opposite, in fact.

The very moment he’s standing before you, critical gaze moving from you to Lord Min and back, you feel absolutely lightheaded with anxiety. You wonder what he must make of the scene he’s stumbled upon: Lord Min on his knees, at your feet, hands fisted in your skirts.

“You Grace.” The lines of Lord Jung’s beautiful face are hard as he acknowledges you, his voice stiff and formal in a way that makes it foreign to your ears. He bows to you much in the same way, body rigid as he performs the required motion.

“My Lord,” you return with similar formality.

“Her Grace is stuck,” Lord Min explains, unaware or perhaps unbothered by the provocative position the two of you have been discovered in. “I’m trying to free her without ripping this linen to shreds. Could use your help, seeing as you’re standing there. Push that branch back for me?”

“Yes, of course.”

Oh, but now you feel a migraine coming on. Lord Jung squeezes into the space beside you, leaning over Lord Min to push the brambles back so that the older man may have both hands free to work. At this point, both men are too close, but he is far too close. Heat blazes a path up your neck and into your cheeks.

Inhale, you twit. Exhale.

“Last few, Your Grace,” Lord Min announces, voice muffled by your skirts. “I think the linen will need a bit of mending, but not much more.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

Lord Jung’s gaze connects with yours. His dark eyes, normally so warm and expressive, are flat as he regards you. In fact, everything about the handsome guardsman’s countenance is uncharacteristically severe today, from the deep knit of his brows to the way his bow-shaped mouth presses into a firm line. He looks away from you without so much as a smile.

Is he – is he angry with you?

Your mouth nearly falls open at the realization. What right would Lord Jung have to be angry with you? It was he who’d laid the trap with the promise of a perfect afternoon spent riding and he who’d sprung the trap by defending your husband’s dishonesty.

If either one of you had a just claim to animosity, it would most certainly be you.

The awful word you’d uttered at the very start of this ridiculous dilemma springs right to the tip of your tongue. If only you had the courage to spit it at him. Horrid, infuriating man.

“There now,” Lord Min announces. “I think we’ve got it. Hang on to that bramble for a bit longer while Her Grace steps away from the gate.”

You start forward slowly, steps mercifully unencumbered by gnarled plants. Though Lord Min has done his best to salvage the fine linen, your skirt is now covered in a fine dusting of grime, torn in places from your knees to your ankles. Hyeri will have a fit when she sees you, but you couldn’t care less about the state of your ruined dress. The only thing that matters now is quitting this place at once.

“Thank you so much, Lord Min,” you breathe, dropping to your knees to gather your scattered things. The elder guardsman helps you retrieve the wayward charcoals and papers, which you hurriedly stuff back into your basket. “I’ll be off now and won’t take up any more of your afternoon.”

With that, you rush to your feet and turn on your heels to leave. You try not to think about the scene you’re leaving behind – Lord Min puzzled by your sudden exit, Lord Jung affronted by the fact that you’d pointedly ignored him in your thanks.

You make haste with those first few steps towards freedom, only to be pulled back once again. Only this time, not by jagged brambles.

“Your Grace.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand at the sound of the gruff voice behind you. You turn around slowly, acutely aware of both men watching your every move. When Lord Jung steps forward, your eyes fall to the gently worn leather binding in his hands.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

You take great care to school your features, though the panic rising inside of you threatens to spill out. Your most private thoughts are inside that book. Fragments of poems and unsent letters and one horribly incriminating sketch of a man who is most certainly not your husband.

“Thank you, My Lord,” you mumble, resisting the urge to run to him and snatch the book right out of his grip. You can feel him watching your every move as you approach to accept it with unsteady hands.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

A storm is coming. You can feel it.

Never mind that the sun is shining – or that the sky outside is a perfect, crystalline blue. The clouds dotted across the horizon hang in the air, unmoving. There is no wind to rustle the leaves in the trees. The calm is ominous. Foreboding.

“... think none of the people in this kingdom have ever seen this kind of display before. I imagine they’ll be quite awed by it. I’ve only ever seen it once myself, in a village far North. A strange lot, those people are. After all these years, they still dabble in the dark arts.”

At the other end of the long dining table before you sits the King. He’s been prattling on like this for the better part of ten minutes now; far too absorbed in his grand talk of the festival to note that his audience of one has yet to engage with a word that’s come out of his mouth.

“It’s strange though, to think of celebrating a Fall Festival in this heat. Though I generally prefer the heat to the cold, these conditions are quite beyond the pale. We’ll have to have just as much water on hand as we do ale.”

You make a sound under your breath that you hope will pass for discourse.

“Of course, there’s still much to be done. But the stewards assure me that everything will be ready in time. And there will be much to celebrate this year as I’m told the crops in all our holdings are faring well. The wheat has – ”

The King’s jabbering comes to an abrupt stop.

“You’ve barely eaten,” he notes, in a sudden fit of awareness. He regards you over the rim of his wine glass, curious. “Is the jajangmyeon not to your liking?”

“It is to my liking,” you insist, pushing the wheat noodles around your bowl in a half-hearted attempt to appease him. “As always. I suppose I’m just not very hungry tonight, is all.”

“I find that surprising,” the King says, as though you’d asked his opinion on the matter. “I understand you were brave enough to venture out into that awful heat this afternoon. I would have thought you’d be famished tonight.”

Every muscle in your body tenses at once.

“Oh?”

“I spoke with Hyeri this afternoon,” the King elaborates, oblivious to his misstep. “She said she’d warned you against leaving the castle under those conditions, but you’d off and done it anyway.” He chuckles under his breath as he recounts the conversation. “I think you surprise her at times with how strong-willed you can be.”

Beneath the table, your hands ball into fists.

The thought of Hyeri disclosing the details of your day to the King, no matter how trivial, incenses you. You imagine them together over tea, sharing a laugh as they trade observations about your shortcomings. Or worse – meeting with one another somber-faced as they commiserate over your inability to produce a child.

That thought is the most insidious. Your nails dig savagely into your palms.

“Do you and Hyeri discuss my comings and goings often, then, Your Grace?”

Your husband shrugs, helping himself to another generous serving of noodles.

“Often enough, I suppose.”

“So am I then to assume that when you ask me about my day, you are merely standing on ceremony? Surely you must be, given that you’ve already had a full report from my handmaid.”

The King sets down his chopsticks to look at you, perplexed by the contentious turn in this conversation. But he’s careful to school his features as he considers what to say next.

“Of course not,” he starts slowly. “I ask after you because I genuinely want to know about your day. It’s a consideration that I would think customary between husbands and wives.”

Is he – is he toying with you?

What on earth would His Grace know about what’s customary between husbands and wives? He is the one who’s made this marriage into a farce with his deceit and adultery. He is the one who’s held you at arm’s length from the very start in order to protect the woman he truly loves. Your husband’s hubris is as astonishing as it is aggravating. Horrid, infuriating man.

“Well I, for one, would genuinely like to know about your day, Your Grace,” you say, unable to keep venom from seeping into your every word. “So tell me then – as is customary between husband and wives – how did you pass the afternoon?”

The color drains from the King’s face.

You should shut your mouth now and say no more, you know it – but by now you are far too consumed with anger to give much thought to the consequences of sharp words. You push the bowl of jajangmyeon away and get to your feet.

“Nothing of interest to share, then?” You raise a brow as you stare down at your husband, unwilling to look away for even one moment. “What a pity. Perhaps tomorrow.”

The King’s eyes narrow but his mouth stays shut. He says nothing in his own defense, says nothing to attempt to placate you.

And he says nothing as you turn your back on him and walk out the door.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The first crack of thunder sounds just as you’re readying for bed. You stand at your window and watch the storm roll in.

Black clouds build off in the distance, discernible only by the occasional flare of lightning. Each bright flash is followed by an earth-shaking rumble that satisfies you somehow, as though you’ve manifested this squall with your thoughts. The violent wind and rain it carries with it a mirror of the tempest inside you.

“Do you require anything else, Your Grace?”

Hyeri’s voice comes from behind, timid and small. She’s been tiptoeing around your chamber all evening, clearly disquieted by the cold reception you’d given her upon your return. The well-bred, well-behaved woman inside you whispers that you should turn to her, do something to reassure her, but you refuse.

Fortified by your anger, you keep your back to Hyeri and go on staring at the storm clouds.

“No,” you say firmly. “You can retire for the night.”

“But I – ” Hyeri starts, stops, and then sighs. “Very well. As you wish, Your Grace.”

And you do wish. You wish for Hyeri to leave you – not just tonight, but every night. And you wish not just for Hyeri to leave you – but all of them. You’ve grown quite tired of humiliating yourself in this kingdom; of placing your trust in people who’ve made you into a fool time and time again.

There is rustling as the older woman hurriedly gathers her things, then a brief pause before she slips out the door. The heavy thud that finally announces her departure brings you some small measure of peace, but it does not last.

Your bath-damp body is warm when you slip beneath the heavy duvet. Too warm. Though the storm raging nearby brings with it the promise of cool rain, it is still too far off to displace the humid air in your chamber. You toss and turn beneath the heavy covers for a while, your thin nightgown soaked through with sweat by the time you finally kick your bedding away.

So you lie there in the dark, close to feverish with heat and unable to settle down. Every time you close your eyes, you’re taunted by images – of Hyeri, of the King, of the child that never comes. What you would give to be able to quiet your mind, to have some respite from the reality of your circumstances.

But there will be no respite, not any time soon. The thunder outside is close enough now to shake the castle’s heavy walls with each new blast that rips through the sky. You feel the tremors right down to your bones, the sensation causing goosebumps to scatter across your skin.

In spite of the heat, you shiver.

There’s a prickling that starts at your scalp and goes right down to your toes. It makes you itch with the desire to drag your nails down your arms and legs. It makes you want to squeeze your thighs together, tight and tighter still until your agitation is gone. Perhaps that is the solution.

You cup your breasts through the damp, thin material of your nightgown. They feel sensitive, tender — and the very moment you brush your fingertips over your nipples they come to life, pebbling against the gauzy fabric.

You close your eyes and try to imagine that your hands are not your own. That the fingers that close around the aching buds, teasing and testing, are not your fingers. That the dormant pleasure the pressure rouses inside you has instead been roused by someone else.

In your mind, the hand that steals between your thighs is not your own. It’s larger than yours, the fingers longer and rougher than yours. You imagine that hand parting your legs, coarse fingertips slippery against the wetness gathered at your entrance. And you imagine it caressing you there, expertly stroking the spot that makes the air leave your lungs.

What would it be like to be touched like this? To have a lover’s lips at your neck and his hand between your thighs? To have the weight of him pressing down on you, the scent of him enveloping you – to feel his warm breath fan over your skin?

These thoughts only serve to make the ache between your legs more pronounced. But the more you attend to it, the sharper it becomes. Pleasure blooms with each inexpert pass of your fingers over that place, but in its wake your desperation grows, too.

You whine under your breath as you touch yourself harder, faster – a heaviness building at your core that makes you feel full, overripe. There is relief on the other side of whatever this is, and you know it.

But can you reach it?

Your imaginary lover would know how to help you reach it. He would take you in his arms and in his mouth and leave no inch of your body untouched. He would fuse himself to you, skin-to-skin, and show you how to beckon your pleasure at will, help you realize its full potential.

In your mind’s eye you can see him – legs and arms strong and lean, golden skin illuminated by firelight. The mouth he sets to your aching nipples would be soft, lips pretty and bow-shaped. And his hair would be dark and his eyes would be a rich chocolate and his face would be –

A clap of thunder explodes in the sky.

Your eyes fly open – unseeing – as you gasp from the shock of it. It leaves you trembling, body slick with sweat and limbs tingling from the sudden fear. You lie there in the dark, panting as you wait for your heart to stop racing.

And just like that, the pleasure you’ve been chasing is gone. Quick as a rabbit.

Outside your window the heavens weep, the rain beating against the ground like a hail of arrows.

The dry earth enjoying a relief that always seems to elude you.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

“Magnificent, Your Grace.”

Hyeri passes a hand over the embellishments in your bodice, chest puffed with pride as she examines the dressmaker’s handiwork. Though her brown eyes have long gone dull and gray with age, they shine as she steps back to take you in from head to toe. “Just magnificent.”

It is magnificent – far and away the finest garment you have ever worn.

Rich, plum-colored velvet embellished with gilt thread, the plunging neckline and bliaut sleeves lined with pressed bezants. You hardly recognize the woman looking back at you in the mirror, the one with her hair swept off her neck in an intricate braided bun, eyes darkened with kohl, ears and neck adorned with sparkling gold. Whoever that woman is, she is far bolder and far more sophisticated than you.

“There’s nothing like his work,” Hyeri muses, running a thumb over pattern pressed into the hem of one sleeve. “Frail as he is, it takes him ages to complete a dress. But he’s worth it. Worth the wait and worth every single won.”

You study the intertwining gold patterns stitched into the bustline. No doubt the King has paid dearly for this dress and all its fine accoutrements. The thought of your husband spending an obscene amount of money on it nearly puts a smile on your face.

“You look remarkable in this dress,” Hyeri remarks quietly, wrinkled mouth lifting at the corners with a cautious smile. “Well, of course, you look remarkable everyday, but especially tonight.”

Her expression is bittersweet as she reaches for you, gently tucking a strand of hair that’s fallen loose of your braid behind your ear. This newfound emotional distance has been hard on her, you know. It’s been hard on you, too. And though holding her at arm’s length has proven difficult at times, it feels somehow vital to your self-preservation.

“Don’t forget your shawl,” Hyeri says softly. “It’s gotten quite cold out there.”

It certainly has. The storm that ripped through the kingdom just days ago took the insufferable heat with it, leaving behind a pure, crystalline cold. The night sky is clear enough to see for miles.

So you accept the shawl from Hyeri with a quiet thanks, avoiding her eyes as you slip out the chamber door.

By the time you make your way to the great hall, the revelry is already well underway. You can hear it pulsing through the slats of the heavy wooden doors, the music and commotion contained within powerful enough to stir the ground beneath your feet. The footmen posted at either side of the entrance bow deeply as you approach, then move to pull the doors open.

You raise a hand to still them, wanting a moment to steel yourself before entering the fray.

“I’m not – If you’ll just give me – ”

One of the guards steps forward to speak when your words falter.

“No need to explain, Your Grace,” he says earnestly. “Just let us know when you’re ready.”

“Thank you.” You take as deep a breath as your elaborate gown will allow. “Truly.”

You already know what awaits on the other side of those doors. Artificial smiles that hide whispers about your empty womb, honeyed and hollow words of praise from your exasperating husband. Pity too, perhaps, from those connected enough to be privy to the true state of your marriage.

But you’ll bear it. You must. Because it’s what’s expected of you and because your political survival in this kingdom depends on it.

“Well then,” you say, smoothing down your velvet skirt with trembling hands. "I believe I've had time to collect myself."

The very same footman that had spoken to you just moments earlier gives you a sympathetic smile as he places one hand on the door’s ornate wrought iron handle. He pauses to look at you before signaling to the other footman, one brow raised as if to say are you sure?

You swallow thickly and nod your affirmation.

Slowly, the heavy doors are pulled open, creaking as they part. You step forward to enter, feeling a rush of cool air at your heels. The brief hush that falls over the great hall makes your heartbeat quicken.

But then the King stands.

He rises to his feet and bows to you, and every person inside the great hall follows suit. You return his bow and then straighten, holding your head up high as you set off to fulfill your duty.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The King makes no mention of the tense meal you’d shared just a few nights prior. Not that you’d expected him to. If anything, your husband’s predilection for avoidance has been one of his most consistent traits. And if he’s harbored any ill feelings about the curt words you’d spoken that night, surely they’ve been washed away in a torrent of ale.

He’s already a bit drunk when you take your seat beside him – pleasantly so, if his ruddy cheeks and leisurely smile are any indication. His dark eyes are glassy as they sweep over your form, taking in the grandeur of your dress. But they linger at your bust for just a heartbeat too long and it takes all the self-control you can muster to not kick him beneath the table.

“You look fetching in that dress,” the King notes, reaching for his tankard. “The color suits you.”

“Oh? Then you’ll be pleased to know I’ve dozens more just like it on the way.”

You startle a laugh from the King just as he’s taken a drink and he splutters on it, coughing until tears gather at the corners of his eyes. “Very good of you to warn me before the bill comes due,” he wheezes.

“But of course, Your Grace.” You infuse your words with cloying, contrived sweetness, putting a hand over your heart for emphasis. “It is the very least I could do.”

The King chuckles as you turn to look out over the room.

The tables below the raised platform on which you both dine are teeming with people, their long wooden benches bowing beneath the substantial weight. They are littered with food and drink, tankards and platters and goblets scattered for as far as the eye can see.

You sip your wine and watch partygoers reach over one another for noodles and steal dumplings from their neighbors’ plates.

It takes a minute for you to spot Boram. She and Lord Min are tucked into a corner, cozy and close. Your dear friend is the very picture of contentment; resplendent in a royal blue gown, glowing in the torchlight when her husband presses a kiss to her temple. Your heart aches as you watch them. What you would give to have what they have – to know the fulfillment they’ve found in one another.

In fact, the Mins make for such a compelling tableau that you nearly overlook the one behind it. Lord Jung is dressed in an arresting black and gold tunic, dark hair styled away from his face and a tankard of ale in his hand. And he is not alone.

Seated close to him – so very close – is a woman. A beautiful woman, as best you can tell from a distance. Her dark red dress in perfect contrast to her shiny fall of dark hair, the garment cut to accentuate what can only be described as a generous bust. She leans in to Lord Jung as she says something, décolletage on full display when she throws her head back to laugh.

Your grip on the wine goblet in your hand tightens.

The woman is brazen, that much you can tell. Her proximity to the Guardsman is far too close to be proper, her scandalous – if stunning – manner of dress far too self-indulgent to be benign. And though you cannot make out clearly how she’s been received by Lord Jung, the very fact that he has not sent her away is telling. Is this the woman he intends to marry, then? Or just a diversion for the night?

You drain the wine that remains in your goblet and signal for the serving girl to bring you more.

Moments later Lord Jung, too, flags down a passing servant to fill his tankard. For a man who once took great pride in extolling his discipline with spirits, he seems to be exercising very little of it tonight. In fact, he looks to be indulging as much or perhaps even more than his fellow Guardsmen. Perhaps that is why he does not he does not move to distance himself when the alluring woman at his side places a hand on his arm.

You swallow another large sip of wine.

“It’s nearly time for the evening’s entertainment,” the King says. “I think you’ll be impressed by what’s in store.”

You cannot tear your gaze from the scene before you. You cannot stop staring at the comely woman at Lord Jung’s side – stiffening in your seat when she leans over to whisper in his ear.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you say absentmindedly, lifting your wine glass to your lips once again.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

When you were a girl, barely ten years old, your father had come home from a long journey with a fantastic tale.

He’d spoken of fire – in shades of red and green and gold – launched into the sky, embers raining down on the earth in a magnificent display. You’d been spellbound by the picture he’d painted for you, wishing desperately to see this phenomenon for yourself.

And now you have.

The King’s promise of a surprise well exceeds your expectations. Each new flare sent up over the open field is met with a hush from the crowd, followed by loud cheers and applause as it explodes into color.

“I brought them back from a village up North,” the King explains, preening at the crowd’s reception. “And though I wanted to show them right away, I made myself wait until the most advantageous time. What do you make of them?”

“They’re splendid,” you answer earnestly. “I’ve never seen anything so grand.”

The King hides a satisfied smile behind the rim of his tankard. By this point in the evening, he’s crossed the line from agreeably drunk to good and well soused – as have many of the others in attendance. You, too, are feeling the effects of your wine, experiencing that strange weightlessness that can only be brought on by drink.

And you are glad for the distraction of the fire display.

It’s helped pull your focus away from Lord Jung and that woman. Though each time there is a brief break in the presentation, you cannot help but search the throng for any sign of them. You wonder where they are right now. What they might be doing. But then you drown the bitter thoughts with the wine in your goblet.

The night wears on and the crowd around you becomes rowdier, louder – the ale barrels slowly disappearing one by one. Even the King is looking a bit worse for the wear. He’s sagged into the chair beside you, heavy-lidded as he watches the bright detonations that light up the sky.

You are not faring much better. A dull throb taps at your temples, no doubt the consequence of drinking too much wine, and you suspect that it will be far more pronounced come morning. You ought to retire for the evening now, while you still have some of your wits about you.

You open your mouth to say as much to the King at the very same time you catch sight of a slim man ambling away from the crowd. Though he’s hundreds of yards away and though there’s little light beyond the torches and the occasional embers in the sky, you recognize him right away.

You would recognize him anywhere.

Impulsively, you get to your feet and utter a rushed goodbye to the King. He bids you farewell with a sluggish smile and not a moment later he’s gone back to gazing skyward, mesmerized by the lights. Just ahead, Lord Jung slinks off into the shadows, moving with an unsteady gait.

And you follow him. To what end you cannot be sure.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Clearly, you’d given no real thought to this course of action.

If you had, you’d not be scurrying across damp grass right now, struggling to keep your balance in your beautiful velvet dress. The heavy fabric weighs you down with each step, making each footfall precarious. In fact, if you’d stopped for even a moment to consider the implications of stealing away to pursue a man who is not your husband, you’d have ended this lunacy long before it even began.

But here you are in the dark, chasing after Lord Jung. With only the moon to light your way.

The slender man moves quickly, unburdened by the trappings of women’s formalwear and assisted by his long legs. You lift the hem of your dress off the ground and do your best to keep up on the shadowy path. Just a short distance ahead you can make out the lines of a thatched roof and wooden fence.

It’s the stables, you realize, and the pieces start to fall into place.

He’s come here to meet that woman. The two of them must have agreed to leave the festival and come here for a secret tryst. Were you a woman in your right mind, that realization would stop you cold and send you running straight back to the castle. But you are absolutely not in your right mind. You are dangerous tonight; fearless from the wine flowing freely in your veins.

As such, the very thought of Lord Jung arranging for a passionate liaison with this woman has the opposite effect. It infuriates you. And you’ll not be satisfied until you can see the proof for yourself and then end this fixation once and for all.

Overhead, a flare of light illuminates the darkness just as you’re nearing the horse stalls. It’s followed by the sound of sizzling gunpowder, and it draws your attention skyward. You look up just in time to see wisps of fire tumble back to the earth. But when you fix your gaze forward again, Lord Jung is gone.

What on earth?

You’ve barely begun to consider your next move before your body is moving of its own volition, jerked right off the walking path by a hand that wraps around your arm like a band of steel. Lord Jung drags you behind the horse stall with one hand and claps the other over your mouth to smother the sound of hysteria that threatens to escape.

“What. Are. You. Doing?”

He hisses the words, one by one, his low vibrato thrumming with barely-contained anger. You’ve yet to recover from the shock of being accosted in the dark and so you stare at him, bewildered and mute.

He releases you, dropping the hand covering your mouth to walk to the edge of the stables. You watch as he ducks his head around the corner to check the walking path. Once he’s satisfied you’ve not been followed, he rounds on you.

“Anyone could have seen you.”

“No one saw me,” you scowl, finding your voice. You rub your forearm where his fingers dug painfully into your flesh. “They’re all far too drunk to see anything, I assure you.”

The Guardsman shoves a hand through his dark hair and exhales deeply.

“What are you about tonight, Your Grace?”

A fair question, and one you ought to have considered before dashing off into the night. But you’d been so hellbent on hunting the man down that you’d given no real thought to what you’d do if you actually caught him. You hesitate for so long that he grows impatient, closing in on you.

“What,” he repeats slowly, “Are you about?”

“I don’t know,” you admit.

“Well, you ought to know,” he growls. “You ought to know damned well exactly what you’re about before you go off following men into the dark.”

But it’s not as though you’ve followed just any man into the dark, is it? You’d followed him. The admonishment riles you, bringing your temper back to a full boil. You straighten your spine and sear him with a withering look.

“That woman tonight. At the feast. She wants you to bed her.”

Lord Jung’s dark eyes go wide just before they narrow. He stalks towards you slowly, forcing you to retreat until your back is flush to the stable’s rough wooden slats. Slivers of moonlight play off his angular face, making the shadows in the hollows of his cheeks more pronounced.

He’s beautiful – even like this – even when he’s so irate that he can barely stand still.

“I know what she wants,” he murmurs, voice sinking to an octave that raises goosebumps on your arms. “What I do not know is what you want. What I do not know is why you are here.”

“So you intend to bed her,” you challenge.

Something dangerous flickers in the man's expression as he regards you, gaze potent enough to almost make you regret your sudden bout of daring. Almost.

“No.”

And so there is no tryst. No agreement between secret lovers. Adrenaline floods your veins, bringing with it a clarity that you’ve not had since you began drinking tonight. You’ve been reckless – so, so reckless – and now there is no undoing what you’ve done.

“I’ve answered your question and now you will answer mine,” Lord Jung warns, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “What. Do. You. Want?”

All the fire has left you now. Whatever force possessed you to confront this man in this way has disappeared, leaving behind only a sickly taste in your mouth. You’ll feel more than just the wine in the morning, you know it.

“Brave enough to follow me into the dark, brave enough to demand I explain my plans for bedsport,” he continues, brows knit as he stares you down. “But somehow, not brave enough to tell me what you’re doing here in the first place.”

“I – ”

“Tell me then,” he goads, growing more agitated by the minute. “Open your mouth and speak. Tell me why you’re here. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to kiss me.”

You ought to have slapped him across the face. At the very least, you would have earned the look he’s giving you right now – this frozen mask of incredulity that’s come over him. He backs away from you slowly, as though poised to run. But he doesn’t.

“You’re mad.”

“I am not mad,” you say evenly, with a poise you’d not thought yourself capable of. “You asked me what I want and I’ve told you. I want you to kiss me.”

Another burst of color explodes in the sky. A loud cheer goes up over the field nearby, a disquieting reminder of the hundreds of people milling about just a short walk away. The commotion seems to sober him.

“Go home, Your Grace.” His words are strangled, forced. “You are playing with fire. You have no idea what you’re doing here.”

You stiffen, lifting your nose in the air.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” you lie.

Your insistence only serves to make him even more agitated. He begins to pace back and forth, glowering at you as he moves.

“Go back to your castle, Your Grace. Go back to your fine life and your fine things and no one will ever be the wiser.”

“I will not,” you refuse, petulant.

Lord Jung delivers his last blow, the fatal one, in a voice so graveled it sounds as though the words are spoken by a stranger. And perhaps he is a stranger, this man you’ve been so infatuated with. Perhaps he’s nothing like what you’ve made him in your own mind.

“Go back to your husband,” he growls. “Your King.”

Your humiliation is instant and acute. You burn with it, the embarrassment so all-consuming that it nearly makes you see stars. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears, feel your heart pounding in your throat when you finally manage to speak.

“The King doesn’t want me,” you say stiffly. “Though I am certain you already know that.”

“The King is a fool!” he explodes, surging forward and slamming his hands down on either side of you. The outburst is violent enough to shake the horse stall and the venom in his countenance nearly makes you come out of your skin. His mouth hovers terrifyingly close to yours, so close that you can nearly taste the ale on his breath. You stop breathing altogether.

Then he wrenches himself away from you, staggering backwards as though he’s been burned.

“And so am I.”

i’d love to hear from you about this chapter! you can talk to me here. otherwise, i hope you enjoyed it and only the final chapter is left 💕

#hoseok smut #j-hope smut #bts smut #hoseok x reader #j-hope x reader #bts x reader #hoseok #bts hoseok #bts x you #hoseok x you #bts scenarios #bts au #hoseok imagine #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #bangtan

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rattini · 5 months

Text

Honey Whiskey // x

The honey whiskey's kickin' Go down, go down I think I better go before I try something I might regret But if you wanna free your body tonight It's our secret, it's our secret

The Ghoul x F!Reader

Set years before the events of the Fallout TV show.

The unfortunate plaything of a drug lord with a bounty on his head, you’re dragged to a bar as his little pet. With nothing else to do but drink with them, you try to lose yourself in liquor, wondering how long this was going to be the theme of your life. Luckily for you, the bounty on the head of your captor has attracted the attention of a ghoul with nothing to lose. A man you noticed eyeing you and the men accompanying you from across the room for more than an hour, before letting loose his bullets into the heads of everyone but you. Hazy from alcohol, you ponder if you should return the favour, the only way that has worked for you so far.

You’re used to being a ‘pretty thing’ on the arm of a man trying to prove his power, it had been your primary mode of survival not long since you were evicted from your vault. Sneaking around the desolate wasteland with minimal water and just enough drugs to curb the pain of your current skin affliction got old fast. Your self-doubt had convinced you that surviving alone wasn’t an option. When a group of leering, greasy men cornered you one afternoon in the highest heat of the Mojave sun, your fight or flight response chose fawn. It was easy enough, you figured standards had dropped significantly out here these days, yours clearly had.

Right now, you were tethered to a sweating hog of a man with a severe lack of investment in personal hygiene, who had made himself more than acquainted with your inner thigh. He bragged endlessly about being untouchable, the most powerful fucker in these parts. Men and their need to showboat. Eyes were not on you at present, that you were aware of at least, so you allowed yourself to roll them in response to his gloating. Fortunately, as a perk of being his little toy, you were welcome to help yourself to the liquor decorating the bar where you sat.

Perched delicately on a stool, you had little choice but to sit properly, since you were donned in a less than savoury getup that didn’t really flatter you in the slightest. Either way, it crept uncomfortably far up your thigh, you were pretty sure your asscheeks were stuck to the cracked leather of the bar stool…but anything for easy access, right? That’s all that mattered for you now. You had made your bed, now you had to lie in it, on your back usually. For every grubby prod of his fingers, you sip a little harder at the old whiskey in your glass, a task in itself since your wrists were bound. You had just enough freedom to grip a glass and bring it to your mouth, but your ankles were also bound, so you weren’t going very far any time soon. Swallowing down the sting in your throat, you barely grimaced at the taste as the heat spread through your chest. It was rather pleasant really, or at least, the growing fuzziness in your limbs and face were.

Your boredom grows as the evening drones on, your eyes wander across the room. A dingy old bar, all but a few patrons scared off by your adoring captors. Except one. You’d noticed them from the corner of your eye near an hour ago, focus shifting away from them easily from the liquor. An unmoving figure draped across an old couch, head bowed low, crowned with a cowboy hat with legs lazily spread. You find yourself pondering them some more, intrigued by their mystery, coyness lost on you at this point as alcohol seeps into your bloodstream.

Just as your focus intensifies, you notice their head rise, the brim of their hat revealing a dark, masculine jaw. His body remained unmoving, but you can’t help but feel like his attention is fixated on you. Attempting to shake the feeling of being watched, you turned your own attention fleetingly back to your glass, which was near empty. Disappointed, you attempted to reach over the counter for the bottle of whiskey balancing on the edge of the bar. Unaware of the flesh you were flashing to do so, you park yourself again, fumbling the bottle with your barely free hand to pour yourself another glass and meeting your lips with it. Tilting your head back far enough for the liquid to escape down your throat, you glance once more at the man in the corner. His eyes, visible through dark sockets under the brim of his hat, are hooked on you more obviously this time. Feeling warm and brave, you meet his gaze, trying to decipher what kind of face is hiding beneath the shadows. Visible are his sclera, but his irises appear dark, along with the rest of his features. You didn’t mind his gawking, enjoying the dangerous entertainment it provided for you.

Interrupted by the poking grip of stubby fingers above your knee, your eyes dart back at the raider, drug lord, scumbag whatever-he-was. He wasn’t looking at you, but his hands were wandering all the same. Gliding up the inside of your thigh, causing shudders to rise from the base of your spine. The encroaching tipsiness meant hiding your grimace was more of a challenge, and so you twisted your neck with a look of disgust you hoped no one would notice. But it didn’t go unnoticed. Lifting your eyes again, you notice the man is still looking at you, posture leaned forward, revealing his visage. A ghoul. Not awful on the eyes either. Hell, not that your current company was anything to compare to. He noticed your eyes widen and it cracks a smirk on his mottled skin, head cocking to the side. Unblinking, your cheeks flush hot for a second, your only choice to swallow hard and shake it off.

A sharp tug on the rope slowly cutting into your wrist yanks you from your drifting gaze. A waft of halitosis and liquor exposes his intoxication, which probably also meant his desire to have his way with you was near. Encroaching on your personal space, which didn’t really belong to you anymore anyway, he leans in with an open mouth, ready to take what he wants from your lips. The pungency of his breath almost knocks you off the stool, and when he notices you lean away from his kiss, he makes sure that you do end up on the floor. Crashing to your knees with an audible pop of your joints, you let out a cry that brings a wicked grin to his lips. Stifling a growl as you ride through the pain of your aching joints, you’re ordered to return to your feet. Knowing full well that you’re unable to get up, the raider boss drunkenly draws his shotgun to meet your forehead.

“Up, bitch.”

You shoot him a furious but desperate stare through furrowed brows, despite being in no position to argue with him. You attempt to return to your feet to no avail, through stifled groans of pain that radiate in your kneecaps. Growing more frustrated by your lack of movement, the raider disables his safety and your heart drops. A cold sweat beads rapidly against your back, this time bracing yourself for his inevitable itchy trigger finger.

A gunshot.

Followed by another.

Eyes squeezed tightly shut, reflexes delayed by your assurance that at least one bullet was lodged in your flesh, but no pain followed. Your ears ring from the gunshots and you spring your eyes open to check yourself. The spattered blood of the man accompanying you covered your front, but it seems you were free of any further injury. Vision darting around the room, you attempt to collect your gall and figure out the situation. To your right, two more raiders, the lackeys, guns poised straight ahead of them. To your left, the ghoul on the couch, now standing with a revolver in each outstretched hand. The standoff is short-lived before the ghoul sinks a bullet into the forehead of each raider, splattering their grey matter across the dingey walls of the now abandoned tavern.

Silence fills the room, besides a few debris clattering to the floor and the thudding of your heartbeat pounding through your ringing ears. Your chest heaves as the panic sets in, you may have been spared, but that means very little in the wasteland. You come to the assumption that you’ll be next by association. Unable to return to your feet, your hands reach to cover your head as you hear the clicking of the ghoul’s spurs approach with each heavy step. As the footsteps cease, you dare peek at the boots that have appeared at your knees, following them up until you find the face of the man they belong to. Towering over you, his eyes darken to an almost predatory look. His gloved hand finds your bound wrists and he lifts you to your feet in one rough swoop, propping yourself on shaking legs as you stand uncomfortably close to him.

A knife emerges from its sheath to meet the soft skin of your neck, drawing up to linger on your bottom lip. You don’t take your eyes off him for a second, hoping the familiar deer-in-the-headlights tactic will prove useful once more. It was almost embarrassing how often it had saved your life out here. The ghoul keeps your gaze, unblinking, cocking his head to the side as if he were considering something. His stare bores into you, eyes oddly warm brown to match the heat radiating from under his duster. The blade slowly raises past your eyes, where he still firmly holds your aching wrists above your head. With a swift tug and low grunt from his throat, the rope bindings loosen and release the pressure from your joints, and you check your them for blood.

Feeling his eyes still on you, you scan back up to his face again, silence filling the entire room as your world still gently spins from the alcohol. The rope remaining tightly around your ankles begins to chafe, rubbing away the top layer of skin. A quick glance down to your feet and back up at him again, hinting. The smirk he flashed you from the other end of the room prior to the shootout creeps back on his lips and yellowed teeth peek through. He practically leans over you, encroaching on your space much like the raiders and those before him had done, but this was different. This time you liked it. The liquor buzz and tingling fear created quite a thrill, one that engulfed your entire skin with prickles and sank into the pit of your belly with a fluttering warmth.

Without uttering a word, he slowly descends. Close enough that you feel the heat of his breath as he meets your face and continues down your form to crouch in front of you, head now level with your navel. Time slows in the room, hazy with excitement, or was it your life flashing before you? Gripping the back of your knee, he slowly reaches down to slice at the bindings on your ankles with the other, almost as if he were savouring the moment, the brim of his hat tickling your lower belly as he tilts his head down. A familiar release, as you reposition your feet to stand more comfortably, skin itching from the rope. The grasp of your knee pit rises until his fingers digs into the meat of your hamstring. Your leg twitches as you imagine the sensation of his rough, ungloved hands wrapped around the underside of your ass cheek. His blade makes contact with your skin once more, cold and stinging on the inside of your calf. Your body stiffens and you hold your breath, before the knife begins to rise up the soft flesh of your leg, past your knees and settling mid-way up your thigh. A gasp escapes your lips as the cold metal tickles your sensitive skin and sends jolts into the heat of your underwear. You dare not move but your body betrays you with a soft tremble. He emits a low hum, humoured by your obvious attempt to hide your growing fear and excitement.

Nonchalantly, he returns to his feet, examining his blade before sheathing it again, the corners of his mouth still curled slightly. As his attention returns to you once more, he reaches over your diminutive form, the collar of his aged shirt almost brushing the tip of your nose. His aroma is powerful, perhaps not in scent, but certainly in the way it makes your belly rise and flutter and tingles creep into your throat. Old leather, Mojave dust, and a musk that was fairly pleasant, all things considered. He recedes with a glass in his hand, your glass, as he knocks back the remainder of your drink before tipping the glass to you with a nod and returning it to the bar.

Stepping around you he strolls over to the body of the man you had belonged to until now and makes quick work of looting his pockets and removing his head with efficiency. He examines the head with a scoff and glances back towards you, almost mocking your choice of company. Grabbing a fistful of hair, the head now dangles by the ghoul’s side as he steps off to leave the bar. As he reaches the fractured door frame, you dare to finally move. First your lips, a wobbly “Thank you.” escapes them, but you remain with your back to him. His gait halts and he twists to peer back at you, raising an eyebrow in surprise, but says nothing still. Perhaps pleasantly surprised by the rarity of manners, perhaps wondering how well those manners could serve him. He stands awaiting you, a dark figure almost filling the doorway. You wonder if he left already, but are met with his widening, lopsided grin. He tips his hat to you and slinks off beyond sight.

Intoxicating…intoxicated. You’re intoxicated. Your fight or flight response drags you back to your sobering reality. You had been spared by a bounty hunter, and a ghoul at that. Unfortunately for you though, the group of thugs providing some sort of protection were now splayed out on the rotting wooden floor, decorated by their own blood. You were alone, again. The reality of your situation sinks in as you fumble to collect the least bloody jacket from one of the bodies as an attempt to cover as much of your bare skin as possible. Your mind has other plans however, as the lingering image of his sultry eyes are fixed into the back of your eyelids, and you can’t help but wonder how those hollowed features would look if you were underneath him.

Fuck.

#this is the first thing like this i've ever posted in my 17 years of being on the internet LOL #fallout #fallout oc #fallout ghoul #fallout ghouls #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #cooper howard x f!reader #the ghoul x f!reader #my writing

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muffinsin · 2 months

Note

ooh, muffin, muffin, I just got this idea from reading your recent Cassandra with a child. How about Cassandra had an offspring with a female human outsider, just a short affair that lasted for a few months. Cassandra got the outsider pregnant but she didn’t know. After months passed Cassandra stopped visiting the outsider who practically now lives in the village. Then years passed, outsider gave birth to a little girl who looks like a miniature version of Cassandra, then more years passed the child grew and the appearance became more apparent that she is Cassandra’s other mother. The 6-10 years old or whatever age, goes out to explore the forest, alone, suddenly she’s getting chased by a Lycan or she’s being chased by a villager cuz of her similar appearance to Cassandra. She’s found and saved by Cassandra cuz Cassandra felt something when she saw the child and how she looked. This isn’t really a request (unless you’d want to write it out) but more of me saving this idea here just in case anyone would want to. But what’s your thoughts on something like this?

Consider me very curious!👀 I think that’s an adorable idea! Let’s get into it :)

(Referred post: here)

Masterlists

Cassandra is not one for connection, she keeps telling herself

Not one for genuine, human connection

She has her family, and that is that

Her Mother, who she loves and respects endlessly

Her older sister, who she likes to annoy, but will forever love and support

And her younger sister, who she will protect with her life and loves just as much as the rest of her family

Sure, there have been lovers here and there. Little flings, some she even thought might be something more

They never lasted

And as such, Cassandra too believes that no human will last. There is only her. Only Mother. Only Bela. Only Daniela

She starts out her normal summer’s day with a hunt. Nothing quite unusual about this, except maybe that she insisted on hunting alone when Daniela asked to join in

No, Cassandra’s goal is set; a large prey, something exciting for Daniela’s upcoming birthday

Perhaps, she could find a large, juicy deer with beautiful skin. Her younger sister loved those

She insisted, they were almost too cute to eat. Still, they always ended up being eaten all the same

Or, perhaps, lycan? Not for eating, of course. What a waste that would be! They never taste all that well anyway

But, she knows her younger sister is looking for a new toy, something- or someone- to play with and keep her entertained

Or maybe a villager, if she feels bold enough to venture out of their region

They do always carry such good things on them, and most don’t taste all that awful, despite them mainly being men-things

She shrugs. She will see whatever takes her pick spontaneously, she feels

She inhales subtly, giggling to herself at the variety of scents catching her attention

Of course, there is her favorite: the fresh smell of the forest, of the trees and earthy ground, the mushrooms and leaves, the bushes and hard barks. She inhales again, eager for more of this scent

This feels free, to her

Of course, there are more, subtler smells she catches wind of

Such as the one of a nearby lycan pack, probably attempting to find a route to the village

She rolls her eyes

Despite Heisenberg’s words, she is fully convinced they are simply nothing more than stupid. A belief she shares with the rest of her family

She smells the nearby nest of a bear; perhaps a grizzly? She can’t tell

Intriguing, exciting. Perhaps she will return to it later, once she has Daniela’s gift

Then, another scent catches her attention and has her eyes widen

A human one, one of the villagers. Perhaps it is her lucky day indeed!

She swarms in the direction quickly, her sickle gripped tightly in her right hand

The closer she gets, the more clear it becomes: there are two villagers, even

And yet, her disappointment comes short when she hears them

One is clearly a child, something she- or the rest of her family- has no use for

But, perhaps the other…

She watches for a moment, frowning in confusion. A woman, no older than fifty, no younger than forty, equipped with a pitchfork as she chased what seemed to be a little girl from the village

Cassandra watches for a moment longer

Perhaps is was a thief, found out by the woman? She shakes her head a little. It’s merely a child. Obviously, it would steal

When the small thing trips and just barely catches itself on the roots at the ground, Cassandra decides to intervene after all

She does want the other human, after all!

Her fingers wrap around one of the spikes of the pitchfork easily, pulling a stunned, fearful gasp from its wielder

“Lady Cassand-!”

She smiles, almost shyly, as the pitchfork is yanked by her and pushed roughly into the woman’s throat

She could tell…this one would have been yapping to no end

Cassandra pays the child little mind, instead focuses on her prey, the woman gasping up blood and begging, as though she could be helped in her near-death condition

A few seconds only, and life is pulled from her

To Cassandra’s surprise, she still finds the girl sitting where she tripped, though

She pays no mind to it. The huntress couldn’t care less for lost children

Perhaps if it was Bela or Daniela, and they had a particularly amazing day and felt generous, they’d help the poor whelp find her way back home. Not Cassandra

She slings the woman over her shoulder, ready to take her leave

Yet, then the child’s face catches the corner of her eye and makes her turn her head fully

In front of her, is something she hasn’t ever seen before

A girl, no older than ten, with just about the same bone structure as her

Her eyes…Cassandra’s golden eyes immediately find the girl’s right soft, brown lazy eye, then the golden left eye. Gold, like her own

Her nose, just slightly more petite than Cassandra’s, but similar nonetheless

Her hair, the exact same shade as her own, and barely curled, just like her own

She frowns a little

How…curious?

The corpse is dropped in an instant and she hears the surprised gasp from the child when she pounces

She throws herself on top of the girl, her nose finding her neck and inhaling strongly

Her eyes widen, and she pulls back immediately

Yes..the small thing smells almost utterly of her. Not her clothing, not her hair. Her. Her blood, her entire being

She doesn’t understand, yet when she attempts to ask, her lips only part and no sound comes from her

The child, it seems, feels differently and experiences no such issues

With slightly watery and unsure eyes, she looks up at the stunned huntress

“Mama?”, she asks, light and quiet, as if unsure what Cassandra’s reaction would be

You can’t help but hope, though, to have finally met your Mama

For years, she has been used as an insult against you

But…she’s so perfect

She’s strong, she protected you. And she’s so pretty! You hope to become as beautiful when you grow up

You have been given to understand that she’s a monster. A predator, the devil herself and the “fetcher of children’s souls”

A little silly, now that you think about it

You always knew, your mama wasn’t like that. That she would never hurt you. That she isn’t a monster, not to you

Even if defending her got you in trouble quite often

But now she’s here

Looking at you, surprise, but warmth evident in her golden eyes

Gold, like yours

“Who are you?”, she questions, at last

Immediately, her own mind provides her the answer, the images of your other mother

A villager, bitter, but beautiful. A short fling for the summer she spent working at the castle, before she returned, in one piece- Cassandra’s parting gift, to her home

But…how could it be?

How dare she not notify her of you?!

You speak your mother’s familiar name, then your own

Her eyes soften slightly, her gaze no longer piercing

That name…beautiful. She feels so confused, so torn

“Where is your mother?”, she asks, instead

Cassandra forces herself not to smile when you just point at her, before you seem to catch up to her actual question

Silence greets her, and the tears building up in your eyes give her a good enough explanation

“Do you live on your own?”, she asks, instead

Alone?

In the village?

Among such monsters chasing you out?

Among Lycans attacking at every opportunity? Absolutely not!

You only nod, seemingly content being nonverbal

She only now notices you’re holding onto the tip of her dress, your little fingers stroking along it gently

The fabric is soft and thick, soothingly so. It makes you feel calm, even

Suddenly though, doubt rises in her

How could she ensure you’re any safer or happier at the castle, than in the village?

Can she even provide for a child? For her child? You’re…human. Or so she assumes

Will you not have to eat as the staff? Will you not have to be looked after?

You sneeze, your little body trembling slightly

The noblewoman only now notices the holes in your clothing, the thin, worn fabric just barely clinging to your skin

This will not do. Not for a child of hers

“I’ll take you with me. Home”, she states. Her tone leaves no room for arguments, and there are none

A large smile spreads on your face. A home? A warm home? Clothing? Food? Your mama?

No more bullies from the village. No more people making fun of you and detesting you only because who your mama is

You’re proud to be her daughter, more than you have ever been before

Before she can pick up the mean woman chasing you though, you suddenly remember!

Cassandra shrieks in surprise when you grip her hand in your smaller one and tug her along

Despite your small size, it seems you did inherit some of her rather inhuman strength. She feels pride at this realization

Still, your boldness shocks her momentarily. She is unused to any touch that doesn’t come from her sisters or mother

Still, she welcomes it

She holds your hand as gentle as she can, afraid she might break you. You’re precious to her, even if she only now found out about your existence

Silently, Cassandra vows to herself that she will forever protect you

And she makes true to that promise, when you round the corner and momentarily gasp in fear, a large woman with a pitchfork in your way

Only does a giggle escape you when the mean bully finds your mama standing right behind you, an angry look on her face

Immediately, she begins to beg, and falls quiet just as fast

Cassandra watches as you poke the dead woman now laying limply on the floor

It seems, her aggression doesn’t bother you, and she’s silently thankful for it

She could not hide who she is, no matter what. She can only shield you from the worst bits

You giggle, and Cassandra can’t help but crackle in delight when you, albeit with a little difficulty, pick up the pitchfork and stick it into the dead woman’s back

A child of hers, indeed

She allows you to pull her along a little while longer, her angry glares and dangerous eyes glancing in every direction keeping all away

You feel the power you always knew you have, the one they were all scared of. They hated you for the power your mama possesses, but you never once felt anything but pride for it, and now you can at last wear it on your sleeve with a smile at your lips and her gloved hand surrounding yours

Cassandra raises an eyebrow when you stop walking, her golden eyes taking in the sight of a burned and destroyed house in front of you

“Hey!”, she warns, yelps even, when you suddenly disappear in the crawl space under

Instinct has her take after you, worried the unsteady thing might collapse on your little body any moment

She swarms fast, yet is rendered utterly surprised again when she finds herself in a small- room?- underneath the house

It’s barely big enough to fit you, and she can’t even fully turn back to her humane form due to the lack of space

You don’t seem to mind, though, instead abandon the small box you just held to inspect your mama’s new form

“Hey! That tickles!”, she yelps as she feels tiny hands reach into her stomach, trying to grab the many flies buzzing there, never quite able to shape into a torso, but rather only the outline of one

She hears you squeal in excitement and giggle about as you poke her

Only her head and arms stick out of the mass of flies, and multiple times Cassandra can’t help but giggle along as you tickle her with your attempts to claim one of the flies for yourself

Eventually though, you manage, and hold it close to you as you return to the wooden box tucked away in the corner

She watches as you pull the first thing from it, a rough-looking teddy bear

Its fur, once white if she had to guess, is tainted dark from dust

“Mellie”, you whisper, and without truly knowing how, Cassandra knows to stretch out her hand and hold the small thing as you hand it to her

“Mellie”, she repeats. She recalls a flashing moment, a memory, and without thinking much, she repeats the words Alcina had said so many centuries ago

“Hello, it’s lovely to meet you”

You giggle. Mama understands. Mama likes your bear. Mama will protect her, too

She watches you pull other things from the box, among them old shirts that are hardly in a better condition than your current one

Still, something makes her pause

A necklace pendant, with a string far too long for you. You hold it out to her instead, your eyes betraying the hope you feel

This is your mama

She inspects the necklace. While the string is made of simple leather from the village, she notices the ring slung into it

The gold ring, with the yellow gem, with her name carved on the inside of it

She remembers it as her parting gift to your mother, yet never believed she’d see it again

And yet here you are, her little spawn, bringing it back to her

She smiles at you, a genuine smile not many get to see, hidden underneath the broken crumbs of a burned house, only for her precious daughter to see

And you smile back at her, your little body throwing itself at her

You giggle when she swarms automagically and you land in the middle of the fly pile

As she hears your precious giggles, Cassandra allows you to play a little more until you must head home with her

You cling to your mama tiredly, your legs hanging limply in the air, her strong arm wrapped around you and keeping you sat comfortably at her hip

You’re playing with her choker, the shiny yellow gemstone having captured your attention a few minutes ago

Cassandra doesn’t mind

You’re brought to her room first, where you are retrieved of the filthy, torn clothing barely hanging onto you

You whine a little as mama throws them carelessly onto the floor. You don’t yet know, you will never have to worry for clothing again

With your teddy held by your side, you allow her to wrap you up in the fluffiest, warmest robe you have ever seen

A deep red, and thick enough to keep you warm

You don’t pay the woman coming in any mind, but watch fascinated as she turns something at a tub and tons of water simply come down into it

Your small gasp has Cassandra smile

She can’t wait to show you all the wonders this world has to offer, as she is still exploring them for herself, too

As it is set, Cassandra lifts you gently. She knows of her strength and can’t help but fear she might break a little thing like you

After all, it’s not uncommon for her, and especially Daniela, to play a little too rough- to shove a little too hard, to shake hands a little too eagerly, to tug along a little too fast- and for it to lead to one’s death

She would never want to hurt you

But you don’t seem in pain in the slightest

You hold onto your mama happily, your little hands playing with strands of her hair as the robe is removed from you and you’re carried to the bathroom

You like her hair, you decide. It’s just like yours, only a little longer

When you’re set in the water, you squeal in enjoyment. It has been far too long since you’ve had some water for yourself, let alone a full bath!

Cassandra watches as you play with the bubbles, either oblivious, or simply not caring of the sponge she gently drags against your skin

For a moment, a thought crosses her mind

How she would have, before you, found it pathetic to bathe someone. It is a maiden’s job! A peasant’s job! Not hers!

But, she could never allow a servant near you, her most precious and priceless gem

She doesn’t mind a lot of things she would normally get upset at, she realises

She doesn’t get angry when your splashes cause her clothing to get wet

Instead, Cassandra only laughs along and gently uses two of her fingers to splash some water back at you. Your gleeful giggles mean the world to her

You are hers, she knows. And she will never see you separated again

As she leans over the tub to reach a small towel, though, a shampoo bottle is knocked over. She curses quietly under her breath, even more so when she catches it and the cap pops off and falls into the water

You, though, seem very happy about your mama’s mistake

“Mama, boat!”, you insist, holding the little cap

She doesn’t quite understand at first, until she remembers the times early in her reborn life, with Bela and Daniela in the tub with her; Cassandra trashing at the water, Bela wailing about wanting out, Daniela playing peacefully with the many items Alcina has learned to dump into the tub to keep her youngest entertained, and behaving

She thinks for a moment, then quickly sends some of her flies off to retrieve the secret stash of outside tools she has looted so far

Among them, a little plastic duck

You squeal as you see the item, water overflowing and splashing everywhere as you stretch your arms out, eager to get the yellow toy

How could she deny you?

For a little bit, the room is taken over by a peaceful atmosphere

You whisper and lisp to yourself as you play, knowing your mama is paying attention, and allow her to wash you as you play

Your body and hair are no longer dirty after a little while, free of mud and dust, blood and dirt

Then, a call in the distance

“Cassandra!”

Her blood runs cold. Mother! She completely forgot that she should have, perhaps, told Mother that she found a child, her child, and took her home

It seems though, by Alcina’s fast and heavy steps, that she is well aware of the presence of a human in her daughter’s room

Cassandra yelps in surprise when the knock to her door comes fast, the tapping of Alcina’s heel at the other side of the door showing her impatience

A glance at you has the huntress think, though. She doesn’t quite want to leave you on your own in the water

A part of her scoffs on the inside. When did she become so careful and lame?

Perhaps when she found someone worth being careful for, another part of her provides

“Just a moment, Mother”, she promises, her own heart calming as the tapping stops and Alcina seems to calm slightly

She supposes, she fact her room does not reek of human men-things is enough to calm her worrying mother

A part of her wonders though; will she be the same? Overprotective, careful, possessive?

The thought of you, grown up and somewhere with a man-thing is enough to make her snarl to herself. She supposes she has her answer

You only giggle at her snarl, yet frown in confusion when your mama’s hand quickly covers your mouth

She’s careful with you, but knows Alcina heard the sound

“Stay here, okay?”, she whispers, yet again knows that her mother hears her perfectly well

You only nod, happily to be sat on her bed and cuddle up in the warm sheets and fluffy pillows. Again, Cassandra doesn’t care that you wet things when she normally would flay someone for having a drop of water even touch anything that is hers

Without thinking, she presses a quick kiss to your forehead before she swarms out under the door, an action that, unfortunately, only makes her heart race faster and face burn up. When did she become so soft?!

How!

Alcina simply stares at her middle daughter for a moment, yet her eyes tell enough

She knows of the secret hidden within her daughter’s room and silently demands an explanation

Did she not just tell Cassandra they couldn’t afford using maids as play things? They needed to be ready to be turned into this season’s wine, and the castle is already understaffed as it is!

She massages the bridge of her nose with her fingers for a moment

She knows, sometimes Cassandra acts out to gain more of her attention. She will not fault her for this and lash out just yet. Never at and in front of her daughters, if she can help it

“Hello, Mother”, the brunette greets, almost shy. Despite being such a good liar, she grows nervous at the knowledge that Alcina has always and will always see right through her

The older woman’s eye twitches. Cassandra knows to come true now

“It’s..complicated”, she starts out

“You might want to sit”, she adds

Alcina merely crosses her arms, and her daughter continues

“I- uh, a few years ago there was this maid we let go, right? Sabrina? The little- ah, nevermind. I liked her”

Alcina stands unimpressed, but curious. Why, of course her daughter liked her. Why else would the lady of the village have allowed the maid to go free when Cassandra asked for it?

“She was, uh”

Cassandra paused for a moment. She wasn’t entirely sure how to phrase this, until a memory of Bela explaining a maid’s pregnancy came to her mind. She forced herself not to smile at the silly phrasing she know replicates

“- with child”, she adds

A gasp is heard from her mother, and Cassandra allows a large hand to set on her shoulder as the other woman attempts to make sense of the situation

A few moments pass. The middle sister is unsure how her mother feels

“And she is in there now?”, she asks eventually

Cassandra gulps

“Well no. She, is no more. But-“

She is cut off before she can continue, a little squeal from the inside of the room

“Mama!”

Cassandra yelps as Alcina moves immediately

She doesn’t entirely understand why, but her flies seem to act on their own, buzzing aggressively as she rushes inside the room to protect her young

But, there is no threat, just as her radical mind knew

Instead you are wide eyed as you play with Alcina’s large hat, having been picked up

It seems, Cassandra is not the only whose maternal instincts automatically kicked in at the cry from inside the room

Alcina holds you gently, even more so afraid of breaking you. You’re so tiny in her arms, yet not afraid in the slightest

You know who she is, after all, having originated in the village. You know this is your’s mama’s mama. And you trust those your mama is with. Mama knows best, after all

“Mother, this is my daughter”, Cassandra whispers, a small, soft smile gracing her lips

Never did she believe she would want this

Never did she believe she would get this

And yet, she can’t think to bear even a single moment without this, without you, in the future

You are a part of her now, a part of her life

You’re allowed to play with Alcina for a little bit, mainly climbing up and down her dress in what seems to be your new favorite game: attempting to steal the hat covering her head

Cassandra relishes in watching you play with her mother, and in turn in watching the careful and gentle way Alcina handles you

She knows, she will receive a talk on how this all could have happened and will have to deliver an explanation in response soon enough. But for now, this day was yours to enjoy

You cling to her yet again, content to be as humanly close to her as you can be after all this time of being separated

You don’t feel like letting go of your mama at all anymore, want to hold onto a part of her at all times

You notice, the fear villagers have of her is evident in the servants, too

They make way for the two of you when she walks down the hallway, never dare look up from the floor no matter how curious they are about the child in Cassandra’s arms

They’re perfectly obedient to her, shaken and frozen in fear and made respect

And your mama knows it

You’re sat down on the counter at the kitchens, your eyes flickering across all the food you never even got to hope to taste

The castle’s kitchen is rich in plums and apples- your favorite-, grapes and meat above all

Cassandra pulls a face at all the things surrounding her

Flour, sugar, meat, knives, spices, fruit, vegetables, bread, cutting boards, pots

How is she supposed to use all this to make a proper meal for you?!

Cautiously, she reaches towards a bag full of fresh vegetables. You pull a face at her and whine, and giggle when her hand immediately moves back again

‘Good girl’, she thinks, eying the bag with slight disgust, too

It seems, she does not have to pretend to like vegetables, then

Instead, she grabs onto a large piece of raw meat. Easily, her sharp, claw-like nails rip through it and she’s able to set a small, bite-sized piece down on your lap

You merely stare at her, and she stares back

“It’s deer”, she adds, when you still don’t eat. She doesn’t quite understand. She loves deer. Daniela loves deer! Bela loves deer! Even Mother loves deer! Did you not inherit a taste for it?

You only pull a face at her

“Mama, it’s bad”, you tell her instead

For a moment, she’s confused by what you could mean

Then, she thinks of the countless poor lovers taken by Daniela, made to eat the raw meat she “lovingly fed them” and the series of pain and issues it caused within them

Quickly, she snatches the piece from you again and plops it into her own mouth

“Alright, cooking, cooking…”, she murmurs

She knows how to cook meat alright, despite preferring knives over flames, yet it seems to help her little

“Damnit!”, she groans

And “Damnit!”, you repeat like a little parrot

She can’t help but laugh a little at that, before her laughter is cut off by her own shriek as she hears a voice behind her

“What are we up to?”, Bela asks cooly, her eyes flickering across her sister and the small child sitting on the counter next to her

“That’s-“,

“I know, Mother told us”, Bela interrupts gently, her cool facade broken only a little when your little wave brings a smile to her face

“Please, tell me you did not intend on serving her that”, she groans. You giggle. You decide you like the pretty blonde woman that shares mama’s head flower

Cassandra feels her cheeks heat up a little in embarrassment. Well, obviously she wasn’t gonna serve it to you as it was!

She opts for merely pushing Bela slightly, which was decidedly the wrong thing to do, for your little arm shoots out and you point at her

“Mama, nice!”, you scold, as though genuinely worried for your new blonde friend

Bela smirks triumphantly

Perhaps she could influence you just a little, teach you not to roughhouse as much as her younger sisters

Still, she doesn’t feel like teasing her sister just then, and instead merely reaches for a plate of herbs from the cabinet

“Try some of this, it goes very well with meat”, she hums, picking out several ingredients and herbs for her sister

You cling to your mama once again, seemingly having had enough of the counter for just now

You want to be close to her, now, and Cassandra easily wraps her arms around you and allows you to koala cling to her, your arms and legs wrapped around her upper body tightly

With her sister’s help, she manages to get you a proper meal eventually, whereas her sister and her share some of the leftover raw pieces

As you get to know mama’s sister better, you find you like her a lot

She tells you about the castle and its secrets, about all the animals living outside

Whereas Cassandra finds Bela’s occasional info dumping somewhat annoying, it seems you find it to be one of the most interesting things in the world, for you cling to your mama tightly, but hang on to each and every word Bela speaks

At last, before heading off to bed herself, Cassandra is offered guidance on how to prepare human meals, a deal she surprisingly takes her sister up on

Despite the overall calm and exciting day, fuss breaks out as nighttime and, especially, bedtime draws near

“I don’t wanna sleep! Mama!”, you insist, your little legs used to help you bounce and jump up and down on her big bed

Cassandra doesn’t quite understand. You aren’t tired? After the eventful day you two have had?

She sighs as she wraps her arms around you and wrestles you, the thick blanket easily wrapping around you and trapping your fidgety, giggling self in the bed

“Come on, firefly, even big and little warriors like me and you have got to sleep”, she groans with fake exhaustion, yet more giggles and laughter is pulled from you when her fingers mercilessly begin tickling you

“Mama!”, you shriek

You’ve never laughed this much in your entire life, and you never want to stop, even as you attempt to bare your teeth at her as you saw her do to villagers and maidens

“Rawr!”, she mimics back, her lips pulled to a snarl near your face, her fang-like teeth bared

You giggle and copy the action, just like your mama

“Rawr!”, you add

“Rawr!”, she snarls again. You can’t stop giggling. You want to be just like her!

#cassandra dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #not sure if I like this!🙇‍♀️🙌

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lottiebird · 1 month

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I’ve known I wanted to be a submissive for someone else for most of my life. When I used to play pretend, I always wanted to be the little maid character everyone was mean to. I always asked to be the damsel in distress who got tied up. It was the most fun and exciting for me. I didn’t understand the funny feeling but I liked it. When I got older, I got on to tumblr and discovered how aroused I was by the rough way the women were treated in what I searched for. I wanted to feel that way. I touched myself to that lovely degrading content, confused how it made me feel. No matter what I did, I couldn’t come. I edged myself endlessly. In college I had disappointing sex with men who never made me finish. Living back at home after graduation, one night I started teasing myself in bed with the tv remote. Something shifted and almost clicked into place in my brain. Finally, I made a blog after years of lurking. My kinks escalated immediately. The next day I put clothes pins on my nipples for the first time. I nearly melted but still couldn’t come. The day after I humped my bed post for so long. I dream of moving to a city where I can meet a master who will treat me the way my blog reflects. Until then, I’ll be learning on my own.

#mine #bd/sm community

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phr3ia · 3 months

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I Got Isekai'd Into A World Where I'm Just The Side Character (Wuthering Waves x Fem!Reader) [Chapter 1 : How You Got Isekai'd]

[Trigger Warning]

You are a Professional Gamer known as the "Battle Goddess." holding the top rank in the world's most popular Massively Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game (MMORPG) called, "The World Of Warcraft". You are always praised, admired and respected within the game for your exceptional skills and achievements. You are confident, smart, strong and beautiful in the gaming world. You're always the "Number 1" in everything, a complete opposite from the way you live your life in the real world.

You're not entirely an introvert, but you rarely engage in social outings and interactions with others. You're also an average-looking woman with no any special features or qualities that set you apart. An ordinary citizen employed as a Service Crew member at McDonald's.

In other words, you're NORMAL.

You grew up in a dysfunctional family with an alcoholic father and an older brother struggling with drug addiction. And when you reached the right age to start working, you made the decision to leave home and forge your own path independently.

After a few years of playing the game, you finally achieved the prestigious honor of being inducted into the hall of fame. Your Guildmates, who have been your faithful companions for years, expressed their desire to meet you in person to celebrate your achievement. Considering their unwavering support, you thought, "Why not?"

And this is where everything came crashing down...

The people whom you believed were loyal to you ended up ridiculing your social status. Commenting on your looks and what you do for a living, they expressed disappointment, stating that they expected more from you as the "Battle Goddess."

"What a let down." commented your Vice Leader in the game.

"It turns out I'm earning more as a Secretary than our Guild Leader here." replied the other female guild member as she casually sipped her drink.

You remained silent, gazing down at the floor, nonchalantly absorbing the impact of their insults.

You immediately realized you don't belong in the group, so you stood up and excused yourself. However, as you attempted to leave, your Vice Leader "Ryuji", grabbed your hand, pulling you back to sit with him.

They ended up forcing you to drink, intoxicating you by spiking your beer. And upon waking up the next morning, you found yourself completely naked in a hotel room, with only a vague recollection of the events that happened the previous night. Opening your social media, the first thing that caught your eye was a naked photo and a video of yourself surrounded by a group of men, which turned out to be your trusted Guild Members. In a horrifying betrayal, they violated you and treated you like a pig.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

[Facebook]

Razgriz : Is that really her? She's not even pretty 😂

100Hamsters : Eww...

Carnage2001938 : You guys are really wild, making out with her!

MrSkullCrusher7 : Sluuuuuut!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Tears welled up in your eyes as you stuttered, "W-Why?" You questioned yourself, wondering what you had done to deserve such treatment. Life has been unjust to you from the moment your Mother passed away, and now this? The relentless torment is slowly eating away your soul. You had enough of everything. The game was your only refuge from the harsh realities of life, but now it seems there is no escape from the overwhelming challenges you face.

You weren't the kind of person to give up easily, but you felt deeply disappointed in yourself. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the screen, endlessly scrolling through people's comments. The post had already garnered half a million views.

Crying, you aggressively hurled your phone at the wall, shattering it. You were so done with all the bullshit happening in your life.

Suddenly, the door swung open revealing Ryuji, entering with a couple of beer bottles in hand.

Consumed by overwhelming emotions, you reached for a box-cutting knife from the bedside table and impulsively lunged towards him. Ryuji swiftly evaded your attack, his eyes widening in disbelief at your actions.

"Are you trying to kill me?!" he exclaimed, shouting at you. "I will make you all pay for this! I will hunt you down one by one, skin you alive, and feed your dicks to the pigs!" You let out a piercing scream of anger as you fiercely attacked him once more with the cutter. You managed to injure him this time, causing blood to splatter everywhere. However, the wound was not severe enough to be fatal.

"YOU BITCH!!" Ryuji hissed, shattering the bottle in half. He grabbed you by the hair and pressed the glass threateningly against your neck.

"You're a fucking psycho!" he spat, pressing the glass deeper into your skin until it drew blood.

You bit his arm with ferocity, causing him to release his grip on you. Then, with a swift kick to his crotch, you sent him crashing to the floor. You weren't even thinking twice about killing him right there and then. Straddling him, you locked eyes with Ryuji, a fierce glare in your gaze as you pressed the cutter against his throat.

"P-P-Please! I beg you! Don't kill me!" he pleaded, but begging won't work on you anymore. The pent-up anger and frustration within you had finally erupted. While others may not understand or appreciate the real you, one thing was certain - you're not someone to mess up with.

"Oy, Ryuji! What's all that noise?" the other Guild Members entered the room, they caught you in the act of trying to kill their friend.

They swiftly rushed towards Ryuji and restrained you, gagging you with a cloth tightly tied around your mouth.

"What are we going to do? She'll definitely go to the police if we let her go." the red-haired guy inquired. "We'll have to kill her." Ryuji responded coldly. "Are you really suggesting that?!" he questioned in disbelief. "Yes." Ryuji affirmed, fixing you with his cold, lifeless gaze.

The men started by submerging your head in the bathtub. They laughed as you struggled for breath, gasping desperately for air. Ryuji also delivered several punches, leaving bruises on your skin with each strike.

"I despise women like you. Acting so righteous, yet deep down, you're as corrupt as the rest of us." he seethed, pulling the cloth down from your mouth.

You spitted in his face without any hesitation. "Don't you dare compare me to the likes of you. If you think you can strip away my dignity because of what you've done, you're mistaken."

"Tch." he scoffed before pulling out his pocket knife and plunging it into your stomach. You were so stunned that you didn't immediately feel the pain, yet you could see the blood dripping onto the floor. Without warning, Ryuji forcefully submerged your head back into the water, drowning you completely.

"I refuse to die like this!" you exclaimed to yourself. "Please, I'll do anything to have another chance. This time, I'll live my life to the fullest! No more hiding!"... You can feel your life slowly ebbing away from you. But in your final moments, you made a wish, "I hope that in the next life, things will be better for me."

However, you didn't die and instead you got "ISEKAI'D"

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

[Huanglong - Dim Forest]

"Phew! That was tough!" Chixia exclaimed with a radiant smile.

"You seem cheerful for someone who just faced a lot of struggles earlier." Rover commented, chuckling at her optimism.

"I'm glad we were able to clear the spores infecting this beautiful tree." Yangyang stated, admiring the breathtaking sight before them.

"Hey guys! Am I the only one seeing something red glowing up there?" Chixia pointed to the top of the Giant Banyan Tree. "Did we miss something?" Yangyang inquired. "Let's check it out!" Rover suggested, gliding down from the cliff.

"Awwww, but we just came down from there!" Chixia complained as she followed Rover and Yangyang towards the tree.

"What if it's a powerful Tacet Discord?" Chixia asked, firmly holding her guns. "That's unlikely, Chixia. But if it does turn out to be a powerful TD, then we'll give our all to take it down." Yangyang replied with a reassuring smile.

"A woman?" Rover rushed towards your unconscious body. "She's still alive." he confirmed, checking your pulse and breathing.

Rover's calm demeanor remained as he examined you further, seemingly left for dead at the top of the tree. There was something off, though, about you. A faint hum was subtly reverberating around you, and the color of your skin was a pale hue- almost as if you were a corpse coming back to life.

"Hmm... She's no Tacet discord, that's for sure." He murmured to himself.

Your chest barely rose and fell with each breath. Rover had a feeling that you're someone who'd been through hell and back.

"We should help her, she looks like she's been through a lot." He already made his decision.

Rover's form wavered, manifesting his Tacet mark as it glows on the back of his hand- his power of Spectro activated. A barrier of light engulfed you, the humming became stronger. His expression was unreadable, a mix of curiosity and confusion, as he didn't know what was going on.

Suddenly, your breathing picked up, the faint hum increasing in volume. The barrier pulsed with the rhythm of your heartbeat, the air around you heating up.

"Rover, what are you doing to her?" Yangyang questioned, concerned for you and Rover's well-being. "I-I don't know what's going on. There's a strange force drawing me to her." He explained, his eyes never leaving you. Rover could tell that there's something going on inside of you. It was a struggle to determine what it was. However, he sensed a strong connection with you.

"Yangyang, Chixia, please step back! I don't know what's going to happen." He warned, his voice trembled slightly. His hand quivered as the barrier's glow intensified, before exploding into a shockwave of light.

"Yangyang! Chixia!" Rover exclaimed, his gaze fixed on them.

"We're okay!" Yangyang reassured, still taken aback of what just happened. "What in the world is happening?!" Chixia asked in a panic, feeling the anxiety creeping in.

The moment the light vanished, you jolted upright, your body now radiating a healthy glow, the pale hue of your skin vanished, and your eyes fluttered open. They were mesmerizing. Your body moved with so much energy, as if you had never been in a state of unconsciousness.

Rover remained frozen, his Tacet mark still glowing, unsure of what just happened. His mind raced to comprehend the unexplainable connection he felt with you.

"Eh?" You gazed at your surroundings and realized you were in an unfamiliar place. "Am I dreaming?" you whispered to yourself, trying to recall what had happened. And then you remembered that you've been murdered. "Am I dead?!" you exclaimed, staring at the man in front of you who seemed to regard you as if you were his long-lost soulmate or something.

"Hey! I'm asking you, am I dead?" you demanded, grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt.

Rover's eyes widened, and he instantly pulled back from your grasp, stumbling backward into a seated position, his hair falling over his face as he looked up at you. "N-No, you're not... dead." he managed to say, his voice wavering. The intensity of your gaze and your sudden aggression had caught him off guard.

"If you don't mind me asking, how did you end up here, in such a state?" He inquired, attempting to divert the conversation.

"I don't know. Anyway, why does that even matter? How am I alive? And who are you?" you asked, pulling yourself together.

"You can call me Rover." He introduced, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Do we know each other? I feel like we've met before, but I can't remember how or when." He admitted, glancing at the others.

"I'm sorry, but I don't recall ever meeting you before." you mused, still convinced that everything was just a dream. You were amazed by how vivid and real it all felt.

Yangyang and Chixia joined the conversation, "We found you lying unconcious here. Rover did something that helped you gained back your consciousness, and we're all a bit lost on what's going on." Yangyang explained.

"Yeah, it's like you were reborn! It's pretty unbelievable." Chixia butted in.

"By the way, my name's Chixia! And this is Yangyang!" she cheerfully added, introducing themselves to you.

"Nice to meet you..." you replied, still feeling lost.

Rover's eyes scanned over you while you conversed, his intuition telling him that you were more than just a stranger. A nagging feeling persisted, trying to tug at the edges of his memory.

"What should we call you?" Chixia inquired. "Y/N." you replied simply. "Are you from around here?"

"I'm not sure." you admitted, unsure of how to respond. You weren't even certain if you were still on Earth. The three of them gazed at you with concern written all over their faces.

"We should head back to the Capital and figure this out. And besides, you look like you need a change of clothes, food, and lots of rest." Yangyang suggested. "And a good bath." Chixia chimed in. "Get yourself cleaned up, and then we can talk about it."

"Don't worry. We're not here to harm you. You're safe with us." Yangyang reassured, gently smiling at you.

You nodded in response, returning the smile.

"I'm not sure if she's telling the truth." you pondered quietly to yourself. Despite your doubts, you realized you had no other option but to go with them. "What's there to fear?" you questioned yourself once more. "After all, this is just a dream!"

"Rover, Chixia let's go." Yangyang stated, her tone soft as she wrapped an arm around your shoulders to help you stand.

Rover watched you carefully, still processing the overwhelming feelings and thoughts racing through him. "Lead the way, Yangyang." Rover agreed, rising to his feet, ready to escort you back to Jinzhou.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

End of Chapter 1 🥀...

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

[Male Resonators x Fem!Reader] [Trigger Warning!!!]

You've been murdered. However, you didn't die and instead you got "ISEKAI'D".

#wuthering waves #wuwa #wuwa jiyan #wuwa fanfic #wuwa romance #wuwa smut #fanfiction #wuwa calcharo #tacet discords #wuwa x reader #various x reader #wuwa violence

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hoshinasblade · 1 month

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I am always on the lookout for your fics and I gotta say you do not disappoint!!

Now to the most important question of all: do you think our Hoshina is packing down there? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

well jesus christ, anon, i'm supposed to be sad and mopey tonight then i got this ask and now a little bit of the depression has been washed away. anywho...

i dont wanna buy into the stereotype of japanese men having small peepees, but i won't be ashamed to admit that my headcanon for hoshina is that he's average in terms of dick size.

and this is not me belittling him or anything. in almost all regards, hoshina is seen to be the unpredictable type, an underdog - remember that scene where kafka was shocked that hoshina was apparently too quick, too skilled in the kaiju-killing department? hell, even i was surprised when i saw that specific scene (yes, the black compression shirt scene), because omg where the fuck was hoshina hiding all those abs??? i would like to believe that's the same thing in terms of his size and even skills in bed.

hoshina lets people underestimate him and he doesn't mind. so what if he looks average? he makes up for it in his stroke game lmao, and don't get me started on the fact that his hands are literally his bread and butter as a swordsman - he knows how to use his hands and fingers. i have also endlessly talked about how the man says the dirtiest things during the deed, and have you heard him talk kaiju no. 10 down??? legends say that kaiju no. 10 wants hoshina's body because the vice-captain is so hot. add his athletic physique to the long list of his attributes, so i'm pretty sure he's also got the stamina and endurance for multiple rounds.

tl;dr: hoshina soshiro doesn't have an 8-inch dick but he doesn't need one to make you walk funny the next day.

#im going to sleep for real this time #lian replies #hoshina soshiro #soshiro hoshina #hoshina soshiro x reader #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina x reader #kaiju no. 8

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yenleak · 2 months

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Another reason why Im not into k*taang is my experience with men like Aang. Im not saying that he necessarily is a bad partner – he just hasn't grown up to take on the responsibility of dating yet –, BUT grown men acting like him are.

It's not cute when a man can't make any decisions without your help. After all, we see that in the canon: Aang holds on to Katara very tightly and it is important for him that she be there and support him, to give him advice, to cool his ardor, to help help help.. We see how it's Katara who calms him down, it's Katara who doesn't let him destroy everything around every time he enters avatar state.

He is unable to control his feelings. By the third season, at a time when his feelings for Katara are growing, he allows himself to be sloppy and even a little tactless towards her. So, towards the end, he kisses her several times without permission, and at some point even resents why she doesn't want to be with him at the moment.

We are not able to say exactly what emotions Katara is experiencing because Bryke decided that it would be much more important to show what only Aang feels.

This is only my opinion. I believe that a capable person should know how to solve their own problems. Supporting is good, but clinging to other people so much makes you forget how to be on your own. My experience has left me unsatisfied and very disappointed in relationships, because there are a lot of such men. Now my intentions are more specific which is why I don't want to ship similar dynamic in the media. It makes me feel uncomfortable 🤷🏻‍♀️

There are a lot of couples in this world in which only a woman carries the emotional component, and to be honest, this is what I see in KA. Therefore, I choose other pairings in which Katara does not play the role of someone who will endlessly give and serve and help.

#anti kataang #kataang critical #pro katara #katara deserved better #personal #enlik:3

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1d1195 · 1 year

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Protection V

You can read the rest of Protection here

A little shorter of an update. Probably another update on the shorter side after this. I promise there's a point to all this.

Warnings: bit of angst, descriptions of blood

4.8k words.

But when she did stuff like this it was hard to believe that she liked him in any sort of way. It just made him mad, and he thought that all that time he spent building this relationship with her was a waste.

Her mom was stubborn. Everyone thought it was from her dad because a top political official had to have a certain amount of discipline. A certain amount of stamina and determination to get what he wanted. To achieve the success that he had. But it was her mom that taught her to believe in whatever she wanted but she needed to believe it proudly.

Her mom was the one who cared for her attention to science. She cultivated her love of experimenting and hypothesizing like she was a garden of food. She was the one that made her believe in all the good the world had to offer, all the good people. When she was scared or sad about the things on TV, she reminded her to look for the people that helped because there were always people that helped—even in the gravest of situations. It was heartwarming to have such belief in humanity. She thought about her mom every day and she hoped her mom would be proud of her for sticking to her guns and believing in the good and more importantly herself.

She was endlessly grateful for her mom’s stubbornness for so many reasons she couldn’t begin to explain. She was bold and brave. It was the reason an entire division of grown men and women feared her just by walking in a room. The reason she was academically successful and worked so hard. Her mom was her everything and she was so glad she taught her to be independent.

Except for right now.

Because sometimes, her stubbornness got her into downright stupid situations, and she was left with no one to blame but herself. She pulled her jacket collar closer around her neck and sighed. If her mom could see her now, she wondered if she would be mad. Maybe she would laugh at her determined daughter seeing her on the bench in the middle of the park. It was raining, freezing cold rain, and her ankle was too swollen to move—she had barely made it to the bench.

Harry was going to kill her.

But for a few moments, she would have a pity party for herself while she waited for her phone to charge enough to turn on in her purse. At least she came prepared with a portable charger this time. She hoped Harry would see it that way. Each time his curly brown hair and his green eyes popped into her mind; she felt a pang of disappointment in herself. Harry was so nice. He was so gentle with her even when she was a bitch, and she knew it.

It was probably extremely against protocol for her to be in love with him.

Her phone began vibrating about a hundred times in one minute and even though it seemed excessive, she was glad he was worried. Even if it was just for his job. She didn’t bother reading the worried text messages. She didn’t listen to his angry voicemails.

If he were my boyfriend this would be so controlling, I would be out of there in two seconds flat. Why am I liking all this?

If she thought for longer than two seconds, it was because she knew that despite his job, he was worried about her. But she couldn’t think like that. Harry didn’t like her like that, he couldn’t like her like that. He had his whole bit about protocol and this...relationship...they had.

He wasn’t in love with her, she decided.

She put the phone to her ear after tapping Harry’s name. She wasn’t sure it rang long enough for even one ring to go through but naturally, he answered.

“I’m in the park,” she said before he started yelling at her. “I’m fine,” she added. Although she felt he probably didn’t care at that point. If it were her, she’d probably say something like “not for long.” Harry, though, despite how annoyed he got with her, how angry he got, never said things like that. Even as a joke. Maybe it was protocol, but she definitely knew others wished her dead behind her back.

She heard him rattling off a list of questions into her ear, angry swears dotting his phrases and questions. But she ignored it all and found comfort in just the tone in his voice.

“I’m in the park, I won’t move,” she didn’t think telling him she couldn’t move was necessary. She hung up before he started yelling again.

Every time Harry thought he was making progress with her, it felt like they went right back to square one. The night’s adventure led her through a bathroom window once more. Harry swore he was going to put a tracking device on all her clothes, and he was going to tell her as soon as he found her.

After all that, he wondered why she felt the need to leave through the window. Like he wouldn’t happily follow her without question. The guy seemed nice. Despite the fact they were in a seafood restaurant that she didn’t like. He held her seat out, he asked questions about her and her studies. When he left, he kissed her cheek. She told Harry she just wanted to run to the bathroom first and then poof.

Harry wondered if he cramped her style. Part of him hoped that was the case, honestly. Harry wasn’t sure how he would like the whole dating scene when there was someone constantly hovering near by worried about his safety. But by now she had to know this was his job, that he took very seriously, and after the other really bad night, he wanted her to know that he would keep her safe. Even if he wasn’t part of DSS he believed he would try and keep her safe, he liked her a lot. It was bad how much he liked her. When he wasn’t around her, he thought about what she was doing. If she was giving the agents a hard time. He refrained from messaging her all day even though it was the only thing on his mind. He wished her luck for her classes—especially when she had a quiz. But other than that, he tried not to think about her.

It was next to impossible. She invaded his every thought. Like a little flower, a wildflower, poking through the cracks of his brain and growing where it shouldn’t.

Even if it was beautiful and lovely where it grew.

He pulled his jacket collar around his neck snuggly. A new burst of anger surged through him because she was out in this terrible weather anyway. If she wasn’t in the park, he was going to lose his mind.

Fortunately, his mind would stay intact. He saw her vibrant red raincoat across the way, even through the pouring rain. She was sitting on a bench. No doubt drenched through and through.

Was she just enjoying a good rainstorm? She made him so angry he could spit. He hustled through the rain, not caring that he was getting soaked either.

“What is your problem?” He snapped when he was within earshot. She didn’t look at him, which made him madder. “I don’t care if y’don’t like me,” Harry knew that was a lie. He wanted her to like him so badly. “I don’t understand. One minute we can watch movies and another you’re leaving me in the dust,” she imagined if they were in her apartment he would be pacing back and forth. But it was raining, so he didn’t. “Y’don’t have t’like me, but I don’t like being unemployed. Every time they ask if I want t’be reassigned I ask if y’don’t want me anymore. They tell me y’don’t want t’fire me so I jus’ don’t get it,” he was so frustrated. She wondered why tonight was the breaking point for him. Because there were at least ten other grievances that Harry could have faulted her for before tonight, but it seemed like today was the worst. “Why would y’run away like that? S’not like I haven’t been kind t’your needs and all the things y’want t’do. Why would—why are y’sitting in the rain?” His tone of voice changed from his rant. Like he only just realized where they were and that it was raining. “S’freezing cold? Where is your date?”

She didn’t speak for a moment and Harry wanted to shake her. He thought she was annoying, but this was so agitating he wanted to throw his phone across the park. Then maybe shake her. “They ask if you want to be reassigned?” She wondered. He ignored her question.

“Why are y’sitting, alone, in the park, love?” His gentleness was back.

Another beat of silence. “Why don’t they like me?” She whispered, barely. Harry almost didn’t hear her over the rain.

“What?”

She sniffled and looked up at Harry.

All the anger left his body. He didn’t care about his job, if he was unemployed, he didn’t care if the ground opened up below his feet and sucked him down to the core. All that mattered were the tears in her beautifully sad eyes. The fact they were soaked to the bone didn’t matter.

She was okay, that much was clear—at least, she was mostly okay.

“I told him about you. Pointed to where you were sitting. He told me to ditch you, so we could be alone. I don’t know why I did it, Harry. I’m sorry. I know I could have asked you, but I just...” she shook her head, disappointed in herself as much as Harry seemed to be. Her mom would be disappointed too, she was sure. Letting a guy dictate what to do. It was nearly against her religion. “We were cutting through the park, and I twisted my ankle on the edge of the sidewalk. I barely made it to this bench and he...” she felt so stupid. “He made some...lie. I don’t know. Said he would be back...left me here and that's when I called you,” she finished. “Why don’t boys like me?” She asked. “I’m...” she sniffled. “I know I don’t need them,” she told Harry. “But I’m so alone all the time. I want one. I want someone to love me,” her voice was so sad Harry wanted to scream. He was heartbroken, he could even tell the difference between her tears and the rain falling down her cheeks.

He didn’t want to tell her that he probably loved her—well he actually probably did want to tell her such. (He was in fact, sure he loved her, but he thought if he pretended that he didn’t, he wouldn’t ruin his job, or cause her to think he was insane.) Harry sighed and crouched a bit toward her. Other than the time she hugged him to thwart the flirting of the guy outside the bar back in August, he hadn’t ever really touched her. But in the past few weeks, it seemed to be the only thing he did. Cradling her was becoming dangerously like second nature. More so he did it so effortlessly, he was used to how she felt held to his chest. Her cheeks warmed because she remembered the conversation she had with him before about her minor insecurity of him sweeping her up in his arms like this. Even if he said her weight wasn’t on his mind, she imagined it wasn’t easy for him to carry a full-grown adult.

Still, he cradled her, pausing briefly to assure she was firmly in his grasp. They were drenched in rainwater and Harry worried she was going to catch a cold. He was going to insist she shower—or maybe take a bath if she couldn’t stand on her ankle. He would make her tea while she did.

He began walking back to the SUV. He released a long, almost irritated sigh as he answered. “You’re finding boys not men, love.”

She didn’t say anything in response and tried not to think about how nice it felt to be held by Harry. With her arms looped gently around his neck, she got a good view of his profile. She tried not to stare but Harry was beautiful. It was hard to look anywhere else. Even with rain pouring down his face and his hair matting to his forehead, he looked like a model for umbrellas.

He was so kind to her, even when she was awful and did stupid things like she did tonight. It was hard for her to keep up this façade that she was angry all the time around him. He broke that the very first moment he arrived outside her door, took her snide smile with ease, and just let her be. Or maybe she was finally tired of it all and Harry was just...easier.

She decided right then and there she shouldn’t torture him anymore—couldn’t torture him. It wasn’t fair to him. This was...so much more than he probably ever expected and he was so nice about it. Her other agents would have fallen through the cracks. Like a hydra, three more people sent to take their spot at this point, but poor Harry continued to stay. He didn’t deserve her being a brat. “D’you need t’go to the hospital?” He asked.

She shook her head. “No, thank you,” she answered quietly. “Sorry,” she murmured and rested her head against her arm that looped around him.

“Y’need t’find someone better than these tools y’running around with love,” he muttered.

She bit the inside of her cheek so hard she drew blood so she wouldn’t ask if he could be the someone better.

She was grateful no one was around to see Harry carrying her through her apartment building like a bride. She didn’t want comments and they were still soaking wet. He carefully placed her on the couch and began running around her apartment immediately. In a flash he had gotten her a change of clothes to put in the bathroom, medicine for the pain (pain that she didn’t even feel over the ache of her lonely heart), and turned on the shower to heat up. He took her shoe off and inspected her ankle.

“Do y’think y’sprained it?” He asked. She shook her head.

“No...it should be okay by tomorrow, maybe the day after at latest,” she murmured. “I went down so gracefully to keep from really spraining it,” she explained with a smirk indicating that it definitely wasn’t graceful. It was the first sign of happiness on her face.

Harry wished he was there when it happened because he was sure he would have thrown himself in her path to keep from falling in the grass. Harry was going to make a note on the guy’s file that he was a douchebag and not to be trusted.

“Of course y'did, Miss Wildflower," she shook his head with a smirk. "Do y’think y’can stand in the shower?” He asked.

She nodded looking anywhere but his face. “Can you just...carry me in there? Clothes and all? I’ll handle it from there,” she promised, cheeks reddening.

He would gladly undress her with the utmost respect if it would help her. But he kept that to himself. He grabbed her up again, once more at ease with how natural it felt and placed her in the shower. The water soaked her clothes even more. He was glad she was wearing easy things to get off. A pair of leggings, a long blouse. He thought it was deplorable of the guy to leave such a pretty girl hurt and alone in the rain. “Please, jus’ shout if y’need help. A little embarrassment isn’t worth getting more hurt,” he said gently. She nodded awkwardly.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Course, love.”

“Do you have to do paperwork for this?”

“I think y’know the answer t’that.”

She frowned. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Really, truly, so horribly sorry.”

“S’okay, love,” he smiled weakly and gave her shoulder a squeeze.

“I’m not going to do it anymore,” she looked at Harry through her lashes and his heart melted. “I promise.”

Harry reminded himself that every time she promised, she meant it. So, he was a little surprised by her sudden vow. Wondering why tonight was the straw that broke the camel’s back. “Okay,” he nodded. “I believe you...shout if y’need something,” he reminded her and left her alone in the bathroom.

Harry took the fastest shower in the world. He didn’t have spare clothes here, he should have. It was stupid he didn’t. But she managed to find a pair of basketball shorts she had from an ex-boyfriend that she never gave back. She liked the mauve colored fabric and thought if he was going to kiss other girls while dating her, she deserved a pair of shorts in return. She found an oversized sweatshirt she bought from her college—she always found buying in the men’s section led to the comfiest hoodies—took the taking your boyfriend’s hoodie to a whole new level. Harry threw his actual clothes in the dryer.

“Think m’stuck here for a bit,” he smiled at her as he brought tea to her. She already knew that though. He had called in the car that he didn’t need his relief; it wasn’t uncommon. She was out and about, and it didn’t make sense for someone to switch out if he had it under control and it would just cause trouble.

She was setting up the next movie on their list on the TV. She tossed a blanket onto the other couch, but Harry sat beside her, pulling medical tape from the pocket of his shorts. He collected her foot in his lap and very gently pushed it into a flexed position. “S’that hurt?” He asked.

She shook her head. He was so gentle she was certain if it was broken, she wouldn’t be in pain. He looped the tape around her ankle several times, ripping off strips and making sure it was stable. It felt better already. He got up once more, hurried to the kitchen and back, before sitting beside her again. He placed a throw pillow atop his lap and placed a bag of frozen peas on her taped foot. She shivered at the chill, and he reached for the blanket on the end of the other couch to toss over the rest of her leg. “How do you know how to tape an ankle?” She asked.

He smiled. “I used t’be an EMT,” he told her. She blinked. It occurred to her she knew nothing about Harry. “Then I was private investigator,” he added to her surprise. “I didn’t really want t’be a police officer because I didn’t want t’have t’go through all the training. I actually hate carrying a gun,” he admitted. She glanced at the gun on her dining table. She never felt worried about it or about Harry having one, in fact she often forgot he even carried one. “But I had t’take a class or whatever...wanted t’make sure I knew what t’do if I needed to,” he pressed play on their movie. He turned to her surprised face. She was staring at him, not the screen. “What?” He asked.

“What’s your favorite color?” She asked.

“Orange.”

“Favorite food?”

He thought for a moment. Paused the opening credits. “Tacos...or Brussel sprouts.”

“Favorite animal?”

“Turtle.”

“Board game?”

“Scrabble.”

“Store?”

“The bookstore, I think. Maybe Target.”

She pursed her lips. “Favorite Beatle?”

He smirked. “Paul.”

“Do you like olives?”

“Hate ‘em,” he nodded. She liked them. So, there was that; the olive theory would apply to them. “Anything else?” He wondered as she thought over his answer.

“Season?”

“Spring...oh did y’mean like spice? Cause that’s curry.”

She laughed and shook her head. “Okay, that’s it for now.”

He smiled, enjoying her laughter. He enjoyed the carefree way she sounded when she wasn’t focused on hiding her feelings or pretending to be grumpy. “I’ll ask more later.”

“Sure, love. I’d like t’know some answers myself,” he said, shifting slightly to keeping the peas firmly on her injury. He didn’t seem to mind how cold it was, although she was sure his fingertips had to be numb from it because her foot was freezing.

Eventually, she fell asleep and Harry did everything he could to make her bed comfy before bringing her in. “Night, Harry,” she mumbled as he slowly closed the door.

“Night, love,” he smiled.

Her ankle made a full recovery by day three, as she had predicted. Once more, she proved that her promised word meant something. She didn’t escape, she listened when Harry politely asked her to leave a restaurant or store, and she didn’t fight him on any protocol. Harry hadn’t done paperwork in almost two weeks. “Are you sure you don’t want to be reassigned?” His supervisor asked again.

“Does she not want me anymore?” Harry repeated the same question he always did. With a shake of his head, Harry answered the same way he always did. “I’ll stay.”

They continued with their normal routines. Except now she asked him all kinds of questions about his favorites. She asked them all the time. “I...I thought I’d make tacos, if you want some,” she was so gentle now. Harry wondered if this was what she was like before her mum...before her dad. While her vulnerable self was definitely one of his top five favorite versions of her, he thought it was this version of her that took the number one spot. Her soft demeanor, her kind smile. She was...

Don’t go there. The little nagging voice in his head was turning into a voice with a megaphone trying to remind him about protocol and professionalism and how falling in love with the person he was supposed to protect was messy.

Not to mention frowned upon.

“Sounds good love, d’you need any help?” He asked.

She shook her head. “I’ll let you know.”

He nodded, sitting at his computer and running through his email, the list of events for the month. Harry was supposed to head back to England for New Year’s. He would celebrate Christmas late with his mum and sister. He would sleep late, go to the bakery he worked at as a teen, and crochet with his family on the porch while they sipped hot chocolate.

He hadn’t mentioned his vacation to her yet. He was beyond excited to see his family, but he knew he was going to miss the girl cutting up an avocado in the kitchen. He didn’t know how to bring it up either. Every method seemed like a bad idea. If he mentioned Christmas, he might have to talk about her dad. Which was definitely a subject he enjoyed avoiding. Bringing up his mum was also a sensitive topic.

He also worried that he would tell her he planned on getting her a gift because he didn’t think he should—she loved her birthday gift and she insisted he tell her his birthday so she could reciprocate and if she missed it, she was going to give him an extra birthday. He declined to tell her at first, but she scowled at him and refused to play the movie, put the remote down her shirt until he told her it was the first of February. He managed to keep the idea that he would gladly follow the path of the remote to—

“Harry!” She gasped loudly and he heard something clink on her tiled kitchen floor. Harry knocked his computer off the table. It clattered to the floor beside the overturned chair as he rushed to her side in the kitchen.

“What happened?!” He asked alarm ringing in his voice, reaching for her shoulders as she nearly folded herself in half clutching her left hand in a fist and placed her right hand over top it.

“Oh, my fucking God,” she hissed. “Ow, Oh my God, I’m so stupid. Ow, ow, ow,” she whimpered.

“Love, let me see,” he said nervously, encouragingly.

“I sliced my hand so bad,” she croaked. “Fuck,” she moaned. “I’m so dumb.”

“Hey, s’okay,” he said soothingly seeing the blood seep over the back of her hand. “Jus’ lemme see, love. S’okay,” he steered her toward the sink. He guided her hands over the basin and turned the water on. She slowly released her hand. It wasn’t necessarily gushing, but hand wounds always seemed to bleed profusely. He stuck her hand beneath the stream, and she flinched with a sharp intake of breath.

“It hurts,” she whined.

He nodded. “I know, love, m’sorry,” he mumbled eyeing the gash she created just below the first knuckle of her index finger right before nicking the small web of skin between her thumb and forefinger. It looked like a massive paper cut.

“Does it need stitches?” She asked nervously. “I don’t want to go to the hospital,” she frowned.

He shook his head. “No, s’not that deep,” he began opening cabinets looking for her first aid kit.

“It’s on top of the fridge,” she told him. He really liked the way she knew what he was looking for without having to say it.

“Harry,” she whined as he got the bandages he wanted out of the kit. “It hurts,” she repeated.

“I know, love. M’sorry. Hold on jus’ a second,” he tried to work quickly grabbing a paper towel to dry her hand. He switched the water off and covered the cut immediately. Drying the area. She winced at the contact of the towel and watched as it became sodden with blood. He frowned, put her hand under water once more while he grabbed more paper towels folding it into a little rectangle. He repeated the process, pulling her hand from the water, drying and then placed the little rectangle on her hand. He brought her right hand over top of it, then squeezed her hand tightly over the towels. “Hold your hand above your heart,” he said shifting her arm for her. “Keep pressure on it,” he quickly got the bandages and ointment ready on the counter beside them.

“Harry, it hurts,” she complained again, her voice catching.

“I know it does, love, m’sorry,” he frowned and turned to her again. “M’gonna try t’make it better, okay?”

She nodded and tapped her foot impatiently as he pulled the towels off and quickly slathered the area with the anti-bacterial cream the bleeding seeming to stop a good amount with the jelly-like substance keeping the blood from pouring out as quickly. “Harry,” she grumbled miserably as he continued to work diligently on her cut.

“I know, honey, m’sorry,” he repeated almost exasperated. Not with her, with the situation. He felt terrible she was in any kind of physical pain. “Jus’ another minute,” he promised and quickly laid gauze over top of the cream. She seemed to sigh with relief at that and then it was silent while he placed the tape over the bandage and skin.

Now that the pain had dissipated from her mind, it occurred to her he called her honey. It made her weak. Felt like her organs were 300 degrees hotter than they were supposed to be. She was certain if she looked up at Harry her pupils would have turned into little hearts.

He smoothed the bandages over a few times, inspecting his work and making sure it was of top quality and wasn’t bleeding any longer. She was sure stitches couldn’t have healed it faster after Harry was done with it. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and stared at it for a moment. Time seemed to stand still as he held her hand in both of his.

Without thinking he brought it closer to his face and dropped a kiss over the top of the bandages. Somehow, through two layers of tape, gauze, and the ointment, she swore the kiss cured it. It took every ounce of her self-control to not sigh like a sappy, lovesick teen girl. The hearts in her eyes surely had Harry’s initials flashing in them.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Harry released her hand. His cheeks turned this adorable shade of pink as he offered an uncomfortable smile. “I’ll finish the tacos,” he suggested.

She nodded. “Okay,” she mumbled. “Thank you.”

“Course, love. Sorry y’hurt yourself.”

She hoped he didn’t see the hearts in her eyes with everything in her.

Harry swore her pupils were the size of her eyes. He could have spent forever staring at her. He would kiss her hand a thousand times. All he wanted to do was stand in this kitchen and look at her for the rest of his life.

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