#my visage and i are in disagreement at the moment but i went and took a million pictures just to get one (1) decent one

[wildwood-faun]

Number 2??

2. A picture of me:

Local Child Needs Haircut

[goosewithtwoos]

SWOON

Pairing: Bob x Reader

Summary: I’m vibing with Bob atm y’all don’t understand the hold this man has on me #Bobfucks

“What was that?” Bob chuckled, trying to take your phone to go back to a photo you had quickly swiped away from.

You had been showing him the work you were doing on your engine and had forgotten about the god-awful photo of your breakfast from a few days ago.

It had been so messy you just had to take a photo of it. An attempt at eggs on toast had turned really wrong and somehow ended with the egg was both burnt and undercooked, sitting atop a very dry looking piece of bread. Not your proudest moment.

Bob was looking at the photo and openly laughing, zooming in where the yolk was still running.

“I’m typically not that bad. God, that really looks like shit doesn’t it.” You said, covering your face in your hands to hide the blush that was creeping up from your neck.

He made a noise that sounded like an attempt at disagreement before ending in a soft “yeah”.

“Hey, how do you take your eggs in the morning? Really fucked up? Yeah, I got you.” You joked, taking your phone back and searching for another picture of your engine.

Bob sat in silence for a while and you thought he was just waiting for you to find the photo before he asked, “How do you take your eggs in the morning?”

Your heart stopped and then ran a mile a minute.

But this was Bob. He probably didn’t realize the implications in the words. Hell, there wasn’t even any real implication there.

You realized he was waiting for a response but your mind was in a million different places, imagining a million different things.

“Over easy.” You managed to reply.

He made a thoughtful noise and smiled. Your heart hurt when he looked at you. He was too damn cute for his own good and you just wanted to protect him.

“How..How you - How do you take your eggs in the morning?” Smooth.

“I prefer oatmeal.” He said with another grin and you felt the intense urge to die right then and there.

This wasn’t fair. He wasn’t fair. How could he be so adorable?

He took off his glasses and you were sure you had died.

Somehow he looked even better without them. It was like a Jekyll and Hyde situation. With his glasses - sweet Bob who couldn’t do more than two shots before passing out - and then without. Without them, he looked like he could have been sculpted from one of the greatest.

He wiped them on a small cloth he had produced from his pocket and put them back on, blinking to adjust.

You realized you were staring and had to pull your eyes away and back to your phone in hopes the thoughts in your head would quiet.

“Do I have something on my face?” He asked, already wiping at his mouth.

“No, no, no! You’re perfect! I mean, you’re face is perfect. Not like that - well, yeah like that, but also like you don’t have any flaws - anything on your face.”

You were so thankful it was just the two of you in the room. Any flirting prowess or sauve you used to have seemed to have gone completely out the window when it came to Bob and if anyone else had seen that, you were sure you’d have to kill them.

He blinked at you, trying to make sense of what you had just said. You could feel the redness overtaking your visage as he opened and then closed his mouth.

“Do you not like me with my glasses?” His voice was small, almost like he was embarrassed. Bless him, of course he would be the one embarrassed when it really should be you.

You violently shook your head. “You just look so different without them! Like, you look really good without them!”

Now it was Bob’s turn to blush. “You think I look good?”

You bit your lip to keep yourself from saying anything more dumb and nodded.

He slowly removed his glasses and placed them on the table. Your mouth went dry at the sight. He self consciously pushed his hair back and sat up straighter, a small attempt to look good for you.

“I can’t see.” He admitted with a nervous laugh.

Good, you thought, as your hand found it’s place on his cheek, feeling the soft and warm skin beneath. You traced along where the frames should have been and back to his ear.

His breath that had initially hitched when you touched him slowed into a more controlled manner. You felt his jaw tense underneath the light stubble.

“What are you doing?” He asked in a small voice.

“Admiring you.” You responded before you could even think.

He took in a deep breath and grabbed your wrist. His eyes were wide and they danced side to side, trying to focus on your face.

You froze, unsure if he wanted you to pull away or stay where you were. You settled for leaving it up in the air and waiting for him to make the move.

“Don’t tease me like that.” There was no bite to the words. They came across much more defeated than angry and you wondered how many times people had jokingly said things like that just to pull the rug from under him.

“I’m not teasing.” You replied, trying to keep the fear from your voice.

Had you just fucked everything up? Was he going to run away now and tell Phoenix who would inevitably tell Rooster who’d tell Hangman who’d tell Fanboy and so on? Damn, you’d have to put in a request to transfer.

He let go of your hand and cupped your face, pulling you forward into a lip bruising kiss. You kissed back fervently, scooting forward on your chair and pressing deeper against him.

His mouth fell open and you took the opportunity to bite down on his bottom lip, hoping the action would speak the words you couldn’t find.

Your hands wrapped around the back of his neck and suddenly the distance between you needed to be closed. You stood from your chair, never breaking the kiss, and straddled his thigh.

His hands moved from your face to your back, then your waist, coming to settle right above where your shirt and pants met.

You could feel his hands toying with the fabric and you smirked into the kiss.

When he finally pulled away, gasping, he pressed his forehead back against yours.

“Why are you doing this?” He asked.

You knew he had struggled with self image. The other boys didn’t play nice and then when he tried to be with you or Phoenix, he’d get teased even more for being friends with the girls. Your heart hurt as you thought of all the times jokes were made about Bobs suspicious lack of romantic history.

“Because,” You said, pressing a quick kiss back to his lips. “You are” a kiss to his cheek. “so fucking” another below his ear. “adorable.” and with that, you left a linger kiss to his neck, enjoying how the vein tensed beneath your lips.

He shivered when you pulled away.

You took his glasses from the table and put them on him, smiling as he squinted at you.

“Wow, hi.” He said when he was finally able to see you up close.

“Hi.” You said, scooting up his thigh.

His hands never left your waist as you pressed your hips downwards, enjoying the slight friction it caused. Your stomach was doing flips and you hoped you were being subtle enough that he wouldn’t notice you grinding against him.

“Can…could we do that again?” He asked. How could you say no to such a precious request?

You didn’t waste your breath to answer before leaning back down to capture him in another kiss, deepening this one even fast than you had the first.

He moaned into your mouth and it was one of the sweetest sounds you’d ever heard. You sucked his bottom lip in between your teeth and his hips bucked subconsciously.

You had to pull away before you crossed a line you probably shouldn’t cross in a break room.

He chased your lips slightly before leaning back. His hands slid down and gently squeezed the sides of your upper thighs.

It was a kind motion but it sent very unkind thoughts to your mind and aching core.

“My bunk is pretty close. If you want to - We don’t have to do anything, you can show me your engine again and this could be a once off thing.” He panicked, hoping he hadn’t misread the situation.

Now that you knew he wanted you in that way too, you began openly grinding yourself across his thigh. He watched you with fascinated eyes, trying to mentally calculate the best time to tense his thigh for best friction payoff.

“I want to.” You panted. “I really want to.”

“Thank God.”

You stood up, pulling him with you, and dragged him to the door. You both peeked out to make sure none of your coworkers saw you two running around together before jogging down the hallway hand-in-hand.

You felt like a kid, giggling and running down corridors. Something about Bob really brought out a domestic side in you.

Once inside his bunk, he wasted no time pressing you against the door, kissing you hard.

You both began pulling at your outer layers, removing the button downs that were becoming all too hot even inside an air conditioned room.

You never would have guessed that Bob had it in him to take what he wanted but the way he was kissing you made you second guess.

He shifted a leg between yours and you gasped when he bounced you onto his thigh.

You got the message and began moving your hips against him. The friction just felt so good, you were sure you could cum right then and there.

When he moved away from your lips, you let out a desperate whine you didn’t think yourself capable of. His lips found your neck, pressing kisses and leaving soft nips that would unfortunately not leave a mark. You knew it was for the better since you really didn’t need anyone asking about this.

He found one spot on your neck that made you throw your head back and your core grow even more needy. Your mind went blank and all you could think about was getting him undressed and even closer.

“Keep going.” He mumbled into your skin, pressing his thigh down.

God damn, you would have never guessed Bob had it in him to do things like this. Perhaps you really didn’t know him as well as you thought you did.

You continued to grind against him as the assault on your neck never lessened. As good as it felt, you also felt like you were about to explode and you quickly untucked his shirt, pulling it over his head.

His glasses slipped off a little at the motion but he pushed them back in place.

You felt bad for thinking that you wished he would take them off. You loved him either way but the no-glasses look seemed much more appropriate for this situation.

“I wanna see you.” He explained as he pulled at your shirt.

You flushed crimson as you allowed him to pull off your shirt. His words were so sweet and so sinful at the same time. He unclasped your bra, letting it drape down your shoulders and at your feet.

He pressed his chest to yours and the contact felt heavenly. He kissed you again, slower this time but filled with the same amount of want.

You began pulling at your slacks, letting them pool at your ankles.

There was a prominent damp spot in your underwear and you were hesitant to continue grinding against his thigh knowing he’d be able to feel it. He slipped a hand down to your waist and dragged you along him, making the decision for you.

When you briefly pulled away to breathe again, you glanced down and noticed a trail on his slacks that sent your mind spiraling.

You had half a mind to be a bit grossed out but the other and stronger half thought it was so fucking hot.

Thankfully, so did Bob.

“You’re so wet.” He commented, pressing two fingers over the ruined fabric.

Simply hearing his sweet voice say such things sent another wave through you and you arched, trying to get him closer again.

He pressed a kiss to your lips and then began trailing downwards. He hit your collarbones, kissing both, before hitting your stomach and abdomen.

You stood there panting, pressed against the door, watching him with half lidded eyes as he sank to his knees before you.

He looked up at you and you nodded frantically. Once he got the confirmation needed, he was quick to throw your leg over his shoulder and bury himself inside your cunt.

You let out an embarrassingly loud cry when he licked you through your panties. Your hand came down to his hair, grasping onto him.

He continued his assault over the fabric until he decided that he’d had enough and pulled them aside. Once there was nothing between you and his warm tongue, you would swear you saw stars.

His lips wrapped around your clit while his skilled fingers began teasing your folds. His free hand was on the small of your back, pressing your hips closer to his face. Even with his eyes closed, he was somehow able to find the exact spots you needed him most.

“How are you - ngh - so good at this?” You struggled out. You felt him laugh against you and opted for licking a long strip down you in response.

He slowly fingered you open, pressing his nose to your clit while his tongue continued moving in figure eights. Your legs were shaking by the time he added a second finger and you had to press yourself against the door to keep from falling forward.

“Shit, Bob, please.” You whined.

His tongue fucked in and out of your hole. In combination with his fingers, you could feel your orgasm rapidly approaching.

You clenched around him, throwing your head back. The hand that was on your back came forward and lightly pressed against your lower abdomen, intensifying the feeling.

You came around his fingers and tongue, crying out his name. He coursed you through your orgasm, slowing his movements until you had finally come down from your high.

Your leg dropped from his shoulder and he stood back up, mouth glistening.

“Seriously, how the hell are you so good at that?” You panted out.

He smiled lop sided in return and shrugged. “I just really like doing it.”

Despite just having come down from your high, you could feel your arousal peek again at his admission.

You kissed him again, spinning him around so he was against the door. He made a soft sound as you began taking more control. You ground your hips against his, feeling the tent in his slacks.

He grabbed your ass and pressed you closer to him.

Now it was your turn to stick your thigh between his legs. He had no shame grinding against you, trying to get any amount of friction.

“I’m gonna…oh my God, I need these off.” He whined as he desperately pulled at his belt.

His slacks found the same place as yours on the floor and you pulled away to look at him.

You’d seen Bob before in the locker room but he seemingly always had clothes on. This was the first time you had ever seen him without his clothes and it was a religious experience.

He was toned - not as bulky as Rooster or Hangman but you honestly preferred that. Sometimes there was a thing as too much muscle. Across his chest, freckles adorned his skin and he had a small birthmark on his left rib cage. Your fingers danced over his chest, tracing ever line. His v-line was cut like marble and a weird part of you wanted to lick it.

“I know I don’t have a six pack like Coyote…” He muttered off.

You were quick to shut him up with another hard kiss. Your hand reached down to his boxers, teasing him through the fabric.

He moaned into your mouth as you applied light pressure and you were quick to make him do it again. His moans were whiney and desperate. God, he was so fucking cute.

You pulled down the waistband, allowing his cock to spring up. Holy hell, you would have never expected sweet and innocent Bob to be packing as much as he was. Your mouth watered and you could only think about having him inside you.

The tip was flushed and a bead of precum was sliding down the side. Prominent veins ran up towards the head and you experimentally pressed your thumb against one. His hips bucked and he let out a moan you often heard in over the top pornography.

Out of everything that had surprised you today, the fact that he was loud took the cake.

You wanted to hear more of him but with the thin walls, you knew it would be best to shut him up. You deepened the kiss and playfully sucked on his tongue.

“I wanna…please, oh fuck, can I?” He asked against your lips. Hearing Bob curse shouldn’t have been as attractive as it was but you were prepared to give him whatever it was he wanted.

“I’m all yours.” You replied.

He lifted you up from the back of your thighs and you wrapped your legs around his waist. He walked you towards the bed and gently set you down. He hovered over you, kissing your neck before lightly tapping your legs as a way to signal for you to let go.

He scooted back, toying with the sides of your panties.

“Is this okay?” His eyes flicked up to yours as you nodded. He pulled them down, throwing them across the room to where your other clothes were.

He stood up, pulling down his boxers and opened the top drawer of his dresser. He pulled out a condom and tore it open with his teeth.

Your pussy throbbed at the sight and you ran a hand down to play with your aching clit. He turned back to you, enjoying the little show you were putting on for him as he properly put the condom on.

He came back to the bed, placed a kiss to your lips and then pushed your hand away. You groaned at the loss of contact but quickly changed your tune as his fingers picked up where yours left off.

“Spread your legs some more for me.”

You quickly obliged as he spread you open, looking down on your core. You could feel yourself dripping onto the sheets but couldn’t find yourself caring. You were far too gone to care about anything other than the man before you right now.

Slowly, he pressed the tip in and allowed for you to get used to the stretch.

You whimpered at the initial sensation but relaxed yourself to grow accustomed to it. When he felt you loosen, he pushed more in until he was finally flushed against you.

“You’re so tight.” He said, running a hand across your chest. His fingers pinched your nipples and you couldn’t help how you arched into his touch.

His head dipped down, taking the other nipple into his mouth and began sucking. Typically, you weren’t fond of this sort of treatment but with Bob, you never wanted him to stop.

He left small bites across your chest, ones that you knew would leave a mark, before switching to your other breast. He continued the same treatment while waiting for you to be comfortable enough for him to move.

You would have to admit, you were surprised with his patience. Most men at this point would have started railing into you with zero regard for your pain but Bob was waiting for you to say the word.

“You can move.” You panted, placing a hand on the back of his head. You played with his hair as he pulled out ever so slightly before pushing back in.

You gasped at how deep he was hitting even with such shallow thrusts. As his pace increased, he pulled away from your chest and sat upright to get a better view of you.

You took the opportunity as well to ogle his chest, unsure of when the next time you’d see it would be.

When he noticed you staring, he pulled off his glasses and smirked.

You couldn’t help how your body reacted to the sight. You clenched around him, reaching out for something to hold onto.

He clasped his free hand in yours and you felt the tears welling in your eyes.

How could he be so sweet, so sexy, and so respectful? One more move like that and you were sure you’d have to propose.

He placed his glasses on your face and pushed back your hair. You couldn’t see as well anymore, his prescription was pretty high, which made the feelings even more intense.

With your sight taken away, it felt like all your other senses were heightened. You could hear his soft pants and whines along with the way the bed was creaking. You felt each thrust ten times better and the pressure on your clit was delightful.

Your legs began to shake as he hit your g-spot. He lifted your hips and angled each thrust perfectly so he could hit your spot every time.

“Oh my God, please, Bob that feels so good.” You cried out, tears slipping down your face.

He made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded almost like a growl as he continued snapping his hips forward.

You felt the coil in your abdomen tighten and threaten to snap. You continued to hold his hand while the other still played with your clit.

If this man really was able to make you cum in under six minutes, you’d have to marry him.

And then he did.

It was like nothing you’d felt before. The exhilaration of pulling six g’s had nothing on the orgasm you were experiencing in this moment.

You cried out as you clenched around him. He fucked you through your high, desperate for his own release. He pulled out when he came but never let go of your hand.

It took a while for the aftershock to leave your body and you were vaguely aware of Bob taking his glasses from you and putting them back on. He tossed the covers of you while he grabbed a spare towel from his dresser. You could feel him cleaning off your chest and legs, careful to not overstimulate you before he cleaned himself off.

You pushed yourself up on your elbows, heart still racing.

“Hey Bob?” He turned back to you. “How do you take your eggs in the morning.”

He chuckled as he walked back to the bed, pushing you aside before climbing in. He pulled you close and you placed your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“Really fucked up.”

———

A few hours later after you had properly fixed yourself, you and Bob were back in the break room, looking for something to eat.

“Hey Phoenix.” He said cheerfully while he grabbed a box of cereal. He poured some in a bowl and ate them dry.

You turned to face your fellow female and gave her a wave. She nodded back and then did a quick double take.

She looked at you, then Bob, then back to you before hunching over and laughing. She was laughing so hard she had to brace herself against the table.

You shot Bob a nervous look before turning back to Phoenix. Maybe you could play dumb. She knew nothing, she had no proof.

“Your name badge says Floyd.”

Shit.

[leggerefiore]

Lower Ch. 2

cw: choking, death, murder, unhealthy relationships, god emmet, yandere, dark content all around, poly

words: 3857

pairings: Ingo/Reader, Emmet/Reader

You shot awake, breaths heavy in and out of your lungs. Your hand pressed to your heart, where the wound had been inflicted upon you. It was not there. Heavy arms pulled you back down, your head was pressed into a warm chest while a hand combed your hair softly. Emmet held you tightly to him. Eyes met his as the glow of them was impossible to ignore the early morning darkness of your room. Ingo, nearby, did not even stir to your sudden movements. Only you and the being of your nightmares lie awake. Was that all it was? A nightmare? Had your paranoia ate so badly at you that it plagued your subconscious? 

Emmet would never do such a thing to you. He loved you. All his touches and caresses were meant to bring you comfort or pleasure, never (unwanted) pain. You sobbed into him, arms around his torso. It was terrifying. The pain in your heart felt so real, the warmth of your blood, the heavy scent of iron – the stains on Emmet's clothes. You took heavy, painful breaths. He cooed soft reassurances, reminders that you were safe and nothing could hurt you in his arms. 

“What… What if it's you who wants to hurt me?” you whisper, wondering if he knew about what you seemingly dreamed about. 

“I don't. I didn't,” he speaks gently, “I wanted to show you the pain that you caused me. My heart hurt when I learnt you were working with Volo. He's bad. Verrrry bad.” You freeze. Shoving him away, you stare at him in shock. He knows. He did it. Emmet had actually done that to you. Had you not died? How were you lying on the bed as if nothing had ever happened to you? A hand went under your shirt to feel where you had been stabbed again. Nothing. Emmet snickers at your actions. 

“Mmm, I don't want you to actually die. Nope! I love you tooooo much!” he continues. Your eyes dart to Ingo. Surely, he was hearing what his brother was saying? Was he truly still asleep? He couldn't have been. You refused to accept that he could sleep through all this. “Ingo won't wake up! He's in a deep sleep. I say when he gets up,” Emmet cups your face as you try to move away from him, “He doesn't need to know about our disagreement. He's verrry happy! Have you seen how often he smiles now? He even has more friends and goes out often! I want the same for you.” 

“You—you killed me!” you hiss, feeling anger and fear deep within your bones. A desperate, swelling mixture of heat and ice to a scene of your beloved husband's visage corrupted into something malicious and cruel. He stabbed you without any hesitation, ignored your pleas for help despite being able to do so with apparent ease. His eyes shift from one's of gentle love to something with a lingering frost, a reminder that he was not the same man from before. You were disgusted, skin burning from where he had held you. Emmet acted as if he had done nothing wrong. 

Getting from the bed, you run away. Your feet just keep carrying you. The doors all open. Movement propels you from the cage that once appeared as your apartment to the forest you had come to associate with safety. Somewhere to hide from Emmet's ever prying eyes. You hated him. Everything had become sealed the moment the blade pressed into you. He truly had to be stopped, but now he was aware of what you were doing. 

Volo had been wrong. Your memories were more than safe it seemed, but your sanity was now forfeit. If he killed you once, then what was to say he would not do it again? There was nothing you could do to stop him, but perhaps the blond could provide some more insight into how to handle this now. He stood there waiting, eyes on his phone, boredly. You felt scared. You were supposed to be able to run to Ingo or Emmet for comfort, but the two were one and the same. Emmet had hurt you, and Ingo would always be with his brother. (If he could even believe your claims, you could already hear him excusing it as some vivid nightmare and Emmet messing with you.) 

“… Something happened, hasn't it? You're still in your pyjamas and look like you've seen a ghost,” Volo noted, patting the grass beside him. You hesitantly took a seat. He was watching, without a doubt. Emmet's full, near omnipotent attention would likely be glued to you until you submitted to his will. “His eyes don't follow us here.” 

“They do. He knows,” you manage the four words before bursting into tears. You sob into your knees until the blond places a soft hand on your shoulder. Foolishly, desperate for physical comfort, you bury yourself into his chest, ignoring how he freezes and hesitates. His arms eventually surround you. He's silent, never speaking a word. “Volo… He – he killed me! He stabbed me and acted like it was justified,” you hiccuped. Volo just nods. You cling to him until the feelings ebb away into a numbness that haunts you. 

“He knows of our plans, yes? Well, he can't very well stop you unless he decides to glue himself to your side,” Volo ponders, “Killed you… I hate to ask this of you, but could you further explain?” You knew he likely did not care how much the question bothered you; the knowledge of what happened to you could prove pertinent to him eventually. 

“I don't know exactly what happened… We were arguing over his actions, and I told him that I hated him. Before I knew it, he had picked up a knife and pushed it into my heart,” you offer your recount, a hand laying over your heart, “He held me while I asked him to help. Some time after, my consciousness faded away. Then I woke up in bed perfectly fine. I thought it must have been some terrible nightmare until he basically said that he had.” 

Volo nodded, hand grabbing his chin while he contemplated your words. Emmet's control over this world was near absolute, but the blond new that Arceus would not go down without a fight. That was why he was granted his memories back; it was a punishment and a command. Fix this. Your memories had likely been returned in order to further assist him. An unrelated third party could not get close to Emmet to help him, but you could. Volo was a threat, Emmet's guard would always be up with him around, but you were someone he felt comfortable with. 

Killing you, however, seemed to show that perhaps becoming so powerful had toll to be paid. Emmet was so fiercely protective over those he cared about, from what he had observed, that it was unthinkable that he had actually done such a thing to you, but your panicked cries proved your words to hold truth. Emmet was likely watching you both. He knew that the deity would be unhappy to have watching him comfort you. You still needed the six other plates. Well, he did. His plans could not come to fruition until they were in his possession. 

Volo was not sure if he enjoyed the price of being Arceus's chosen one. 

(Moments in him nearly had him apologising to Akari, but she did not know him. All of her Hisuian memories were gone. Volo was simply a strange man who occasionally she caught smoking on a street corner.) 

“For your safety and mine, I recommend us not having a meeting for quite a while” he softly offered, “Let's give him some time to cool down, and then we'll continue our search.” You stared at him, afraid to be alone with Emmet again. 

“I - Volo, what if he does it again!?” you panic, “Nothing is stopping him! I don't want to feel that again. Please, I can't go back…” 

Volo softly cups your face and wipes the tears from your eyes. That was perfectly understandable, but there was not much he could do. Arceus could always grant his memories back if they were taken again, yet it seemed he had reason to fear some type of revenge from the twin. His brain recalled a story of a man who betrayed a deity of some sort and was forced to endure his liver being ate endlessly. If Emmet would harm you, then there was absolutely no safety guaranteed for Volo. 

“It's painful, I know, but if you want to end this madness as you claim, you will have to face the discomfort of being around him,” the blond explains, “Remember, he won't do that again while he believes you are agreeing with this world. We'll meet again, I promise. Just let him get comfortable again.” 

You agreed, but only because no other option was offered. Returning to apartment made you feel ill, but there was no other place for you to go unless you wanted to set Emmet off more. You sat at the table, lost in the sea of your thoughts. It was impossible to escape this world. What kind of happiness was Emmet seeking? He and Volo both claimed this was done for you and Ingo, but somewhere under the grease of your mind you knew it was simply what would make the younger twin happy. 

Your walk home had plagued your mind with deep thoughts. Listening in on the passing conversations around you, no one seemed to have any complaints or discomforts. Even those with neutral expression had happy stories to tell to their friends. In the middle of a centre, you stared up the bright azure that hung above your head. Fluffy clouds swirled and wafted across the heavens above, while the sun shined beautifully. It was idyllic. If you let yourself accept this reality, you were certain that you experience nothing but joy. 

Yet, that terrified you. 

What was happiness without pain? Was it possible to truly be happy without feeling sadness? Would you even be yourself if Emmet was technically the one pulling the strings? 

You remembered a time when Emmet would gossip with Elesa, but they never seemed truly involved in whomever they spoke about. It was mostly minor conversation and banter to fill the open air. When you truly put thought to it, despite his love for making those visiting the subway smile, his attention seemed mostly devoted to you, his brother and his friends. That was so far away from the Emmet you knew lurked just away from you. His fingers were certainly in everyone's pie, whether they realised it or not. You and Volo were the only ones aware of the horror of the reality around you. 

Heading out to the balcony, you stared out onto the spreading city below. The evening was beginning to set in, the sun's last light fading and bright lights shining across the area. A shimmering sea of humanity spread out before you. The ever-rotating Ferris wheel nearly hypnotising, a few fireworks shooting up from the amusement park. Advertisement boards across larger buildings in high-traffic areas. The people bustling from the Gear Station. 

It was a dreamlike recollection of the city. 

You decided to order take-out for dinner.

Volo felt a cold chill down his spine as he walked down the sidewalk. He was returning to his apartment, tired after his long shift. People are this modern era were much more demanding and rude than those from his time. The merchant much preferred the travel that the Ginkgo Guild provided to the hell of a modern grocery store. A wind blew his jacket, blond strands bracing across his face. He stopped suddenly, feeling eyes burning his skin. 

It was little wonder who dared stare him down. 

“Emmet…” he says. Grey eyes ventured a glance behind him. The false deity stood a few paces away, white cap casting a heavy shadow over his eyes. His long coat blew in the wind. The shine of the ring of Arceus hung over his head. Large white wings spread out from his back. It seemed he was going to receive his 'punishment'. The blond knew that the twin had not taken kindly to him interacting with his lover. “You know, it's not normal or 'happy' to stab one's spouse,” Volo jeers. There was no point to play nice. 

Emmet is eerily silent, eyes gazing from the shadow cast from his brim. They glow intimidatingly. A step is taken towards the blond. There is no movement from Volo. Each step is careful, planned; the younger twin moves with meaning. He stands shorter in stature to Volo, but the power he yields is beyond the capabilities of the merchant. “I'm not scared of you,” he admits, “There is no point. You know as well as I that Arceus still rebels against your will. I mean, they took your partner! You're afraid, Emmet. You realise this lie is falling apart. Nothing is under your control.” 

They stand chest to chest, Emmet staring up at him. The god's head only reaches his neck. It is pitiful almost, a being with such high power still remained shorter than him. Of course, that did not matter when a sudden force knocked him into the path of an oncoming, speeding car. Volo began wondering if becoming a god did something to a mortal being. His last conscious thoughts were not in fear or anger; he knew he would be back. 

Emmet knew it, too. 

All the throes of one realising his power was simply borrowed.

Ingo sat beside you on the couch, some weird sitcom on the television. He ate the noodles you got in a relative silence. The older twin was fully unaware of anything that was happening. He had walked in a bit later than usual, having took on some overtime, and was surprised that Emmet had not come home yet. You did not mind, not wanting to see him at all. Ingo was fine; he may look identical to his brother, but his attitude was his own. He put the box down on the coffee table. 

If only you could convince him as to what his brother was doing. You turned to him and gently cupped his face. Pushing him against the couch, you bury your face into his work button-down, sobs and hiccups leaving you again. This day had been filled with crying, and it seemed that they would just never stop. Ingo pressed you to him carefully, gently stroking your hair and hushing you. He asked many times what was wrong; if there was any way that he could fix. You could only shake your head and hide deeper into him. 

Seeing you so vulnerable had a deep effect on Ingo. His heart could not bear to see you in such pain. What had hurt you so? Why could you not tell him? Did you not trust him? The older twin would do anything for you. A tender kiss was pressed to your head. Slowly, the emotional rush dulled, and your tears dribbled into nothingness. 

In that moment, it was just you and Ingo. 

You stared at him. 

He was so unaware of everything. 

The pain he caused unknowingly by his disappearance, and his lack of knowledge to his brother's actions. 

His hands cupped your face this time, the pad of his thumbs wiping the tears from your eyes. You wondered if he would believe you. It felt like too much for now, so you instead rested your head against his chest again. The slowness of his heartbeat, softly lulling you away into a slumber. His hands combed through your hair as he hummed softly.

The next days passed with no events truly happening. Emmet acted as he always did, seeming to accept your nervousness for what it was. Ingo had questioned the sudden tension between you two, but neither of you had apparently given his a proper answer. It was clearly weighing on him, but the moment you decided to speak with him about what had happened between you and Emmet would be the moment you decided to try to convince him to your side. 

Still, you found yourself wandering around the city. Part of it was hoping you would encounter Volo by chance, and another was whether anyone else had come into realisation like you both had. Elesa seemed thoroughly under the spell of this world. No matter how many times you tried to convince her that everything was a little off, she just laughed it away. “No, silly, you must have got confused. That lamppost has always been there,” the model ignored your claims completely, “The city is big; it's only natural you would confuse things. Wait until I tell Emmet about this one! He'll think it's hilarious.” You begged her not to, pretending to be so deeply embarrassed about your mistake. She agreed when you visibly got upset. 

You found yourself sharing a coffee with one of Ingo's new friends. Irida was her name, and you presumed she was from Hisui like Volo. She was very polite and understanding. The way she spoke with you, however, was as if she had known you forever. A deep friendship bonded her with Ingo, having been thoroughly impressed by his skills with pokemon during a random challenge to the Battle Subway after having moved to the region from Sinnoh. The conversation was mostly light, with her discussing this friend Palina of hers and her apparent taste in men. You just nodded along. 

“Say… Does Hisui mean anything to you?” you ask, trying to recall the things that Volo had told you about his home, “I, uh – got interested in it recently. Clan wars, huh? Both of these 'Sinnoh' seemed to be real in the end, ironically.” 

Something seemed to flare in her blue eyes for a moment, like a distant memory clawing at the back of her brain and demanding to re-enter her circulation of thoughts. Her breath was a sharp inhale of air, the grip she placed on the table was frighteningly strong. She shook her head for a moment and apologised for her strange behaviour. “Ah, well, it was definitely something covered in history class,” she smiles amicably, “I was actually quite interested in it back then… I found myself aligning with the Pearl Clan's values…” she began to go on about the supposed Hisui lesson. 

You knew better. 

Taking the subway home, you found yourself in an empty car. It was not necessarily a busy time, but you still found it strange to see it so desolate. You felt nervous suddenly. A door slid open from the direction of the locomotive. The door to your cart opened. Emmet stepped in wordlessly, closing the door behind him. Ah, now it made sense. People were strangely willed to leave this car alone and give him space to confront you in a place without Ingo around. His glowing eyes stared at you. He sat down beside you. 

Your stomach churned as he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close to him. He was still so far from himself, but you could not lie to yourself and say that you had not missed his touch slightly. The affection you usually found yourself smothered in, coming to a grinding halt. It was for good reason, but your reptilian brain did not care about that. You leaned into it for a moment. The sounds of the train rolling along the tracks echoed, filling the open space with a calming ambience. 

Lying, Volo told you to do. You wondered if you could. 

“Do you truly hate me?” he asks, taking his hat off. His eyes reflected pain and his hands clutched the hat tightly. “Are you not happy? I'm sorry I hurt you, but I lost my temper…” 

He was excusing it, naturally. One does not go from being upset to stabbing their spouse within such a short timeframe, but arguing was pointless. He would not listen to you. You refused to speak. In fact, you refused to further acknowledge him. Maybe if you pretended he was not there, he would get the message that you were not wanting to talk with him. Sitting with a strict posture, you scrolled through your phone. It was better this way. You could be comfortable this way. 

“… Is this how you're going to act, darling?” Emmet's tone held a sharp edge. You ignored with his words and continued your scrolling. Irida had sent you links and videos about the Hisuian period of Sinnoh, as your apparent interest caused her to want to share her culture's history with you. His hand gripped your chin and forced your attention on him again. You attempted to stare past him, viewing the metal of the train car rather than his face. It only served to upset him further. “Volo wants the same thing I do. He wants the powers I have. He wouldn't be a verrrry nice god. He wouldn't want you to be happy like I do,” Emmet warned. You were aware that you were testing his limits again. 

Emmet was growing tired of you ignoring him. He couldn't bear how you clung so closely to Ingo while pretending he did not exist. No words were spoken between the two of you since the incident, despite his desperation to. You were never around when he tried to speak with you about those things. Even now, you stared past him and acted as if he was not before you. His patience was wearing thin. He understood you were upset, but he was only acting in your best interested. The younger twin's thread wore ever thinner. 

He tried to press his lips to yours, yet you shoved him away and stared at him with this disgusted expression. Your eyes held the burning hatred that lapped at his skin and reminded him that you knew. He despised it. Emmet wanted you to love him. His heart solely belonged to you. The visions of you clinging to Volo while in tears plagued his mind. 

You went to him for comfort. 

You went to the being that killed Ingo. 

“I hate you!” you screeched, “Leave me alone!” 

Emmet was on top of you in seconds. Hat flying on to the floor of the car and his hands wrung your neck. Pressure was applied. Choked sounds left you as he constricted your airflow. Those words again. Those words you could not mean. The deity refused to accept them. You were simply confused. Nails clawed at his hands but did not true damage. Your legs kicked up, yet Emmet remained steadfast. 

Shrunken pupils stared at him while everything became dizzier and unfocused for you. It was painful to see you suffer. Emmet could not handle your scorn. He would have your love, even if seeing you like this was the price to pay. 

Slowly, your life faded again. 

Emmet's hands left your neck, ugly bruising apparent. 

He felt angry. 

Reset.

[imnotwolverine]

The Monster’s Lair - Fangs Deep

Vampire!Henry x Belle - multi-chapter

< Chap 9 | Chapter 10 - Fangs Deep | Chap 11 >

Disclaimer: Dark adult fairytale - mourning, angst, blood thirst (again, no idea how to tag this) 

Author’s note: I just reread @viking-raider​‘s Fangs Deep, to get some inspo for this long fic and darn is it an absolutely wonderful world she built! Such rich characters and well-set out plot. Lovin’ every word of it! Read it if you haven’t yet! 

Now. As I’ll never be able to truly build a world as rich as hers, especially not in this fic, I decided to keep it small, but invest some more words in the castle, history and surroundings in this chapter. Tiny world building ❤️

Thank you darling @thelastsock​, for beta’ing for me!  🌹

Word count: 3.657

Reading music: Arvo Pärt - My Heart’s in the Highlands 

(Link to my Masterlist)

--

A week had passed and the snow had blanketed the world until it was whisper quiet. That was, until now.

Loud bells were chiming in the chilly morning air, making the Master flinch at every beat. *Ding-ding-ding-ding* The steelish echo reached far and wide over the snow-covered tree tops, all the way up to the Master’s anguished ears, his mouth silently cursing his vampiric sensitivity.

It happened on occasion that these bells would ring, but never this long, never this hauntingly. And thus the Master had climbed up the many stairs to the highest tower so he could see what was at hand. And what he saw was quite haunting indeed; a large procession of people, standing out on the semi-rebuilt village square, their faces not joyful at all.

A mourning procession. Not uncommon now winter was in full strength and the crops had failed this year. But not often were these mourning procession this well-attended. This large. Someone had died. And not just anyone. Not even for weddings would the bells toll so long a time, their lilt echoing far and wide. It had to be an important person. Someone..someone..hmm. The Master frowned as the cogs in his old mind started to spin into motion, memories flooding his tired mind.

History will repeat itself. History will repeat itself. History will repeat itself!

--

‘Okay. Everyone in position!’ Lumiere conducted with his candles, the flames dancing around him as the make-shift stage was cleared, a ghostly napkin and the army of “footsoldier” wardrobes ushering aside. Belle sat up from the large reading chair when two small silhouettes appeared in the shadows cast by the large fireplace. It was difficult to decipher what they were until they hesitantly set foot on the stage, eyes blinking in the bright light. A golden hairbrush and a red leather gauntlet. Lumiere cleared his throat, introducing the two new actors on stage. ‘The Queen mother!’ - The hairbrush dipped her head. ‘And Hamlet, prince of Denmark!’ - The gauntlet turned towards Belle, whom smiled warmly. ‘Go on!’ She encouraged.

The gauntlet almost seemed to glow an even deeper shade of red as he curled a finger up to his chest, as if reaching for his heart - thanking her, before bowing to the rest of the audience. Waiting a moment for the hairbrush to also settle, the scene began, throats cleared and the room silent again.

The hairbrush dramatically swivelled ‘round, her back now turned to the audience before she slowly turned her head, bristles crisping.

‘Do not forever with thy vailèd lids

Seek for thy noble father in the dust, son!’

Letting out a soft sigh - affectionate as only a mother can do, she turned to Hamlet.

‘Thou know’st ’tis common; all that lives must die,

Passing through nature ..to eternity.’

Belle blinked, settling a little deeper in the chair to hide the sudden discomfort that graced her features. When the furniture had offered to act out this so-called ‘Hamlet’, she hadn’t expected much more than some fun diversion. Their short description of a challenged prince, ghosts and true love had sounded like a good bit of entertainment in the long hours of yet another cold day.

But here she was. Here they were, the enchanted furniture acting out a tale of great betrayal, and dead fathers.. Belle’s neckhair rose as Hamlet let out a despaired sigh - much like the one she was fighting to hold inside. Grabbing onto the arm rests she took a deep settling breath, her eyes peering at Hamlet as he burst out in an emotional monologue.

‘ “Seems,” madam? Nay, it is. I know not “seems.”

’Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,

Nor customary suits of solemn black,

Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,

NO, nor the fruitful river in the eye,

NO, nor the dejected havior of the visage,’

He inhaled sharply, as if ready to cry, head hanging low.

‘Together with all forms, moods and shapes of grief,

That can denote me truly. These indeed “seem,”

For they are actions that a man might play;’

A glove finger reached back to his leather heart as he looked back up at the Queen mother.

‘But ‘tis no play, Mother! I have that within which passes show.

Passes the trappings and the suits of woe!’

The room went quiet, except for the crackling of the fire..and a soft sniffle. Belle quickly wiped away the tears that were burning from her watery eyes, hands hiding her torn expression from the furniture’s curious eyes. For a week now she had tried to accept her faith. Accept her father’s death. Her newly found status as an outlaw. And for a week now she had tried to hide her tears.

But no more.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ Belle sniffled quietly, quickly wiping away the tears as they watered her heated cheeks, an apologetic smile glueing to her lips. ‘I didn’t..’ *sniff* ‘I didn’t mean to. Oh gods.’ More tears were bound to spill when her voice hiccuped, chest tight with sorrow.

‘Sweet Belle. Oh dear! Do not apologise.’ Hamlet broke out his role to walk up to the mournful maiden. ‘We can delay if you-’ Belle shook her head, more anguished tears bursting from her being, shoulders shaking with grief. ‘I just...Wherever I go...bad things happen.’ She removed her hands, face puffy and red now she watched Hamlet shake his fingers in disagreement. ‘No! Milady!’ He hopped up on her lap with ease, slightly shocking Belle who blinked in surprise. ‘Good things are happening where you are, Belle! Do you not see?!’ He pointed in the direction of the long hallway that led to the main staircase. ‘The Master hasn’t been so lively in years, centuries! And we are most glad to have you in our company. We are!’

The rest of the furniture hummed in agreement, but Belle was inconsolable, more tears springing to the surface. ‘I’m-I’m sorry. I can’t. I--.’ She shook her head and prince Hamlet hesitantly climbed onto the armrest as he noticed she wished to leave, her body not missing a beat as she lifted from the seat. ‘I just need a moment.’ She cried, rushing out of the library and into the long cold hallways upstairs.

--

A moment.

There had been a lot of moments needed in this peculiar household. Mostly by the Master. No matter how often he tried to settle down for dinner or a sociable reading session in the library - at some moment or other he felt that horrid nervousness wash over him again. At first he thought it was just hunger. Insatiable hunger. But after endless hunts it became clear it was not that. At least..he wasn’t hungry for blood. He was hungry for..hmm..dare he say it..a..a heart?

But as the Master had ventured far and wide to calm the clicking of his nervous teeth, he had too noticed something else. Something new. The wounded deer had been just the beginning. Now there were more messy kills - most animals only half-dead when he got to them. There sure must be a young predator on the loose. Peculiarly strong, fine clawed..and leaving little to no tracks. The Master couldn’t help but feel the cold chill on his skin whenever he returned to the castle; something was brooding in these forests. And it forbade little good.

--

In the past week or so, her foot now healed, Belle had wandered around a bit. But it was only now that she realised how truly large the building was. Even after minutes of walking, she seemed to not have reached the furthest wing, the cold licking at her bare skin as she sniffled back the last of her tears. Throughout the length of the hallway walls there were large tapestries and portraits, telling great tales of the families that once lived here. Stately portraits, hunting scenes and depictions of the build of the castle. With amazement Belle took them all in, large brown eyes also noticing that a few paintings were missing, the lighter shade on the wall leaving a lasting mark of what had once been.

History laced the dusty air here, and it took away what last tears still stuck to her eyelashes. Curiosity, as usual, got the better of Belle. Especially now she heard some sounds coming from the end of the stately hallway.

Was someone there?

With silent feet she moved closer, finding a door ajar, light slipping through the crack. Inside she noticed signs of life; clothes strewn about, a bed unmade. It piqued her curiosity even more when she recognised the clothes. The Master’s.

*CREEEEEEeeekk* The door moved.

OH merde! Shit shit shit!

The Master had apparently heard her - of course he had - his head now peeking around the corner of the door. Clearly he was a little baffled to see her here, so far away from the library or her room.

‘Belle.’

‘M-milord.’ Belle quickly curtsied, red eyes casting down at the floor.

‘Are you well?’ The door was opened further, his hand reaching out to thumb away a stray tear on her cheek.

A most endearing gesture.  

Belle opened her lips to speak, but as soon as her eyes looked back up into his she lost all strings of thought. ‘I eh..’ Looking away her gaze once again fell upon the clothes that were strewn about. Quite messy a living space for someone seemingly well-put together. Never had she seen the Master in anything less but gentlemanly attire. Even now, in the privacy of his room.

‘I should go.’ She breathed, turning on her heel but finding her movement halted as his hand curled around her upper arm. ‘No please. I just didn’t expect..’ He licked his lips. ‘..a visitor. Please Belle.’ He gestured her to step inside, floorboards creaking beneath their feet. The room was cold in temperature, but warm in atmosphere. Heavy deep red drapes hung around the four poster bed and the walls were completely covered with paintings; a few portraits, but mostly landscapes or mythical depictions. And books, so many books! Stacked up nearly to hip height, their covers were showing clear signs of the many times they had been read, old leather cracked and pages curled.

‘Do come in.’ The Master slightly bent his head, stepping back to make way for Belle.

‘So..’ Belle nodded quietly, a watery smile appearing on her lips. ‘The Monster’s lair.’

‘Aye.’ He grinned.

The tension was near tangible as Belle carefully stepped over a few books, eyes taking in the great many things that were here to be seen. It was then she noticed a strangely familiar portrait. Familiar not in the straight sense of the word. In fact she trusted she had never seen it before. No. It looked familiar as in..it looked like her. With widening eyes Belle blinked at the exact representation of..her. Belle.

‘Did you paint that?’ Belle hiccupped.

The Master sighed and stepped in besides her, fingers lacing behind his back. ‘No.’

Belle felt a strange eeriness travel up her shivering spine. ‘No? Then..who..’ She swallowed harshly. ‘..what is that?’

The Master’s face contorted with pain as he turned away, eyes however remaining locked on the painting. ‘Tis my late wife.’

Of..course it was. Darn! How did Belle always get herself into such trouble?!

Belle wasn’t sure what to do next. Run? Scream? Cry out in terror? She knew that nobody would come. Nobody would care. She was here, all alone in the Monster’s Lair. And, from the looks of it...this wasn’t the end of the surprises that she’d find in these castle halls. His wife had looked like her? What’s next..? Did he think she WAS his wife, maybe? Is that why he was so strangely obsessed with her?

Then again. She was just as obsessed with him, right? For nights on end she had now watched as he fled the castle to go out, his dark silhouette returning only hours later, panting, lips tainted with fresh blood. The sight had both terrified and intrigued her. The Master intrigued her. To an almost unhealthy extent. Was she becoming a monster now, too?

‘I see.’ She whispered, eyes finding the Master’s stark blue ones as he looked over his shoulder. She could feel heat creep up her cheeks. Oh, why did she feel this way?!

‘I should have told you.’ He sighed, looking back at the painting, the portrayed woman wearing a fine red gown, dark brown hair mostly hidden beneath an early century headdress. Nothing Belle would ever wear, but she had to admit the woman looked dreamily beautiful.

And like her.

Belle licked her nervous lips, her chest suddenly unbearably tight in the restraints of her corset. ‘Is ..is that why I’m here? I mean. Nobody has been here for centuries and now-now I’m..I…’ Her eyes started to tear up with fright. But not for him. No. It was in fact more of a quiet hatred towards herself. SHE was the one who ventured into HIS domains. SHE had called this upon herself.

‘Tis part of the curse.’ The Master said benevolently.

‘So..then I am cursed as well.’ Belle sniffled, gladly accepting the kerchief the Master handed to her, his large frame now fully turning back towards her, eyes gentle. ‘In a way.’

Lingering their eyes met, two souls captured in a dance they didn’t know. But though the steps were unknown, their hearts were more than willing to learn. Why were they feeling this way? They had barely talked to one another except on the few occasions that the Master had ventured into the library or Belle’s room. And despite Belle’s best efforts, he would flee every single time. As if he was afraid of her. Hurt by her presence.

Was it because she looked like…?

Belle took a shaky breath, eyes studying every little detail of the portrait as it looked back at her. Calm. Serene. Though also slightly melancholic. ‘Was she cursed as well?’

‘No.’

‘No?’ Belle huffed. ‘Then why does she look exactly..like me?’

The Master grimaced, his hand gesturing towards a divan. ‘I think you may wish to sit down. A-are you cold? Shall I..’ He bit his lip as he noticed the true mess he had made of his room; clothes strewn everywhere. What an impression he was giving her! His father would have scolded… No. Do not think so. Father is dead. And it’s time to own up to your responsibilities!

With large steps he strode to his wardrobe, its door magically flying open as he clicked his tongue. ‘A..robe, perhaps?’ He looked back at Belle as she sat down on the worn bench, fabric matching the heavy velvet drapes. ‘Eh..ye-yes please. Thank you.’

And so, now warmly wrapped in a heavy robe of luxurious brocades - worthy a land owner of great riches -, Belle learned the history of not only the Master’s wife, but also hers. The Master spoke of the start of the curse, which probably came with the death of his wife. Or, perhaps it had been the Fay witch Morgana, he couldn’t be sure. But either way; the tale was greater than any book Belle had ever read.

Fairy witches, rich lords, poor women, curses and deceit. Forbidden love or no love at all - claimed either way. With surprising richness in his words, the Master spoke, his countenance relaxed as he retrieved details of times long past. He was a good storyteller. Quite surprisingly so, especially after the long nights where he had barely spoken a word. Belle’s eyes did not once venture away from the man as he paced up and down the room, enacting the moments as they had happened.

He was truly in his element.

With gestures at a few of the portraits, he spoke of the curious way the women in her family would always have girls. Procreating yet another generation of young women to carry the curse on and on. And on..and on. From the Master’s sister in law begetting twins, to her mother...giving birth to her. And strange as it was, all women in her family somehow carried the same traits. Dark-haired and bright, they captured the hearts of a Le Comte more than a few times. And quite a few times they had refused a Le Comte’s advances. And even more than a few times a Le Comte took what he wanted anyways, thereby carrying on the curse - him turning into a vampire and the woman not dying long after.

‘But I have no sister. Or nieces..I think.’ Belle added thoughtfully when the Master got to the tale of the here and now.

‘That we don’t know, Belle. A few women have sent off their daughters, in hope to break away from this curse. Not all successfully, I’m afraid. But still. I fear it does not end here.’

‘But you do want it to end?’

‘I am the one who started it, Belle. I am not one to want anything more than for this to stop. I have caused..’ He looked back at his late wife’s portrait. ‘..great agony. I carry the blame.’

‘No..no..do not say so milord. Is it not that a great many men after you have chosen the exact same faith?’ The Master looked back, eyes thoughtful as Belle stood from the bench. ‘They have. But perhaps..that is the curse too. Poisoning their minds.’

‘Where are those that turned to vampires like you?’

Good question.

‘Dead. For as far as I know, they are all dead. They were too eager, too contemptful. You see, Belle, we can be killed like any man. Especially when the daylight is strong and our strengths wane.’

‘Have they ever tried to kill you?’

The Master lowered his head, a melancholic smile brushing over his lips. It was a silent “yes” to a question he knew she’d ask at some point or other. ‘Did they hurt you?’

‘Belle.’ The Master brushed a hand up over her sleeved arm, eyes meeting hers. He didn’t wish to speak any further on the matter, that much was clear. Belle licked her lips. And the Master brushed his hand further down her arm, capturing her hand before pressing a fanged kiss on her soft skin. Even through his lips she could feel his vampiric canines.

Oh he sure was fascinating as ever.

‘What happens if you bite?’ He stretched back up to full height. ‘Hmm..Either I’d kill you, or..’ He frowned, ‘..you’d become like me. I think.’

‘Unless I love you first.’ Belle said with certainty in her gentle voice, slightly unsettling the Master before her, his hand clenching her fingers more tightly. And Belle? She squeezed back.

‘That is why you were cursed, right?’ The Master remained quiet. ‘For love.’ Belle quirked her head to the side, searching his gaze. He seemed pained, unsure. Scared even.

‘Would you love me?’ He asked, his voice far less honey-rich now uncertainty cracked through its vibration. The Master suddenly seemed so small, fragile, agonized. But Belle didn’t know about the turmoil in his head; first he had forced her to stay here, then her father died, it..no..it could never be. He was still evil! He.. He should have never asked -

‘I could.’

---

How could two words change things? It was a question that kept the Master up through the late nights and long days. Knowing now that he craved not food, but something else. Love? Maybe. Either way, he remained within the castle walls. And with even more fervour he tried to get into the good graces of Belle. A daily routine was set where the Master would join Belle for tea, luncheon, supper and on occasion a moment of dialogue or other diversions in the library. With his stocks well-filled he made sure she would only receive the best. The most fragrant tea, the most succulent meats and the most well-spiced vegetables and stews.

Only the best.

But not for himself. As the sleepless days prolonged, so did his face, his already pale skin becoming near opaque, blue veins thin beneath his skin. Belle had tried to not worry as she knew little of his condition, but as the days progressed, she knew something was amiss. Was he starving himself?

‘You must eat.’ She finally said, her resolute voice travelling over the dinner table where the Master sat with no meal or wine before him. He huffed and waved it off, but Belle persevered, not accepting his grumbling “don’t be silly”. And, thankfully, the Master held a soft spot for the maiden, her voice of reason soon echoing in his skull until he couldn’t help but agree.

He needed to feed again.

As dinner finished and Belle’s plates and cups hopped off the table with elegant leaps - quite magical indeed -, she noticed the shimmer in the Master’s eyes.

He was going to flee again. She knew him by now.

And just as expected, he got up quickly, feet moving towards the door, though not making it far. Belle had grasped onto his arm, fingers locking around his fleshy forearm as he tried to tug himself free.

‘No.’

‘Have you not told me that I required nourishment?’ A beautiful frown crossed his dark eyebrows.  

‘I did.’ Belle licked her lips, still glistening from her delicious meal. ‘Take me with you... I want to see.’

The Master gruntled a low disapproval; had the maiden gone mad?! But Belle was headstrong, and her curiosity always won. And so, after a few long moments of Belle holding onto his wrist and the Master gazing coldly back at her, he caved. He was too easy on her, wasn’t he? And in this quick turn of events, he forgot for just a moment what challenges this little adventure would bring.

And what deliciously hard challenges they would be.

--

Chap 11 >

--

General Tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss​ @tumblnewby @magdelen69​ @thereisa8ella​ @mary-ann84​ @darkbooksarwin​ @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly​ @elinesama​

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If you want to be added to or removed from my tag lists, shoot me a message!

[leviathan-dee]

You’re All I Have Left

(Some more self indulgent oneshots, this time about arguments turned into promises. Vergil x Lady cause you know ya girl likes that pairing a whole lot)

Word Count: 1,247

There was one type of devotion Lady never wanted from her beloved; The utterance of "sacrifice" tugging at Vergil's lips.

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Lady brushed her fringe away from her forehead, casually swiping the droplets of sweat alongside her espresso locks. It was a strange, tempestuous day for the walking arsenal, the sting of reopened wounds still fresh in her mind. It seemed that she could never agree on one thing with her unlikely beloved. One thing that ached, and could never heal. One tiny, stupid, thing.

She sat cross legged opposite the blue devil, twiddling her thumbs in annoyance. Or was it dejection? She could not tell. Admittedly, Lady was expecting a response from Vergil. Some form of apology, perhaps even recognition that the argument did happen, and it wasn’t some fever dream that she had thought up. Vergil simply sat on the couch, his leg perched across his knee, with his Blake anthology in hand. He appeared to be peaceful and nonchalant as ever.

Normally, she would let things like this slide, knowing his stand-offish personality was not something to be rivaled with. However, as she leaned forward with her hand pressing against her ankle, her knuckles turning porcelain from the sheer force of the angered squeeze, Lady could barely hold the tumultuous storm of emotions brewing within.

“Vergil Sparda. Talk to me.” Lady caught even herself off-guard with her venomous tone, the rage filling her chest to the brim. Undoubtedly, Vergil’s quizzical, yet somewhat unreadable expression, made Lady’s anger boil searing hot.

“What is there to talk about?” His tone soft, he shut the book with one swift movement, running his gloved hand through the arctic locks. He continued to stare at the woman before him, knowing full well why she was upset.

“Are you serious right now? After all you’ve said?” The liquid sorrow began to well up in her eyes, her throat closing up from the nauseating anxiety of his past words. She was strong however, forcing the tears to sink back like a lingering, low tide.

The devil inhaled deeply, letting his beloved’s sweet scent fill his senses. The few months that had passed from their first amorous exchange of body heat, he could never get rid of the high her presence caused. It seemed almost inevitable that two scarred souls would have such an instant and magnetic attraction. Though, inevitably, there would always be fractures between these souls. Both traumatised in their own way, they would grasp onto each other with their dying breaths, whether it meant tearing each other apart in the process.

Thus, these cursed arguments surfaced. These… disagreements.

With a feline grace, Vergil knelt before Lady, lacing his fingers with hers. The tender cradling of her palm against his caused her breath to hitch. As the moments passed, Vergil’s eyes scanned over her features, admiring her dilating pupils as her own eyes trailed across Vergil’s features. They both lingered in their spots, unsure of the next step. Whether it was the bursting adoration they both felt, or the sheer unbridled rage at each other’s words that paused any action, they moved not a single muscle.

It took almost an entire minute of silence, of tense analysis of the situation, for the blue devil to finally bring himself to say these words.

“What I said was true. And I will not retract that statement. You matter to me. Beyond words. Beyond what you can imagine. Every moment I spend with you is a blessing so phenomenal, I would rend the very Earth to spend my last waking moments with you, just so I could experience your ardent love one last time;” Vergil brought Lady’s knuckles to his lips, trailing chaste kisses across her delicate skin, before resuming with a soft sigh, “that means, if there ever comes a time where your life is in danger, know that I will be there to take the final blow.” As these words rained down from his lips like delicate rose petals, his voice barely a whisper, a ghost of a bittersweet smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He wanted nothing more, but to keep her safe. Keep all he cared about in his clutch. Away from danger. Away from death.

The tears seemed to only resurface in Lady’s eyes. In love’s wake, hurt was just as strong an emotion as adoration, for offering up one’s life for another is what transcendent love appeared to be. Lady had experienced so much loss in her four decades of existence, the thought of losing another was unfathomable. And yet, here Vergil was, offering his last dying breath so she could breath a million more. Grasping at his cheek, gentle in her movements, Lady pressed an amorous kiss to his jawline, lingering a little longer than needed with the touch. Their closeness seemed to turn into a gentle embrace, her fingers cradling the back of his head as he planted kisses along her collar bone.

“I don’t want your sacrifice, Vergil. I want you.” Her melodic voice caused Vergil’s ears to perk up. Even in hardship, she resembled a skylark, pouring love from her lips. That was all Vergil needed to hear, to draw her closer into his embrace. He squeezed her tightly, holding onto her like it was his last moment with his beloved.

“Mary…” 

“Ever since the Temen-Ni-Gru, that moment on the tower haunted me. My father’s face, his last words. They followed me everywhere I went. I lost everything I cared about, by my own hands;” Her breath hitched, sorrow escaping like waves of the roaring sea, “I don’t want to lose you too, Vergil. You’re all I have left.” She cradled him protectively, burying her face in his arctic silver hair. It was an almost mothering instinct, her fingers grasping at the tufts of his hair, locking him in place so he would not leave.

You’re all I have left.

This was a phrase they both understood well. The decades being less than kind, taking away all that was precious to them. But not this time. They would fight against what life would throw at them, their beloved at their backs. They would fight with a fervour against countless hardships to hold each other close. Be it man, demon, or a simple disagreement; They would be ready.

“Promise me, you will never leave.” Lady’s voice shook under the pressure of a soft sob, unable to control the brewing bittersweetness any longer. As she let go of the back of his head, Vergil lifted his gaze up to hers. Two doll-like eyes filled with tears, one a viridian green, the other a deep amaranth shade, stared back at him. They were expectant, desperate. He could not hold back his adoration for the woman he just embraced, craning his neck up to place a devoted kiss upon the bridge of her nose where a ghost of a scar lay.

How could he not fulfil something so virtuous? What monster would deny this bewitching creature something so innocent?

“Only if you can say the same.” He exhaled, cradling her chin so she could meet his gaze. Slowly, his softened visage turned into that of deep thought. His brow furrowed, awaiting her answer. Locking her eyes with his, she inhaled deeply.

“I promise.”

“Then so do I,” as his eyes trailed down, he began planting desperate, hungry kisses against her lips, murmuring against her mouth, “I promise.”

Upon hearing his voice, she returned his kisses with a fierce ardour.

You’re all I have left.

But I’m glad you have me.

We have each other.

[kaetastic]

RUNAWAY WITH ME

pairing: Baker!Steve Rogers X Princess!Reader

summary: Y/N had finally reached the age she was to be suited to be married off to a prince who lives up to her father’s expectations. Except, her eyes were on Steve, the recently added member of the bakery. It doesn’t work out the way she wanted it to be...

word count: 10.1k

warnings: fluff start, hints of angst, a hurl and tsunami of angst

note: This has been in my drafts from 29th September!! Good lord! I’ve let it out to breathe, and yes- I haven’t been uploading 🥺😫😭 life is so hectic with all these piling works and exams coming up. Please don’t mind the Victoria Era X Middle Age and the inaccurate history behaviours. I’m sorry if the story feels rushed!! Happy new year! Have a nice day! Take care!! 💕 sorry for the long wait!

“And I was never sure whether you were the lighthouse or the storm.”

Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, it pressed the softened baby-like flesh. The layers of creams heavily smeared by her maids had created it a soft padding, forming a thick layer. The taste of honey seeped into the crevices of her porcelain white that were monitored very closely by nannies as if she was a mere child. Running from one side to the other, just like a bustling market on the free days, the hurried and frantic air suffocated every worker- everybody in fact. Like a piercing caw of an eagle, the screech rung through her ears. The fabric worn by the servants sliced into the heavily thick air, it swishes before clashing of tools echoed throughout the almost no free-spaced left corridor; the scent of freshly cooked scrumptious and definitely worth salivating for meals peeled through the air. Although she was surrounded by so many eyes and figures of bodies that would be able to fetch a good fortune of gold for snitching as a witness, the possibility to succeed an escape from the crowded area was a hairbreadth short. While crying in agonizing pain, her dress crinkled under her mighty grip. God save the souls who dare to oppose her. Ruffles of her dress bundled in her fingers, and although her fingernails were maintained, it had somehow got caught in the sharp corners of each edge. The frilly material tickled her fingers, the sheer layers protecting the extravagant silk.

As if someone stared down onto her with pity or sympathy, a boisterous bang echoed from the room with clouds of steam puffing out of the kitchen. A twinkle glinted in her eyes when all the occupying figures of the hallway entered the crowded room. She took the chance, pacing away with only one goal in her mind. Raising the hem of her dress to hover over the dusty floors, the rush of excitement flushed her cheeks. The overlapping voices allowed her to speed off with no worry of the noises she could emit. Wearing a gleeful smile, the grin she tried to wipe off remained with determination. Nothing ached in her chest, the familiar hole of emptiness now light and as if wrapped in tight fabric- all the contents packed protectively. She felt like a bird. The recent sitting with her father had been the reason for her uncontrollable twitching fingers and short tolerance for annoyance. Anything would be better than to be in her father’s presence. She will not allow her father’s irritating tenacity ruin the addicting happiness.

“I said cream! Not milk!” The exhausted worker huffed, his fingers engulfed deep in the dough. His hunched shoulders ached, neck creaking like an ancient door. If another batch of requested items were given to him, he would’ve surely passed out. The blink of sleep he got last night was a blessing in such a long time. Even if an assistant was assigned to him- Leopold was practically useless. Although their task to do as their guider say, which was easy enough, Leopold was like a giraffe offspring who had recently breathed in the air. Despite the roaring anger, Steve had to remind himself every now and then that he should not express the rage towards the apprentice for he was new to the castle. It came to him with no surprise that the young boy got lost for a whole while.

His shoulders turned to face hers. The frustration he held for the apprentice had flipped to shock, which diminished into the air as a pair of gentle lips moulded into his. While she stood comfortably with her eyes closed tight and her arms wrapped around his neck, his icy blue orbs stared into her shut eyelids before curtaining to a close.

With an awkward stance, his fingers were decorated with strings of haphazardly thrown pieces of dough and flour powder ran from the tip of his fingers to his exposed elbow, hovered over the tight corset that suffocated her breathing- which she practically grew out of. The rolled-back sleeves bulged to form a miniature hill to rest on his arms, displaying his veiny skin. Smiling through the comfort of seeing him, she pulled back, chest smooshed on his. Oh, every time she would be with him, it was bliss. Eternal bliss she wished for and hoped forever since a child. Though she knew the happiness was maintained in secret and their love was not for display, every moment of terrifying imagination, the scenarios that are likely to happen (her greatest fear that had built up, standing tall above her) crept its’ way to manifest her thoughts. How scandalous it would sound. Familiar laughter and slicing whispers played in her exhausted soul. If it had ever reached her parents, the only thing she expected to see would be their disappointed smile as their eyes gloss over their failure of a daughter; that was not capable of even matching or level with other princesses who had carried their family name, done with their duty then thrown away. Like rag dolls.

Craning her head up to face the Adonis who she had admired ever since he had pulled up from his bowing position, her fingers trickled down the sides of his face. She still remembered when her eyes had landed on him, he was like no one else. Although the first thing she noticed about him was his youth which wasn’t that prominent in the castle. He was merely a servant and a baker for the castle but he had her eyes lingered on him- not because of his visage but him entirely. She recalled the day she had stuck to walls, spying on him. A difficult task that would perplex people to their core, a large clump for anyone to even gulp down; their expectations possibly (most likely to be) lowered or just deteriorated, not a surprise if they were eradicated completely despite her being a royal. When she had noticed him stealing the batch of fresh bread which were meant for the guests that rested in the castle for a while, her low expectations of him had diffused into a grin. He had brought it for the kids who had been smothered with emissions of coals and as if a beast with daggers as teeth had torn their pants, their knees had bruised open for the whole village to see. No child deserves to meet such fate.

Her thumbs rubbed the cumulus clouds flour that was swatched on his cheeks. A cheerful giggle laced with silk erupted out of her lips, “Hello good-looking sir.” Steve’s lips curled up even though he was filled with built-up anger minutes ago, a rosy blush pierced his cheeks at her sudden and clearly unexpected (but not shocking) compliment.

“Good morning, my princess,” The corners of her lips twirled down like the crescent of the moon, Steve was quick to realize his careless mistake which could lead him to the separation of his head from his body. His shoulders jerked back in an attempt to pull away, to bow and to salute towards the royal family member that stood before him. But her arms did not waver, it stayed in-tact as her eyes twinkled with disbelief. “Have you had your meal yet, my princess?”

The speed of his words flashed by due to the desperation of fixing his splotch of mistake. Her lips quivered down into a frown, not satisfied with the name he called her, “I’ve told you many times, there is no need to address me by such means,” Steve’s mouth gaped open to argue against her words, well, to correct and remind her of his position that was below hers, ‘But you’re a princess, my lady’ Her finger was quick to flick up, silencing him as she knew the disagreement from his side which was the only excuse he ever thought of and used. “No-huh, you’ve made a mistake and you shall face its consequences,”

The man’s face blanched. His lips quivered, eyes widened. The minuscule trembling of his muscles caught her attention. Regret filled her, the choice of words she had chosen was clearly not suitable for the time and situation, “Do you not recall? If you addressed me ‘princess’, you will have to take me to the lake. We made a promise.”

Almost entirely, his chest exhaled relief. The decrease in mass of weight in his chest has now caused the chains wrapped around him to loosen its grip. A breathy sigh fell off his lips at the words. However, some parts of his body went against to accept what she had said, it held a cage around his throat, encasing the tensed muscles that pleaded desperately, “We did?” Although the word of formality and great respect nearly fell off his lips, somehow- he had managed to swallow it back down as it glared into his vision.

She hummed, the vibration muffled by her throat as she shut her eyes tight, the thought of her father knocked on her head. But she was too exhausted from being irritated to even open the door, “You know..,” Pulling back with one arm wrapped around his neck while the other rested on his chest, she glanced at his outfit. Although it was plain in colour and made by someone who knew none of dressing, it was simple. Somehow, Steve had succeeded in making the outfit for elders look extravagant on him. The white top wrapped around his muscular body, if he had contracted one muscle- it would be for display. With an oat-coloured apron overlapping it, the ties around his neck and waist had slippery knot as they tried their best to hold onto one another, “How about we fulfil said-promise now?”

Steve’s lips dried, cracking like dunes of sand. All the moisture in his mouth and throat evaporated into the now unbreathable air. Even though it might’ve been the eighth time he had met up with the princess, he couldn’t help but feel the force nudging him to the edge. There was more than mixed feelings when he talks with the princess, and all of it walked side-by-side with questionable thoughts. Oh, how he would’ve fainted in the past to think he would be one to set the same pace with a royal member when he should’ve distanced at least a goat’s yard worth away from her or slow down so she could be at the front. Every time he breathed the same air as her (still somewhat a miracle to him), landed his blue eyes on hers’, pressed his skin onto hers and to cherish the time he had with her- an overwhelming emotion of second thoughts and the uncontrollable doubts about the situation he was in clawed his throat with monster-like cuts.

“I have to bake my pastries.” He stuttered before the quirk of his lips played a soft smile, he begged that she would be convinced to let go- even though, a part of him wanted the moment to linger longer, not wanting the it to ever end.

A genuine laugh like soft melody echoed in the room, her head thrown back at his lame excuse, “The pastries can wait. Although… a lemon tart does sound scrumptious right now…” Though his eyes glinted of hope to scurry away, the drumming of his heart could not find itself to rest. It was sure he would be a red mess as soon as she leaves- only if he knew that she saw the red creeping like vines onto his ears. The blush of rose on his neck peeking to greet her.

With a creak just like the crackling of fire from the humungous oven, the door was pushed to an open. The confused, blank expressions resounded a difficult reason for Steve to breathe. Silence bounced off the walls of the hallway, all the maids must have been busy elsewhere.

 The apprentice who held a weight full wooden barrel of milk froze. The first thing he saw was the twinkle of gems that embedded her dress that for sure costed a fortune. A fortune he could never be able to imagine. Was she real? There was a quick conclusion in his head that the only possibility for the mysterious figure would have to be of royalty and someone who held a great number of coins in their hands. Questions buzzed over his head, rapid blinking eyes- he hoped the medicine he had consumed in the morning did not cause him to see things. Was the princess really there? Of course, he had seen her wandering around and about the walls of the castle, however, it was rare for her to not be trailed around by a guard, his sharp and narrow eyes trained on her with their stance ready to jump on anyone that was able to harm her. If it was true, if she really was there, why were her arms around Steve? As if dug to the ground, his foot froze in place. 

 The only sound that echoed through the frozen-in-time room was the hissing of an angry container of water in the corner and the peaceful chirping of the birds outside of the gaped open window, very much contrary to each other. The two sets of eyes that rested upon the boy who had a slight quiver, the prickling fears that he will meet his death quite sooner than he thinks. Steve’s eyes shut tight in annoyance. Taking that as a sign to enter, Samson huffed under his breath, his sore arms cried out in aching before letting out a short celebration as soon as he dropped the barrel onto the floor. As the door met the frame, it let out a boisterous bang. Wincing at the minor splash of the pearly liquid, he made way to calm the steaming copper cauldron. Despite the toned-down noise of the water boiling, Steve sent darts of glares towards the wooden barrel.

“Are you deaf, Samson?” The words fell off his tongue like a sharp whip, the younger boy’s head curled down as his eyes were coated by embarrassment. Not only over the fact that this was his fourth time being scolded at such an early time in one day, but the presence of the princess had multiplied the humiliation by a tenfold. “How could we use milk for the recipe? It wouldn’t work!” Red fumes tugged his ears and cheeks, anger and frustration exploded like fireworks in his chest. If it wasn’t for the soft hands that caressed him, he would not know how the horrible the outcome would’ve been.

“Steve.” Samson’s head twitched up at the soft and lustrous voice who suspected, very much to obviousness, that it was the only royal in the room. Her tales have been uttered, although he has tried to lay a peek on her- the stories have done her no justice. All the words said by the people did not know what it felt like to breathe in the same room as the princess. It almost felt like a miracle. Taking in all of her presence and her beauty, he stood at awe. “No matter, I’ll note the maids to retrieve it,” Snapping her head to the blond-haired male, she stood on her toes, brushing her lips over his ears with the gentlest touch. Steve pursed his lips into a thin line. “Sunset. I’ll be waiting under the tree.” 

There was no need to inquire her which tree she had set the meeting at, for that was where their rendezvous was often set at. The warmth of her body had stranded him cold. Sending a delicate smile towards the apprentice, the whisper of the brief string of words painted a cheerful expression, Samson nodded hastily, clearly delighted. Which made Steve more curious. His eyes bounced from her to his apprentice, he needed context.

Before she left, her eyes glinted with content.

Steve’s joints creaked like the well’s rusty lever near his perimeter. Falling onto his scrapped knees, who had quirked an eyebrow with astonishment at his attempt to stay awake, he let out a silent groan as he met the cooling stone floor. Body begging and pleading for warmth, the contact between his body and the warm cloth played tricks as if a hairy blanket had been draped over his shoulders, heating his shivering figure.

Although not a streak indication of morning daylight was seen, the awakening rays of yellows and orange were fast asleep- their accompany, consisting of the glowing moon and joy-filled stars burst into a shimmering twinkle party as they dance. The weight that rested on his lashes pulled like a curtain to a shut despite his creditable effort to stay wide awake. His lips rested on her saggy knuckles. The spark of her abnormal warm skin reminded him of the hottest of the summer days when energy evaporated into the air.

Even though his lids made frequent contact to shut tight, his mind was on high alert just like those boisterous noises at a bustling market. He didn’t deserve any of it. If his mother fell sick, he does not have the privilege to lay back, ears rung with her pitiful whooping coughs. That was how it was ever since he was a little boy. Whenever he fell ill, an unfortunate curse set by the gods for his stick-like figure (thanks to his mother for shoving down a tenfold bucket full of food down his throat) and the ability to fall into exhaustion effortlessly, his mother would always be there, the only one who watched. The father figure for him existed none, he knew not a detail of him since it was rare for the topic to be brought up even though there were times he wished his questions were satisfied with even the slightest of answers. Not his visage, not his voice and not his clothing remained in Steve’s memory or the house. Steve concluded that there was not even a single string that wrapped around the two who shared blood.

Bringing his eyes to look upon the effects of the terrible sickness, corners of his lips withered down. The promises and words uttered by her now felt like an empty jar of hope, a false reassurance. As if her lips were smeared with more than a swipe of flour, the snow-covered mountains meandered with cracks that erupted a layer of now dried red. Glossing her faded face was the dancing of the fire hung upon the stone walls. Its red light glazed her powder-white hair. The heat shrieked every so often whenever the wind whispered towards the deaf inanimate object. Even though he had made her drink plenty of water, her body still limped with pale contour. There was something that he wasn’t giving right and it was prominent. Shivers ran down in tingles, her chestnut eyes blinked towards the swerving lit sconce used to light the shadowed house.

Steve scooted closer towards the bed, leg accidentally slamming onto the hard wooden slab that hovered few centimetres over the ground. The thin layer of horse skin that draped over her itched his skin, piercing through his pants that had somehow transformed from wheat-beige to smouldered black. He pursed his lips at the minor inconvenience that did not want to be eradicated despite his efforts of squirming out of the discomfort. Thoughts bounced off his messy vessel, there was no more space to think calmly.

Gripping her hand which was clamming with sweat even though the night seemed to be chilly and full of frost, her hand smaller in size compared to him, he needed to know that she was there with him.  It was his only rope to reality. Prodding his head into her spectrum of view when it seemed she did not notice his presence, he sighed as a red blush smeared onto her nose.

“Ma, are you in need of nourishment? Water? I’ve snagged a few pastries that I have baked up today,” He needed to do something, he has to- or his body would find it as an excuse to sleep it off, hence why he was ready to do as she commands with no hesitation or thought. Except, she didn’t utter a word. The light in her soul quivered, dim, as darkness flickered. 

“I told you we should’ve paid the healer a visit.” His shoulders drooped down with a sigh. Very much to his disappointment, he knew she would’ve rejected his suggestion even if he had stretched it out for days. He regretted not taking responsibility into his own hands. There were so many options he could’ve chosen and there could’ve been a possibility for her to return back to her healthy shape once again. But no, he had to agree with her stubbornness.

The straining of her raspy answer (most likely to scold at him for bringing up the horrible idea) snapped a reflex in him to grab the handle of the water jug, somehow, despite her low energy and lack of hydration- her hands were agile to stop him from doing so, “No… I, I can feel it, Stevie.” His eyebrows furrowed like waves of the sea. Confusion struck him.

“Feel what, Ma?” The weight pressed onto his knees, the pressure of the stone floor punctured into his skin. Although his knees screamed in agonizing pain, he paid no attention for his eyes rested on her now almost-soulless ones. The mirrors that would reflect his smile now hazy with unbreathable fog he would not be able to pass through. The wrinkles creased on her cheeks formed bumps of dunes and petit hills gone. It was nothing but a vast area.

“The end.”

Caressing her leg was the prickly grass, Y/N’s fingers curled tightly around her frizzy dress, the sweat that poured out of her pores glistened the thin layer of the complex white sheet. Poking her head in all directions, she bit her bottom lips in slight distraught. Where was he? He must have faltered back a bit. An exhausted sigh left her lips, the back of her head ached as the harsh marbling of the tree bark pierced into her skin. With her head in her palms, she groaned in frustration at the prominent tears in her dress. Darn it. It was a freshly seamed one too.

Despite the fading colours in the now-night sky, her focus was not spent on the change in time. She desperately hoped no one was sent to find her. But of course, in the corner of her thoughts- there laid the knowing that her father was the one to surely send a servant to fetch her. The only way she could see was due to the light source that glossed over the grass patch over the small hill that seeped through the hairbreadth spaces of tree leaves were the moon rays, which glazed her skin and the warm yellows from distant houses. While distracted playing with her shadows, moving her hands in the forms of animals, a figure appeared to rest their eyes on the needed princess to complete their quest.

“My princess! Oh! I have finally found you!” Panting, the woman who held a magnificent bosom yelled out, quite too loud as villagers who inhabited the houses in the nearby perimeter popped their heads out of orifices of their house, towards the girl who sat with fading hopes.

As she snapped to a sitting position, staring at her maid with widened eyes, she prayed Steve had not made an appearance for it would’ve created a painful problem that would be perplexing to solve. Although a part of her craved him to claim his love for her- and then maybe, they could run away, she saw the sparkling glitters in his eyes that didn’t want to let go of the memories that he had made and obviously, his mother who he loved dearly.

There was no sign of him. Fingers digging the sandy soil, small bits and irritating chunk made home in the crevice of her fingernails; the blossoming hair-like grass poked her, taunting every time she twitched to find a more comfortable seating. Frantic emotions raised in her, “Sybil!” With widely open arms, she waited for the woman to climb the hill, who breathed heavily, taking in quick inhales and exhales, most likely exhausted.

Sybil raised her hand, flapping like a bird stuck in muddy water as a surrender to the energy-absorbing activity. The princess stood patiently with her hands behind her back. Finally, the maid had reached her designated place, her hands rested on her knees- still panting heavily as if she had never breathed.

“What are you doing out so late my princess? The castle has gone frantic! It’s a mess! We’ve all been so worried about you! Oh, thank the lord Caspian’s prediction he called ‘theory’, of you was not true. A crazy bloke he is,” Rolling her eyes at the recent unexpected meeting with the king, the vomit worth words spewed by Caspian echoed in her head. God knows where he got his slight gruesome ideas sent shivers down her spine, hopefully, it was somewhere far away from her. The strenuous exercise caused her muscles to groan. The only activity in the castle that called for such pulling of her tissues would be the making of butter for the royals, which nowadays is rare as she has been newly assigned to keep her eyes onto the heights of the grass of the garden; that is until they need her professionalism in the kitchen. “Come along, his Majesty will not be pleased to hear that you’ve spent all this time under the moon.”

In the corner of her eyes, she had seen the streak like the yellow sunset. The burning flame that hovered over the stick formed an orb of light, reflecting his face. Although relief filled her chest to see him before she disappeared into the cage called home, she noted the rough clothing he wore. Then, she was home.

 Screeching like a bird who had set its eyes onto the meal for the day, the silver cutlery traced itself against the twinkling pewter plate. With closed doors, passerby paid no attention as they remained unbothered. The caged tension that sparked between the figures who sat on the dining table formed a twitching silence that’s been waiting to be cut in half.

Sawing the chicken into proper consumable pieces, she plastered a notice onto her head as a reminder to sit with her back straight up and to make sure it was her food that approached her mouth, not the other way around. It was not so lady of her. Eyes glancing at the circular bread that sat in the middle of the table, she bit her bottom lips in contemplation if she should place it on her platter. Almost like a languid creature, she grabbed a slice of the bread when it seemed like her parents were too focused on their thoughts. Munching on the seasoned meals while playing the memory of the embarrassing time where she chewed loudly with an opened mouth formed a stressed string in her head. It was when the Odinson’s family paid to visit. However, she was just merely a child of 9 years. Surely no blame could be placed on that, right? Sighing in her head, she knew that the memory would haunt her to another sleepless night of squirming in an attempt to block it away.

The remembrance of their eyes snapping to her as if she committed a crime that was worth an execution sent shudders every single time she would look back at the horrible memory, not that she wanted to, an accident remembrance. There was an intense despise against the memory that lingered longer than she wanted it to be.

Ever since she had been visiting Steve, she had been very aware and conscious of her surroundings. It was as if her ears had awakened to be on high alert, guarding the world and sounds around her. Therefore, any crack or shingle of her father’s heavy armour, troubled sighs of her mother and the difference in everybody’s breathing or footsteps had been embedded into her head. It amused her how hard she focused on the smallest and subtle aspects that no one would pick up, the overlooked things.

There was no doubt that if her father had caught up with the unusual and… little to no help hobby of hers- the lecture would have taken the whole day. Poking her eyes to peek at her father, who flicked his fingers as a gesture towards the guards to leave the room, there was no usage of words as they seemed to comprehend him. The noble King’s eyes faltered to a shut at the ear-pinching noise of metal dragging onto the ground and the armours that clashed with the floor like the clatter of plates. Not so stealthy and sly anymore. The whooping of the door shut was followed by his heavy weighted sigh.

“There is no point in addressing your late coming to the castle. It is no use to me to inquire you of your adventures outside of these walls, rather than perfecting your sewing,” There was an almost enlightenment of relief, the stone that wrapped around her heart cracked with joy. Letting out a silent sigh in content that she didn’t know she held, she watched as her father languidly placed the luxury utensils onto its’ proper and correct positions beside the plate. However, she wished the feeling of relief was the conclusion to the emotions, it wasn’t. The clench and churning of her stomach were like whispers, feeding onto the idea of horrible possibilities that were very much possible as long as her father remained in his solid position of nobility. If this was like any other normal day, he would have gone on and on with his mouth babbling and spewing as if his hair paled whiter with every word he uttered. “However… this behaviour must be altered if you were to wed.”

As if her ears had finally found something interesting to actually listen to, her hands froze mid-air, hovering over her food that she was about to pierce into. Disbelief painted her face.

“Father?” Gulping down the mass that blocked her throat, she pulled to rest her back on the chair. Not wanting to comprehend his words, she wished it was like a blur. A part of her thought she was overthinking the situation, just like with any obstacles she had faced- having no predictions with her father who she has learned growing up to be very random and most of the time, spontaneous. Although she aged as a part of the royalty, she had heard the consequences faced when the children had gone against their father, who sadly, was also the King. So she knew it wasn’t a wise decision to go argue his proposition, not including the morning’s argument. Despite her wanting to listen to him with a muffled ear, God knows what problems she will have to face if she didn’t list the words.

The grip she clenched onto the narrow silver knife tightened, the lubricant produced by her palm had formed a slick lining of moisture, the pointy object nearly flapping off her hand like a fish who jumped out of its comfort zone and onto land. A sigh breezed out of his tainted lips. The rare sound she barely heard was one of those she scripted in a list amongst the ones she did not like. Although the background of her family prominently impacted the royalty of the kingdom, she paid respect to her father who had managed to keep it stable and monitor such power in his hands that compared to other royals, who’ve lost their minds as soon as that immense energy is placed in their palms. The only time she could recall hearing the sound emitted by him was when she was a child, up late at night (the reason being her dark room), peeking through the door’s crevice of her father’s office. Where he would sigh once, massaging his temples in distress before continuing back to proceed his papers.

“Never would I imply something onto you that you do not consent… but this is for the good of the kingdom,” The tension between the electrifying shocks from the two increasingly intense glares quivered as she vibrated over the string. “It’s finally time for you to tie the knot so peace can be set between lands.”

In the corner of her eyes, she noticed her mother who held her head down, quiet throughout the whole dinner. Even though she did not converse with anyone, Y/N could read the words embedded in her head. Her mother was a strong woman but if you had visited her to sit down and converse, it would most likely be her boasting of the gold that laced in her hair. The last time her mother had done her hair was a long time ago, the memory faded into something she could barely piece together. Her hair was pinned up tall, strands of locks torn down to cover her visage, hands still working through the thick meat.

“Father, I thought we have settled this in the morning? I’ve said what I’ve said and I stand by it,” Distraught cowered her lungs, the hope she held onto now dimmed into the shadows. The war in her head narrowed the possibilities. Even if she was to go against, there was no point. Her father was the king after all. If she knew her father, he was a very patient man who would and could not be wavered even if large amounts of intense and chaos had bestowed upon him. Even though they have discussed the same problem in the early sunrise, the two sides remain to not find a conclusive flat mutuality and understanding. She nearly brought up the one name she prohibited herself to utter in front of her parents and she had somehow succeeded, containing herself not to. “There has to be another way.”

She knew there was no other way. All she hoped for was her father to tarry so the time between her and Steve could linger longer. The clear message was received. However, not well as she watched him shake his head with a lurking disappointment. The appetite that had been building throughout the long day evaporated despite the small amounts of food she had consumed for breakfast. The knife and fork in her hand met the table with a clash. The Queen’s head snapped up. Without hesitation and her heart drumming like tap dancing of the rain, her chair screeched into ears painfully. Nibbling her lip at the ear-piercing sound, her breathing hitched at the path she had decided to walk on. Descending her knees with a hurried speed, she bowed her heavy head which was overflowed with exhaustion, not bothered to keep her back to remain straight.

Before her father had the chance to order her to sit back onto her seat, she scurried out of the dining room with a chained heart.

The yells behind her faded away as the distance grew largely. With frantic movements, she paid no attention to the mud that settled onto her luxurious dress that costed a fortune to be made by the finest of dressmakers. Tears rained down from the upset clouds. Craning her head up, droplets pricked her skin like that of a twitch of a mistake in sewing classes. Somehow, she had managed to outrun and fade away from the peripheral of the guards who paced behind her and the maids that were too occupied with finishing their tasks. All the sound that seeped out of the crevices of the door were gasps of the maids, clashing of armour and yells echoing from one another.

Despite strands of her hair that laid itself onto her face, branching like roots of a plant, she was unbothered to give a care. Sticking to her skin to form a twirling painting, the incomprehensible image itched her. She felt so bounded. The chains that curled around her body tugged her back, the mark it left behind burned her skin. She was hopeless and useless.

She no longer cared for the expense of the dress that was worth tens of lands, all she needed was to be as far as she could from the perimeter of the castle. Fingers curled around her dress, the splashes and squishing sounds emitted when her feet made contact with the mud waved like a piece of awful music which had no rhythm to her ears. If she poured her heart contents’ out, she knew it would not be enough to stabilize her uncontrollable thoughts and the full container of pouring emotions.

Thanks to her informative lookout of Steve, this was her third time seeing his house. The first when it was the second day of him working as a baker for the royal, the second when he had pointed out to her that there were ducks that had been waddling around his area (she was more than ecstatic to have been invited to watch ducks quacking); unfortunately, he did not know that she had already known of the plot of land his house situated on, his neighbours and the continuous long list of those who had inhabited the homes before.

Faint glowing of light blazed from creeks of window shutters of the houses she paced by. The warm and comforting light patted her back, a reminder that she was not alone. That darkness was not stealing a victory this time and that if there were the presence of a vicious beast who would have popped to scare her, there would be multiple to witness her.

Not all monsters embody bodies. Some might as well be words.

The familiar yellow straws that had been thatched onto the roof of the house flapped at the intensity of the wind. Even though the brick walls were similar to those neighbouring ones, Steve’s house seemed different to her. Maybe it was facing the pond but she believed it was due to the range of colour difference in the roof’s straws.

Although she knew it was rude of her to bang on someone’s door at such a random moment in the night time, quite destructive also, she was manifested with irrational actions that could be the end of her. Rapping the door with her knuckles, her hand hovered over the wood. Teeth chewing her bottom lip, she wondered if she had knocked for too long. Annoying, that’s what I am. What if Steve gets irritated? She had started to have second doubts if this was a mistake. Crackling of fire seeped out of the door’s cracks, the rainfall that represented her imaginary sobbing had finally calmed down. The trickles of rain played a soft melody, splattering to meet contact with the small puddle, its own creation that had transformed into a hindered flood. After a solid minute, the door creaked open to expose a Steve with dishevelled hair that weaved messily. She had almost lost her breath when her eyes landed on him. His eyes snapped wide open once he realized who stood in front of him. In a frantic mess, fear engulfed him, if a beloved royal was seen in front of low status houses at so late at night- not only was it over for him, it was for her too. He whipped the door and Y/N caught a glimpse of a fading body in the bed.

“My princess,” Pulling the door to shut behind him, his eyes darted along the path. Despite it being so late at night, it was normal for the villagers to sleep late as they would have to prepare for the next day. Which applies to his parallel neighbor, Peter, who worked day to night with little to no sleep. The reason light was strong from his house was due to his occupation, Steve remembers when he had seen Peter’s fine crafts. The details speckled on the timbres were fascinating, it must’ve taken weeks. Hence, why he mumbled under his breathe. “Please follow me.”

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion but nonetheless, scurried behind him. It was not far, but good enough. The shade allowed Steve’s drumming heart to beat at a slow rate. But not adequate to satisfy the comfort to pace away from his fear. Licking his lips, his knees were jumpy in impatience.

“What do you mean?” With her head stuffed in the clouds, all she had been doing was daydream of the moments they could’ve created. She wouldn’t deny but agree over the fact that she was scared to face the harsh reality. Ever since she grew up, the only thing she could remember was the horrid room she would have to sit in for hours. The walls were menacing and haunting. Hands aching as she would have to sew or practice how to silently place cutlery down. The lingering memory when she had eavesdrop her parents mumbling about her marriage was plastered in a solitary room, the door would open for the memory to lead her to sleepless nights. The longer she remained in comforting happiness, the results end up to be rather unexpected.

Steve let out a sigh full of weight and exhaustion, his fingers waved through the locks of his hair. Ruffling his hair, beads of sweat cascaded down. He bit the inside of his cheeks, “Our love is forbidden. This… this tie around us has already been written down as indecent. You’re a princess and I’m a nobody,” The lashing of his tongue left no time for her to speak out her own opinion. “I’m not like you. And you know that.”

“You’re not a nobody, Stevie,” The ache in his heart left a crack open as pumps of air filled it up. “Sure father’s head would be blown into pieces if I ever told him and sure it will bring my family’s name down… but isn’t that what love is?” She inquired with confusion. The last word she uttered held a strong weight to it and she mumbled it with no hesitation. “Sacrifice?” With his head held down low, eyes focused onto the suddenly interesting puddles with baby ripples, his ears could not help but perk up to everything she uttered. “Steve… please.” As if poked with a finger, her throat froze when she stepped forward in hopes of holding him in her arms. He stepped back.

“I just don’t think we should continue this… meeting. I’ve thought about and you probably did too. I know your father is searching for someone with a status worthy for you. Someone who has land, someone who has a title. Who’s like you.” His eyes drooped down, the fire in his chest roared to awaken for it had not sided with his head, gritting for him to follow his heart who had been trapped in an inescapable cage. The air closed on him, first, he could not think, now he couldn’t breathe. There was one thing his mother had taught him, which he believes does not apply to the current situation. When you run away from your problem, you will only leave a trail that leaves a track for it to follow. And so ever since a little boy, he had followed her words without a doubt. But not now. A force had bounded his ankles, it was as if something did not want him to follow his decision.

“Then let’s go away,” Stopping on his heels, the droplets of water slid down his roof to drench his shoulders. “We can leave a-and live somewhere else, somewhere far.” Clenching on her hand, fear erupted as she never thought of losing him like so.

“I can’t. Just like I said, I’m not like you. I don’t have much.” The screeching of owls emitted from the crowd of trees. Oh, she used to adore the feeling of the soft drips. Now it was nothing but emptiness and darkness comforting her, or an attempt to. The thought of a secret ceremony flew over her head.

For so long she had tried to discreetly escape her room and the castle. The doors that she used frequently to walk into the town or the rooms that seemed unused were barricaded or guarded by loaded guards. She could barely count the days, which have turned into weeks. All of them, she got caught and she ran out of excuses. Whether it was sunset or when the moon woke up from his long nap. All for one person. Even though she had tried countless times, never giving up with a fierce determination, she had finally concluded to the silence echoed from her father. It was possible he did not want her roaming as he decided to find the solution to her marriage. She had no idea who he was discussing her availability with, she doesn’t know who she will be sold to.

There was a time she thought of actually escaping. To run away from the walls of her heart. However, Steve was right. Despite her being a royal family, all she had was family even if people would only glance at her way when gold would flourish every time she walked over the ground.

At first, she thought everyone in the castle was cunning and snitches. She was wrong. Somehow, a maid of hers- very close to her years, knew there was something wrong when she was combing the royals’ hair. The numbness. The aching of her muscles. Mary, her name was. Stood up and had inquired her, she had risked it all- her life, the money she worked hard for, for her parents. Even though it was difficult at the start, the rocky tides had soothed to finally land. The barriers that stood between the two crashed, no side expected the other’s action. It was not right and wise for Mary to judge the princess but she did, she thought she was nothing but a spoiled and ungrateful girl. It had applied the same for the royal.  Y/N assumed that after the day Steve established his, very well-received, thought, everyone had been viewing her differently. As if she was somebody else.

Her head was clogged with him, every second of every day. Whenever she was doing something that held no ability to remind her of him or memory that was connected to Steve, it made her think of the only person she found comfort in. It was unhealthy. A part of her hoped that he would be doing the same, even though it was selfish and cruel of her to wish the pit of feelings she was going through to be placed upon him, but she had to face reality and forced herself to comprehend that he wanted none of it. Even from the start and she was blind to see. Too caught up in the idea of a world with only him and her. All because she was a princess. All because of class.

Steve had been begging the gods to stop haunting and torturing him with all the memories he was forced to leave behind. The day he snapped the string, he felt like everything was over. He couldn’t believe all those words spat from his own mouth. But… that was what he wanted right? She was a princess. He was a mere servant. The possibility of him to call her his lover was nothing but exuding with impossibility.

Whenever Mary had errands to run such as purchasing from the market, she would sneak away to slip a piece of paper under the baker’s door. And although his fingers had run along each- never had he responded. The bundle had laid like a pile of coal that were contrary to warmth.

Something changed that one day. Frustration soared in his chest when those who lived around him glanced at him, they were sceptical. Suspicious. The buildup created flows of anger and irritation to prickle his skin for days. Even though it had felt longer than it actually was- the last string had screeched. He reminisced the painful ripples in his jaw. As soon as his eyes had rested on a girl who halted in the middle of her pace towards his house, he was very much sure it was Y/N’s messenger. The letter that she had held between her fingers creased as Mary stopped, eyes have gone wide at his unusual appearance.

He was never outside when she had dropped the letters. There was nothing but panic and the desperation to go back that fluttered in her head.

He didn’t mean to. Days he stood in front of the shy fire, head in his hand in an attempt to play the day he would always regret. He didn’t mean to snatch the paper from her frail hands. He didn’t mean to rip it through the middle like a knife cutting the thick air, without thinking about tears that seeped into it. He didn’t mean to watch her fall into the watery mud. As if the gods were outrageous with his pathetic actions, the rain roared with vibrant thunder. The witnesses that had circled around them had scurried into their comfort of a house.

The words he had muttered pinned into his skin, a forever memory that he would have to carry away with a heavy heart. The words that he thought would’ve been the last, “Tell her to stop. I’ve had enough of her childish words and actions,” Grinding his teeth, narrowed eyes as he looked down on her. “She’s making this very difficult when all I asked for was for her to leave. I don’t want to be part of her little chess game. She’s nothing but like all those royals, snobbish and selfish. So run along. I never want to see her face ever again.”

Tears of the sky glossed her skin as fear churned in her stomach, the praises and high words uttered by the princess felt like poisonous lies. He was no kind soul. He wore not the silk-gentle eyes. The figure who stood on top of her wasn’t a man. Vibrant and striking like the flag, his eyes flickered with redness. Her hands gripped the sludge, mud slipping around her fingers as a stress reliever.

When Mary paced towards the castle like a newborn giraffe, the castle had never felt hotter than the summers or when one would linger too close to the oven. Even though it had rained minutes before.

“Mary! Oh dear child, what had happened?” Concerned servants circled around her. They stared at her with pity, nose scrunching at the mess she had left behind that trailed behind her.

“Where is the princess?” The river of dirt ran over her cheeks.

So he stood, caramel shirt smudged with dirt and bits of green plants embedded his pants, it seemed as if he had just run out of a jungle, eyebrows furrowed at the elongated script that was hung on the wall. The wind whistled, almost sighing at his atrocious history. It did not soothe the growing fire.

Although the thought of her had peeked over his thinking, he had managed- beating himself to avoid the lasting ends of her. That was how it was for weeks… turning into months. Torturing his head that had no restrictions. That night he went home, the bed that he would always be able to snooze in felt like prodding bricks. He wanted nothing but to rest- somehow, he had been punished.

It seemed like the eyes that watched over him felt that it was necessary to add more weight to his guilt and grief. It was two months in when his eyes had faded, the soul of his mother had abandoned him to live sole. There were times when he had thought it was selfish of her to leave him because ever since a child, it was always him and his mother. Then, living felt difficult to cope with. For weeks his muscles felt sore, his voice never echoed in the house, the door stood shut for weeks before it creaked open when he realized the food that had languidly been consumed and it was time to pay rent. He had prohibited himself to touch his mother’s bed that rested a couple of steps away from him. His eyes had only glossed over the blanket that created bumps and waves.

Oh, how much he had missed walking under the sunny heat and beside the salty sea with his mother. The last memory he had of such a fond moment was that when he was merely a boy of 6 years. Somedays, he had liked to sit in front of the ajar opened window that invited the cooling air with his head rested on his arms- lips pouting as he cranked his memory box. He had reminisced most of the time he had when he was just a boy with twigs as arms, there was nothing he could do, and he could not even aid his mother in hopes of a better lifestyle.

Thanks to his mother’s care, he was now a man with arms stuffed with fish and rabbits, not forgetting the greens. There was pride that had twinkled in her eyes once he had announced that it was possible for him to work under a lord to support the two of them. There was hope that relit with a burning flame.

Acceptance flew by, but it was not easy. Easy was not the word he would use to describe the conditions he was under, at all. It was more of a strangling experience, a horrible one. Days before the unexpected announcement from the royals, he had been battling in an exhausting war within himself. He was desperate for equilibrium and balance. There were silent days and times when he had left his window a hairbreadth space to breathe in the air from the outside. When he had finally found stabilization, out of nowhere, the raw wound that felt that it was losing attention cried once more. The scandalous ties he had with the princess had prodded his mind when his life was finally riding a calm wave. Despite his attempt to build a robust barrier that he had hoped stood tall, it seemed his barrier was not strong enough. The miniature holes exposed his weakest spots, allowing the thoughts to engulf him.

The following days, his hearts weighed heavier than the forest he would chop trees from. A job he had picked up from a lord who inquired him with an interesting offer. Although he had tried to keep his mind busy, Y/N was just splattered all over his head. The ghouls that slept in the corner of his room taunted him with whispers at night, the haunting song led him to the disability to think for a week.

Regrets dreaded his soul. It was not only cruel of him to scare an innocent and harmless maid, but entirely, it was not him. Was it? Hours he spent hoping that the person who had pushed the servant into the mud. Did he even push? If he did make her flinch and land in the mud, was it his fault? Did he become intimidating? He found no closure when he was surrounded by his house walls, accompanied by his own thoughts that seemed to shut his mind from having any other opinions.

The rush of air that occupied his house comforted him, well, it was more of reminding him of what he could’ve got. Time spent with Y/N was the only thing he looked back at, craving for her presence. He would wonder as he chopped woods if she had thought of him. Because all he could do was glance at the door in case of a knock. He had hoped for her to visit him, for way too long. How could she? When I basically ordered a royalty?

Just like a failed pastry, it had seemed his life was crumbling to pieces. The unexpected and uncommon announcement from the castle had caught off the villagers.

It was a sunny day, beads of sweat cascaded down his forehead and puddling on the thirsty yet dry dirt. Since he had been chopping the forest away with the day before, his muscles had weakened with a splat. There was nothing more that he wanted other than to dip his arms in icy water. Despite the decrease in orders in the following day and time to rest, it did no justice to his energy.

The commotion around the messenger who had scrambled onto a platform so everyone was able to see him away felt as if it was just yesterday. While bodies had paced away from the announcement and back to proceed with their chores, Steve remained standing. His eyes flickered in bewilderment. The clench in his hands loosened, the tight grip had slackened as the words had seemed to muffle his hearing.

Prince Loki of Asgard was expected to wed the princess.

Following weeks, it seemed the new announcement had been trailing after him, haunting him with every possibility it can. The news was whispered from lips to ears, like an endless cycle and repetition. The most discussed gossip was about the Prince’s beauty. It had been rumoured that the gold he was drowned in, glittered in his eyes. Young maidens would mumble between one another, passing on the (he believed to be) false rumours that Prince Loki had a voice of silk that roared during battle. Although Steve liked to latch on and believe that maybe, just maybe- if Prince Loki’s… rumours were false, maybe Y/N would be in his arms once again. And then he could start it all over again.

Waves hurled at one another, jumping over each other as it dragged it towards the bed of the ocean. Although it was harsh and rough, it was nothing like the tranquillity exuded close to shore. Whereas the threatening water stared with taunts, the baby waves cuddled and coated the variety sized pebbles of different shapes. With a random arrangement of colours, the gradient of multi matched rocks displayed an accident masterpiece of nature. To some disgusting, others- home. The smell of one day on the water body would either cause someone to regurgitate their meals or sleep with ease.

Glossing over the indigo sparkly surface were two pairs of eyes, though one had far much distance from the other. As if the water had absorbed all the moisture in his throat, his lips fainted to a dry like a dehydrated paintbrush’s bristles. Fiddling with his fingers with his eyes on the figure that had caused him all of the increasing tenfold anxiety.

Approaching the brick wall, separating the two worlds as protection, his jaw clenched with a halt in his pace. It took him everything to hold back, to not take a glance to his right- the clawing of desperation in his gut generated a lot of heat. His eyes quivered. Lips parted in an attempt to utter the words that had been embedded onto the walls of his mind. To only produce a faint buzzing of a groan and lip smacks.

Although deep down inside of him, he held onto the burning rope of hope- wishing for it to come true, his tongue had lashed before he had control over it. With a string of saliva pulled, his words rung through the thick and deafening air, “Are you glad?” As soon as the word echoed into his ears, a groan emitted in his head at the useless inquiry. The answer was prominent, yet he dared to ask.

With every blink, her energy drained out of her body. The will and motivation to raise a muscle eradicated as her head blared to find the answer to his question. A moment passed. “Glad?” She chuckled softly. “I don’t think that is the right word to use with all these tiring emotions and situation,”

He nodded, not knowing how to proceed with the conversation, “I’m a married woman now. It is not right for us to see each other. I will get going now,” Like a spin of a rose, she twirled around with all her gentleness and majestic swirl. Halting as their shoulders stood a hairbreadth away. “It was nice knowing you, Steve Rogers.” Though like a painful tug when her maids braided her hair, she clenched her teeth. Pinching the sides of the dress and hovering it over the ground, she curtsied like an ancient doll who creaked with every nudge.

Steve stood speechless. She was married. And it was not to him.

tag: @bookgirlunicorn

[rosecolouredash]

Displacement ; Hockey!Cashton

Summary: In physics, the term refers to an object’s overall change in position. In psychoanalysis, it is the unconscious transfer of an intense emotion from one object to another.

Warnings: A blend of softness and angst for your reading pleasure.

Notes: Here it is my friends, the next part to Momentum and Collision. I don’t think I’ll never not get weepy from all the messages and asks about this lil series. Keep your eyes peeled for more (did someone say prequel? No?? Just me???) because let’s face it, I’m not ready to let this au and hockey!cashton go just yet.

It was a Sunday morning when you opened your eyes from slumber, a thoughtful look on your face. You had dreamt about Ashton and the days prior and since he’s come home to your shared apartment from the hospital.

That was over a week now.

Shifting your gaze forward, your eyes were met by the sleeping visage of your boyfriend, the captain of the Timberwolves hockey team. He was still wrapped up in his mind and in his dreams. You took a moment to study him. The comforter you shared was pushed halfway down his waist, revealing the black t-shirt he wore to bed. His hair was a tousled mess, most likely due to the movement he made during sleep. You had the urge to run your fingers through his bed head but decided against it; not wanting to wake the second sleeping boy who’s tanned arms held you around your torso.

Calum was also fast asleep. Turning your head, you gazed upon your other boyfriend and envied the way his lashes lightly kissed his caramel skin. His pouty lips were slightly parted as even breaths escaped them.

You frowned when you thought back to when Ashton got hurt and how erratic Calum’s breathing was then, compared to now. Luke shared with you - in private - how he feared his best friend might have passed out from a lack of oxygen when they had checked on their unconscious captain after he got hit.

Mindful of Calum’s arms encircling you, you turned onto your side so that you could fully face the boy. You reached up and lightly traced his cheek with the pad of your thumb. He let out a soft sigh which made you cease your movements. You smiled when he unconsciously pulled you closer. When you repeated your actions, they earned you a flutter of eyelids and for your stare to be met by warm brown eyes.

“Good morning sweetheart,” he murmured, sleep heavy in his voice.

“Good morning,” you said in return, lifting your head up to plant a delicate kiss on his nose.

He pulled back a little and then gave you a peck on the lips.

“Ash still asleep?”

You turned your head while Calum looked over to the other side of the bed. The two of you watched the steady rise and fall of Ashton’s chest.

“Looks like it,” you deemed, gazing back at Calum.

“Good.”

For lack of a better word, Ashton has had trouble sleeping since the incident.

“It’s like our roles have reversed.”

At the comment, the look Calum gave you was almost apologetic.

Ashton was the early-riser between you three or at least, that used to be the case. It never mattered whether your two boys had hockey in the morning or not. The captain was always up and ready to greet his sweetheart and his soulmate with a kiss and a smile. Nowadays, you or Calum or sometimes you both - like now - woke up before him. At first, you were confused at the sudden change in your boyfriend’s sleeping patterns but ultimately blamed it on Ashton’s adjustment to coming home from staying at the hospital for a couple of days.

You and Calum continued a conversation in hushed tones to allow your boyfriend the sleep he deserved. Unknowingly, you both missed the slight crease in Ashton’s brow and the frown that graced his face before it vanished just as quickly as it appeared.

—

You didn’t remember how the dispute even started.

Calum and Ashton had come home one afternoon, from practice, the latter frustrated for some reason. The defenseman had disappeared into the kitchen to grab himself a glass of water which left you to tend to Ashton. Your questions about his day were innocent enough but the captain’s responses were cut and dry.

You hadn’t thought anything of it.

At one point, something in Ashton just snapped.

For as long as you’ve known him, Ashton has never yelled at you. Not like that.

He regretted it, immediately; the volume at which his voice had taken to speak with you.

In a split second, your face had shown fear.

Fear for Ashton.

Fear of Ashton.

Before he could come forward to offer you comfort and a sincere apology, Calum had reappeared.

He stepped between you two and you gripped at your boyfriend’s arm while he stared down at your other.

“That was uncalled for,” Calum spat. Ashton visibly winced at his harsh tone.

“What’s up with you lately?”

Practice was particularly brutal today, to the point where the two were almost at each other’s throats over a disagreement on a play. This happened frequently, as of late. Both Michael and Luke were aware that Calum was still hung up over the fact that he let Ashton get hurt in his presence. Now, whenever they discussed plays on the ice, the alternate captain would find any means to not include Ashton in them, especially if he needed to get physical.

Ashton, on the other hand, was worse for wear. The lack of proper sleep and the constant thrum of his head made him highly irritable. Not knowing how to cope, Ashton took it out on the team; barking out orders and drills like a sergeant which was so unlike his usual level-headed captaincy.

“It’s like I don’t even know who you are anymore.” A frown graced the dark-haired boy’s face, his eyes pleading, “like we don’t even know who you are anymore.”

The apartment went silent as Ashton looked between his soulmate and his sweetheart. He let out a deep sigh, turned around and made his way towards door.

Both you and Calum called out to him, in a panic, to stay.

He paused when his hand reached the doorknob, “I’m sorry for yellin’ at you, sweets.”

You peeked up at him from behind Calum.

Hazel eyes reflected the sadness in his voice.

“Just give me some time, alone.”

With that, he left.

—

You and Calum had settled into bed for the night; Ashton still nowhere to be found. You had called Michael and Luke in hopes that they’d heard from him but to no avail. They hadn’t seen him since practice that afternoon.

When you heard the jingle of keys and the door to the apartment open, you and Calum shared a look. Not sure with what was to transpire, the two of you positioned yourselves so that you faced away from the bedroom door and feigned sleep.

Ashton was heard as he walked down the hallway leading to your shared room. The door made a click as he opened it. Light from the hall filtered into your mostly dark room, safe for the moonlight already streaming in through the window. You could only imagine how Ashton looked as he peeked his head inside.

“You two awake?” He whispered.

Neither of you made a sound.

Ashton chuckled softly, the sound of it a little bitter and sad, as he opened the door fully to step into the room. He made his way over to the foot of the bed and sat on the edge; he faced away from you and Calum.

“I’m such a coward,” Ashton murmured.

You frowned at the statement as your boyfriend continued to talk as he was unaware of yours and Calum’s listening ears.

“I couldn’t admit it,” he continued.

Calum rested his chin on top your head, concerned about what they were about to hear.

“I think there’s something wrong with me.”

You felt yourself and Calum go rigid but still made no sign to let Ashton know that you were awake.

“I know the doctors had cleared me but—” Ashton put his head in his hands, “—there’s still this constant pain in my head and nothing I do can fix it.”

It made perfect sense. The change in his sleep schedule or sometimes lack thereof. His moodiness - on and off the ice.

“Not telling you two, that was my first mistake.”

Ashton would never want to cause you or Calum unnecessary worry. He thought he could deal with this himself but he was scared and it was getting to the point where he needed your help.

“I know Cal’s still berating himself over the ordeal—”

Calum’s grip on you tightened. The guilt that weighed down his chest was ever-present.

“—and that our sweetheart’s been dreamin’ about it too.”

Your heart sank in your chest as your boyfriend voiced this truth. Ashton must have realized this whenever he was stuck awake, late at night, because you often mumbled in your sleep.

“What’s more painful than this damn head injury is knowing that I’m inadvertently hurting the two most important people in my life.”

After his confession, the room went silent.

You were still collecting your thoughts when Calum had another plan, in mind.

“You’re an idiot.”

Ashton froze in place, then turned his body towards what he thought were his two sleeping lovers.

Sitting up, Calum turned on the bedside lamp.

You also sat up, not being able to hide that you both had been wide awake the whole time. The sting of tears creeped at the corner of your eyes as you nodded, “if you think allowing yourself to suffer this alone was the right choice, for us—” you started, gesturing between yourself and Calum, “—then you’re gravely mistaken.”

Before Ashton could respond, you and Calum crawled over to sit on either side of him.

“We’re going to figure this out,” Calum reassured as he took ahold one of Ashton’s hands.

“Together, if you let us,” you added, leaning your head on your captain’s shoulder.

Ashton was rendered speechless though a warm feeling came over him as his soulmate and sweetheart discussed what they were to do next; the first being a trip to the doctor’s the next morning.

—

It was another Sunday morning a couple of weeks later that you opened your eyes from sleep - a peaceful look on your face. For once, you had a dreamless night. Out of habit, you shifted your gaze forward and were stunned to find beautiful hazel eyes staring back at you, lovingly.

With a sweet smile and a quick peck on your lips, he greeted you.

“Good morning, sweets.”

Tagged: @irwinkitten @calpops @rosecoloredash @lilbabycalum @gorgeouslygrace @rainingcal @casht0n-hoodwin @lockthisheartinchains @americanhorrorstudies @lovableah

[hauntingfm]

𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝟎𝟎𝟏 . 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 . 

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 : hemlock police station .  𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 : december 16 , 2019 .  𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐃 : @voidgriff​ @heartofgolds​ @paintingpeyton​ @covingtonhqs​

just about everything got on lot’s nerves . everyone who knew him knew that there was only a few things here and there that truly brought him happiness . and to be honest , sticking around hemlock for the holidays to be investigated was not one of those things . as lot sat in the lobby of the hemlock police station , he picked at scabs that adorned his knuckles and twirled his ratty hair in his fingertips . his gaze snapped from the clerk at the front desk to the barren christmas tree that someone had haphazardly thrown up to liven up the place . in fact , when lot listened close enough , there was even instrumental holiday tunes playing over an invisible , static infused sound system . the combination of the click clacking of keyboards , the yellowy lights adorning the small tree , and the familiarity of the music should have calmed him . however , it was really hard for all of those things to drown out the steady , quick thumping in lot’s chest , the florescent lighting overhead , and the clerk’s narrowed gaze whenever she caught him looking at her . 

eventually , someone had stepped out into the lobby to retrieve him . judging by the obnoxious badge , it was likely the chief of police . lot eyed the badge for just a moment before cocking his brow and following behind the large man back into the belly of the beast . the further lot descended into the police station , the further he felt from the entire world of hemlock outside . part of him liked the disconnect , never fitting in quite right in the strange town . but the majority of him hated it , knowing that he would have to talk about the girl that he cared a whole lot about in front of a couple strangers . lot had never been very good at containing his tears when pressed about something or someone close to his heart . that fact worried him more than anything ; the potential of crying in front of people he barely knew . 

upon entering the investigation room , the private investigator was both everything and nothing like what lot had expected . he almost looked too fitting for the job , like a private investigator in some kid’s movie . whatever the case , lot half smiled , introduced himself , and shook hands with victor watson , private investigator . “ now , your name is actually lancelot kang, correct ? ” the police chief’s voice cut through the air, grabbing the boy’s attention . his dark eyes shot up to the officer , his brows furrowing just slightly before a nod caused his head to dip slowly . “ yeah , lancelot kang . nobody calls me that , though . i prefer lot , ” he explained , settling into the seat across from the two men . victor watson nodded to himself , scribbling something on the page in front of him . “ well , lot … let’s get started , shall we ? ”

“ can you tell me , to the best of your memory , what happened on the night of december 13 , 2019 ? ” 

lot nodded with a determined look on his visage , but his fingers continued to pick at his knuckles beneath the table . “ yeah , so … i don’t have a car , so i got to the covington estate on my skateboard around 9:30 that night . i have a couple friends on the debate team , so i figured i would go and congratulate them on the win . i was supposed to meet up with my best friend , griffin beck , as soon as i got there . which i did ! and i actually spent most of the night with her . i slipped away from griffin at one point to go congratulate peyton underhill on the win . i talked to her for a little bit and i talked to a couple of the other debate team members before i went to go find griffin again . she and i aren’t exactly known for our charisma , so we kind of kept to ourselves most of the night . ”

“ i spent a few hours at the party , but i was over it and i just wanted to go home . i’m ... not exactly the social type . griffin seemed cool with it , so i went to go grab my skateboard where i left it , but i couldn’t find it . i think some drunk kid moved it . i looked around for a while by myself , but eventually griffin came to help . that was pretty late , though . maybe 11 o’clock ? i was gone before the fire thing even happened . that was real , right ? i heard about it , but it sounded crazy . ” lot looked between the private investigator and and the chief of police for answers , which neither seemed to want to give . with a short huff and shrug of his broad shoulders , the boy dropped the subject . 

“ did you see anything unusual that night ? was anyone acting out of the ordinary ? ” 

lot tried to swallow that lump in his throat before he continued on . his nimble fingers tugged at a string hanging from the end of his sweater . lot didn’t exactly frequent covington parties , but he had been to a handful ; enough to know how they typically functioned and enough to know that they were not really his scene . the debate team victory party had pulled him into the mix solely because of his connections to debate team members . but he had no idea at the time that he would be pulled this far into the mix . “ i … well , yeah . she and her friend , rosemary keegan , seemed to be in the middle of an argument when i saw them . i couldn’t really tell what it was about , so i just decided to look for my skateboard and head home . melanie and rosemary are pretty good friends as far as i know , so that was really the only thing that seemed odd . other than that , it just seemed like a regular college party to me . ” the boy felt pretty bad bringing rosemary up like that . she had always been so kind to him and he loved when she was his tour guide at the hemlock history museum . in fact , as much as he didn’t want to admit it , he basically only went to that history museum to see her . 

“ now , lot … can you tell me more about your relationship with melanie ? ” 

and just like that , that fucking lump in lot’s throat came back . with full force , not to mention . but now the burn at the edges of his almond eyes accompanied it . “ sure .” the single word came out strained already . fuck , fuck , fuck , fuck ! this is exactly what lot wanted to avoid ! the last thing he wanted to do was turn into some bitch baby right in front of two of the most intimidating men in hemlock . the boy inhaled a deep , calming breath before continuing . “ melanie and i met at some school event my first year . we pretty much clicked right away . she was just easy to talk to , you know ? ” there he goes . the tell tale crack in his voice followed immediately by a burning hot tear down the side of his cheek . there was no going back now . “ sorry , i … i’m good . talking about her is just really hard . um , we were basically attached at the hip after that day . we recently had a disagreement and i was … i was kind of hoping to make up with her at the party . but like i said , i never really got the chance to talk to her again .” tears were rolling freely down lot’s cheeks at that point . just knowing that he would never get to make it up to melanie caused the boy’s stomach to turn . none of it felt fair . 

somewhat awkwardly , the private investigator offered up a box of tissues for lot . with a small scowl , the weepy boy took a couple and wiped his eyes almost bashfully . this weird tension is exactly what he wanted to avoid , but it was here so he may as well take some of the police department’s tissues . 

“ do you have any reason to believe that someone would want to hurt melanie ? ” 

almost instantly , lot shook his head . “ god , no . melanie was so bright and so interesting . she was so good at talking to people and just talking in general . we don’t really focus on sports at covington so she was like our star football player . but without the football . our star debate team captain . ” for the first time in a while , lot released a short , almost humorous chuckle . it was weak , but it was something . 

“ i think that just about wraps things up for you today , mr . kang . do you have any questions about how the case will proceed ? ” 

lot gazed at the crumpled tissues in his palms , a frown etched on his visage . he thought for a moment , tugging his lip into his mouth . the boy released a deep sigh before looking back up at the men with teary , bloodshot eyes . “ i don’t think so ? thank you for the , uh … tissues . good luck , guys . seriously . ” and with that , it was over . as the chief of police escorted him back out to the lobby and into the strange world of hemlock once more , the boy felt lighter . lot did what he could and that had to be enough . it had to be .