#slit mouthed assassins au

[teecupangel]

I had this dream where an assassin has this slitted smile and when I woke up the first thing I thought was "the slitted mouth assassin???" and I was only thinking if that assassin was a ghost or just had a slitted mouth, so now I wanna know what happens if they had a slitted mouth and it can be any assassin you want I just want slitted mouth assassins scaring the crap out of people

When I read this, my first thought was the urban legend/folklore of the Kuchisake-onna, a woman whose mouth has been slit from ear to ear and would ask people if she was beautiful and if they keep saying yes, she’ll disfigure them the same way, but if they say no, she’ll kill them (usually cut them in half).

Honestly, I vote on Desmond having to deal with this sort of thing as part of “I survived the Solar Flare of 2012 but at what cost?” AU idea. He could also keep wearing a mask (like a face mask or a full on mask) to hide his slit mouth.

Of course, an alternative would be…

The scar-boys (Altaïr, Ezio and Desmond) could be the ones to get slit mouths instead of their canon lip scars.

Now, the common route would be for them to get their slit mouths during the time they got the scar on their lips (like, we’re just exchanging the scar for the slitting) but, if I may suggest an alternative for each:

Altaïr could have gotten his as a punishment for his failure in Jerusalem from Al Mualim himself. It’s a clear show of his failure and Abbas never misses the time to remind Altaïr of that. He’s not allowed to cover it up in Masyaf or in any of the bureaus but he can cover it up (he has to, he’d be easily recognizable if he doesn’t) whenever he’s traveling or performing any tasks and missions for the Brotherhood.

Ezio got his when he accepts Uberto’s invitation to come inside after giving him the documents. He’s grabbed by the guards and maybe Uberto slits his mouth as punishment for being an annoyance and it’s only Rodrigo’s “stop playing around and kill him” orders that made everyone pause long enough for Ezio to get away. He still fails to save his family and his slit mouth is a constant reminder of how he failed his family and how he believed himself to be so stupid to fall for the enemies’ ploys. He hides it most of the time with a fabric of some kind but, when he assassinates people who had a hand in the conspiracy, he pulls the fabric down to show his slit mouth to tell his target how they had created the monster they see in front of them.

And then… there was Desmond…

Who didn’t have a slit mouth…

Until…

One day, during one of Desmond’s few breaks from the Animus, Lucy realized that Desmond hasn’t returned from his ‘walk’ and Rebecca checks the security cameras. They see Desmond just sitting on what used to be Ezio’s room and Shaun makes a snarky comment about how Desmond must have fallen asleep sitting down, or he’s being a spoiled brat that wants someone to get him (Rebecca and Lucy just sigh because they know Shaun doesn’t really believe that, and he’s just being snarky for the sake of being snarky).

So Lucy goes to get him but freezes when he saw the blood coming from the unsheathed hidden blade on Desmond’s left arm.

For a brief moment, flashes of Clay’s death shook Lucy to her very core, making her hands tremble and her skin pale.

Then she called out, “Desmond?”

And Desmond turned to look at her with mouth slit from ear to ear like a mockery of a vicious smile. As blood dripped on the floor, Desmond asked calmly, “Lucy…”

“Do I look like them now?”

[crabs-with-sticks]

Welcome to DADWC, Crabs! 🥰 How about "Our eyes had the most devilish affair; meeting in secret in a room full of people" for Ghilara and Solas? Happy writing!

Thanks for the prompt! Very different from my usual stuff which was very fun. I'm craving a spy au now....

for @dadrunkwriting

Halla, Envy and The Wolf- Ghilara Lavellan/Solas, SFW, 1,065 words

The gathering was ostentatious and gaudy enough to put the Orlesians to shame. It seemed the magister indeed had decided to take a leaf out of the Orelsians’ book for the night with the holding of a grand masquerade. If they had only looked a few more pages ahead they would have realised what an excellent setup such an event made for an assassination.

Ghilara herself was dressed in a long flowing gown of white and gold, a low neckline and sleeves that nearly doubled the width of her shoulders, long gloves concealing her mechanical left arm. A long slit up the skirt of the dress revealed Ghilara’s long legs and bare feet in homage to the Dalish style. Upon her face was placed a pure white mask with horns that twisted back from her face. A Hanal'ghilan. A golden halla.

Ghilara had protested when Lelliana had laid out her outfit, eyeing with skepticism the bold colour and constraints of movement, but the spymaster had insisted. And, as it turned out, Ghilara was not even in the top percentile for wealth wasted on ostentatious gowns and robes.

She plucked a glass of red wine from the tray a waiter, or more likely slave, carried through the crowds of people, all peacocking their wealth in a cacophony of coloured silks, gilding and jewels. She grimaced to see the slave go, but pushed the thought away. By the end of tonight every slave on this estate would be free.

She surveyed the crowd over the rim of her wine, dark and thick like blood, searching for her target. She was not the master of the house, at least not in name, but without her, the family would be torn to shreds in the Magisterium like dogs to meat.

It didn’t take her long to find the target. She hadn’t exactly made it difficult, and Ghilara smirked as she saw the outfit the mage had chosen for the evening. Grotesque and fitting in equal parts. Her mask stretched down over her whole face, the colour of pale, decaying flesh and set within it an oversized screaming mouth, taking up most of the face with its blood red colour. An envy demon.

Well, she was clearly nothing if not self aware.

The woman, Envy, had sequestered herself away from the main party, so she might take audience from her sycophantic devotees one by one. Even now she was reclining back on a red chaise, her gown artfully arrayed around her like a corpse flower, benevolently receiving attentions from a tall and lithe man in a wolf mask which draped out over his face more like the hood of a fur cloak than a mask.

No not just a wolf mask.

The man turned to survey the party and Ghilara caught sight of the three eyes craved into the mask. Ghilara’s smirk returned. It seemed she needn’t have made the effort to come anyway. The wolf masked man cocked his head as he laid eyes on her, standing out from the main buzz of the party. Ghilara raised her glass to him, drinking a sip, letting the red liquid run a trail from the corner of her lip, before flicking her tongue out to catch the liquid on the tip.

Even from where she was she could see the Wolf give her a smile, inclining his head down. It was only the briefest of movements but Ghilara saw the long, familiar fingers, toying a small vial between them. Her gaze flicked back up to the Wolf’s face where a single digit made a shushing gesture, tapping tip of his finger against the bow of his lip.

Ghilara made a shrug, the corner of her mouth still quirked up in a smile, taking a step into the crowd towards Envy. The wolf turned back to Envy, coy and sycophantic in equal measure. Obscured by the sweating press of bodies lolling about the edges of the dance floor, Ghilara did not see those clever fingers allowing but a single drop to fall into Envy’s glass. She did not see Envy’s delighted face as yet another man professed his devotion for her. She did not see the two raising glasses in a toast, the sweet liquid falling down Envy’s pretty throat. Another slow arrow the beast never had a chance to notice.

She was still amidst the crowd when she felt the soft but purposeful ghosting of fingertips over the back of her hand and wrist. Still facing away from him, she tilted her head to allow her words to carry to him and him alone. “You should have let me know and saved me the trouble 'ma vhen'an.”

“And deny myself the pleasure of seeing you so beautiful, ‘ma Hanal’ghilan? I am sure you can find yourself another dance partner for this evening.”

“And what of you, ‘ma fen, will you save me a dance?”

He leaned down so that she could feel the soft tickling of fur hairs on her cheek and the soft inhalation of her hair. His lips were so close to her ear she could feel the brush against them as he spoke. “I will always save you a dance, ‘ma halla, ‘ma vhen’an. Though mayhaps a different kind to the one dear Envy may be due for.” As he spoke his fingers played with her own, teasing and playful, not quite interlocking, running his digits up and down, as if memorising the angles of every joint and carpal.

Ghilara closed her eyes, fixing the moment in her memory, the feeling of his fingers against her own, and the warmth of his breath tickling her neck. “I believe I still have work to do, since you have so kindly robbed me of my initial target. But please do not forget to save me a dance. You know I am still waiting for you.”

She knew that were coming. The words that always came whenever they met now. Though expectation did not lighten the blow. “Ir abelas vhenan.” Even as she was turning round to see him, to see the Wolf properly, he was gone, a vanishing shadow amongst the magisters.

She had an appointment to keep, now with an unknown magister, rather than Envy, though she doubted she would have trouble in finding one. She could only hope that Solas would not keep her waiting for another dance.

[pentacass]

A/N: Post-BG3 Evil™ AU where Shadowheart becomes Mother Superior and Sol retakes her mantle as Lolth's personal assassin.

"More of our agents have gone missing in Amn. Those who remain sent word that Selûnite presence is growing heavier in the city. Likely they have caught wind of our plan to establish an enclave there."

Shadowheart drums her fingers idly on the armrest. This news is not unexpected - recent Selûnite movements have all but led up to it.

"Again, Mother Superior, I must voice my concern. The city's streets are filled with common criminals and vagrants. Mere refuse. The caliber of recruits Amn has to offer does not justify the effort we have-"

She raises a hand; while her advisor falls quiet immediately, she remains staring at the black widow perched on the back of her hand. How long has it been there?

"Do not be so quick to dismiss 'mere refuse', Barros. They are desperate. They lack direction. They harbour resentment for those who stand above them, blind or indifferent to their suffering. All it will take to turn them to our Lady is…a little nudge." She waves her hand in a smooth flourish; the spider remains still, save for the excited chitter of its fangs at the movement. She has to bite down a smile.

"I will not tolerate any more excuses," Shadowheart adds when Barros opens his mouth. "We will continue as planned; if any Selûnite dares interfere, show no mercy."

"Yes, Mother Superior. As you say."

He bows his head, but Shadowheart has already swept out of her seat. She leaves the room and cuts through the main hall, hardly sparing a glance at the faithful who bow at her passing. The dormitory is empty, as is usual during the day, and she shuts the door behind herself. Striding down the length of the chamber, she catches the ropes of the heavy draperies at its very end, and tugs them loose - curtaining the Mother Superior's quarters from the rest of the dormitory.

She raises her hand, and the black widow pounces onto the bed. Dark magic wreathes its tiny body, twisting and elongating into an elven form, finally falling away from the drow woman lying casually across the covers - much too casually for one who had infiltrated a secret Sharran cloister.

"Amn, hm? Such a wonderful, gilded little cesspit," Solistre drawls, as a smile touches Shadowheart's lips. "You could murder someone in broad daylight, and the guards will forget about you in a week."

"Speaking from experience?"

"Perhaps."

She mirrors Shadowheart's smile. The years in Lolth's service have not been kind to Solistre, leaving her with a scar that splits brow and eye, an acid burn across her neck, and more blemishes hidden by her leathers. Most notable, however, are the whites of her sclera that have turned black. A sign of Lolth's favour, Solistre had explained dismissively one night, many years ago, but Shadowheart suspects that is not the whole truth. The Spider Queen's mark on a beloved daughter, like the incurable puncture on her own hand, perhaps?

No matter. Shadowheart kneels on the bed, sets a hand on Solistre's neck, and pushes her down roughly. The drow doesn't resist, reaching for her hips as she straddles the assassin.

"Though I am the Dark Mother's favoured blade, I could spare some time to remove those pesky Selûnites for you." Solistre's fingers slip between the slit of her dress, grasping the naked flesh of her thigh. "For a price."

"Of course. I am eager to begin negotiations." Her hand tightens around Solistre's neck, teasing a smirk from her partner's lips.

"Well then," Solistre purrs, nails digging into flesh. "Make your starting offer."

-

A/N: had a go at making lolthian sol and i'm going insane

[jylesthejester]

Okay so beta design concepts and sins and yeah for the hazbin rockymedia au

Ryan :

Sin - pride, Cause of death - Bar fight : got into the argument at first cause he was being way too prideful to admit he was wrong, it ended with him getting a bullet through the heart. Animal he's based off of/Demon type - He looks more like a wolf with his features but has more agility and flexibility like a cat. Date of death - around the 2010's.

Tina :

She got into heaven due to being relatively well hearted. Cause of death - protecting a child from a tiger attack, ended up getting mauled. Why she's fallen - questioned the rules and generally everything way too much which got her thrown out of heaven. She looks similar to a tiger with striped hair but no tail or ears. Date of death - late 2000's.

Goldy :

Sin - greed. Cause of death - Assassination : She got a bit too greedy with some money and ended up with a slit throat and several stab wounds. Date of death - late 1910's. Demon type/Animal she looks similar to - she doesn't look all that similar to any animals but she's got a bunch of golden patches on her skin all over her body, mainly on her neck, the patches shine in the right lighting like actual gold, her hair also has some golden streaks.

Unicorn Mann :

Sin - ???(might update later). Cause of death - chemical explosion : Mixed some chemicals wrong in his makeshift lab and it exploded, he died only seconds after. Date of death - late 2011. Demon type/animal he looks similar to - he has wings like an alicorn, and well, two horns instead of one, both look like unicorn horns, just more demon-like, he also has a horse tail and hooves on his feet, he has white eyes and a mask-like marking on his face.

Sabre :

Sin - ???(again might update later). Cause of death - hypothermia : he died in the forest, wolves and other woodland creatures eventually got to his body. Date of death - late 1930s. Demon type/what animal he resembles - His mouth has malformed a bit to resemble a beak in a way, he has wings that connect to his arms that are almost like a dull looking orange-gray-ish color, his eyes are a red-color.

These might not be the official thing I go with (most might be tbh) but just small concepts- if you have any ideas for them or the other characters lmk :3

[galaxythedragonshifter]

Ok really cool Evil!Galaxy AU lore i came up with

She's the second villain to ever successfully take over Ninjago (other than Harumi being the first, as far as I'm aware). Unlike Harumi though, Galaxy remains in rule for several years.

She originally decided to "work for" Shadow during the time she was imprisoned, as he had offered her a deal. She took it, resulting in Shadow having more confidence. However, the ninja started to fight, and Galaxy made Shadow flee with her, knowing the ninja's strength. (In the original, Galaxy refuses the deal, wanting to stick by her morals).

(Another change to the original is that Shadow is less "evil" per say. He works as an assassin for a king from another world: King Vadalis. Shadow is much more hesitant after his failed attempt at killing Galaxy. "Shadow" also isn't his real name.)

Matthew also ends up coming with, being carefully watched due to his previous plans of escaping Shadow.

After a while of Galaxy learning her magic and skills, and fine tuning them with the help of Shadow, as well as learning assassin skills, she eventually overthrows Shadow, and Matthew runs to try and warn the ninja.

She then goes back to fight the ninja, using her newly acquired skills and her knowledge of their weaknesses to her advantage, killing all of them but Lloyd and imprisoning him. (She knows keeping all the ninja alive is a huge gamble. She's even wary about leaving Lloyd until she sees how utterly broken he is without the others.) She then becomes ruler of Ninjago.

However, some old friends (Skylor, Scott, Borg, Morro (ghost), ect) break him out. They had started a resistance, and needed Lloyd. Problem was, Lloyd was utterly broken, and it took forever to get him to help. When he did, he felt nothing but hatred towards the second who betrayed him. (can you tell I'm playing with Galaxy's and Harumi's parallels here lmao-)

She rules for several long, cruel years.

Our Galaxy ends up in this world. Seeing the destruction, she wonders "what happened here?".

She sees herself walking down the streets and she hides. Her other has a scar over her eye, over her nose, and her pupils are slits. Her teeth are sharp, her claws are always out, and she has a cruel grin. She looks like Galaxy...but she doesn't at the same time.

Lloyd pins her to the wall angrily, sword at her throat, yelling at her. Galaxy has no idea what's going on, and Lloyd notices..she looks off somehow. Evil!Gal gets too close, and Galaxy pulls Lloyd further into the hiding spot, covering his mouth. They can both see and hear her, and Lloyd is so confused.

Once Evil!Gal is gone, Galaxy explains that she comes from an alternative universe, and that she isn't evil where she comes from; she can't even imagine it. "What...happened to her?"

Lloyd explains, but doesn't trust Galaxy at all. "Yeah that's fair-" Galaxy responds.

Galaxy ends up helping the resistance. (They keep an eye on her, and treat her like a Prisoner due to their suspicions. Galaxy doesn't mind. They eventually loosen up on her though, realizing the amount of help she's been in helping the resistance.)

Some stuff happens here, idk everyone fails at a plan and gets captured maybe??

Galaxy and Evil!Gal fight, and Galaxy is trying to save her counterpart, trying to show her the life she could have had if she hadn't been evil. In the end, Evil!Gal refuses, forcing Galaxy to seal her in stone (think the whole MLP thing with Discord, and Tirek/Cozy Glow/Chrysalis.)

"I'm sorry. But I can't let you harm any more innocent people. I'm sorry that you lost out on a life you could have had."

Tags: @yumeyumeappleo

[regaliasonata]

Au drawing of Artic-Kira

Basically a dino thunder au idea of mine where the rangers have alternate versions of themselves that exist in another world.

Got some inspiration from Dino-Earth from Abaranger and the Blizzard megazord from DF. That thing on her wrist is the artic morpher and it has two lightning bolts around the dino gem, when it's time to morph the rangers push them down and twist the gem(like a z crystal in pokemon).

In this world humanity was able take the ice age and coexist with dinosaurs allowing for advancements and stuff to follow through their development. (Technological, DNA etc) I think I'll call it Blizz-Earth or something

Artic-Kira is an assassin when not being a ranger, she has a slit mouth from unknown means but it may tie into her backstory. Just wait till I draw Artic-Conner, Ethan and Trent( bro Trent and Conner have some fucked up backstories here😭)

Will update but tell me your thoughts?

@azurezfiction @skyland2703

[fumikomiyasaki]

 👑 for either Flynn and Chizuko or Yuzuha and Celestine? (Or what about both-)

Royalty au

Once upon a time there was a prince of a Kingdom that was only covered in Night... many adored Prince Flynn and fell for his charisma and attitude however he only used the people who had some value of him and anyone who wanted to trick him got their life ruined in a few days... however he had his morals and people who deserved his wrath and those who he sparred and made his underlings. However that ball night that should decide for him a potential partner to rule the kingdom with him one day was for once not as boring as he expected... a sudden scream of a woman falling down from the top floor of the ball room landing flat on the ground put everyone to silence... the woman, a princess from the neighbouring kingdom, her throat slit, so she was killed instead of falling down. The masses panicked, Flynn however used the commotion to follow the cloaked suspicious figure on the upper floor... knowing his ways around the castle.

Eventually he caught up to it... yet hearing the guards he pinned them around the corner to the wall and covered their mouth... as the guards dissapeared he tried to lift the hood from the figure but as they tried to stab him he stabbed back.

"I would recognize those eyes anywhere, I am glad you are back my dear Crimson Murderer."

"Urgh of course I had to run into the bloodstained prince again."

"Bloodstained? Do you really believe in silly rumors, I thought you were part of assassins who wanted to bring justice to this kingdom."

She sighed in annoyance glaring at him.

"You may not be my target but... I know you are not as shining as you make yourself to be to the crowd."

However she did not anticipate him stealing that knife out of her hands and be pulled around the waist close to him.

"You say that like you didn't just murder a higher standing noble. But I don't care if you judge me... I still want you to think of the offer i made you."

"I won't ever give up my life for someone like you if I can't even trust you... you should throw away your delusions."

He chuckled and let her go.

"And what if... I tread the same bloody path as you and come with you.~"

"Are you an Idiot?"

He used the knife surprising her by cutting into his finger and smirked.

"Maybe... maybe I am a love fool but... I want to prove to you how sincere I am... that and this princely duty bores me to death... I rather start new."

What choice would she make... she knew he was gonna do something reckless and follow her either way but... kidnapping a prince would bring her to the gallows. Yet... she also knew it was useless to just kill him as well when he might have Valuable information.

"Just follow and don't say anything you Moron."

"As you wish, my dear.~"

"Only know... one day might be the day I stab this dagger into your heart."

"And I will gladly accept it."

She scoffed at his response turning silent before moving on.

Always the perfect daughter, always the perfect representative for the kingdom, this burden was placed upon Celestine but even then, she endured it... even if people called her a doll, a puppet for their own use to gain more influence... yet despite this empty purpose of a life there was one thing for continuing for... often times a young poor boy snuck into the castle to steal some bread since he was young and as she cought him once she often gave him food in return for him bringing items outside the castle... and so Yuzuha and Celestine became friends... however... one day the shock caught up to her.

She just thought it was a simple court meeting where some random criminal was judged for his crimes but... as she saw who walked in she didn't want to believe it. It was Yuzuha... he seemed much more worn down, his face was beat up, his body injured... he seemed more like a victim than a criminal... as one of the judges recited his crimes.

"Manslaugther of 5 people, including his own brother, unknown murder weapon... their faces were burnt off."

He saw her look at him and avoided his face... something was off for sure but... would she speak up... she would ruin everything...

Later in the prison cell however she asked her servants if she was able to talk to him.

"Tell me what really happened."

"...."

"Yuzuha please.... I know you are not capabl-"

"What do you know... all you know is what I told you... you never really been outside her... only manipulated to not see the outside world how could you understand-"

As he grew louder he felt her suddenly hold his hand as he calmed down... this wasn't right, they were friends, he wanted to push her away and give up his life, solely to make things easier on him but... it was only fair to tell her.

"My brother... he became a dark magician and... it ended in this tradegy... nobody would believe me and I don't care if you do either but... this is my truth."

"I believe you... I read enough about magical contracts to know it could be possible... but-"

"You can't help me... its over for me. But-"

He took something from behind his back and handed it into her hand... it was a small music box with a pink flower on it.

"Yuzuha..."

"It was the last gift i could give you... I am not afraid of losing my life but... promise me you stop just listening to others... and actually do something on your own... alright."

"But if you are gone... what reason to live have I then?"

He leaned forward giving her a small kiss before leaning back.

"You can keep me in memory. Life on for me. This world was useless to me but maybe you can give me the hope in the afterlife. "

This was the first time the emotionless facade, the tough shell of her broke... to see her friend moments before his own excecution still only think of her... not only that... that he cared that much... how was she supposed to stop this...

[on-a-lucky-tide]

All my friends are on a Bombard kick, and I got inspired.

Tags: selkie-ish AU, magical curses, beginnings of 'enemies to lovers', Jaskier is a dickhead and has a lot of growing up to do; side character death.

Lambert stared at the troubadour, his mouth slack, his eyes burning with barely contained fury. Lithe, spindly fingers held his pelt tightly, clutched to a chest embellished with silk frills and glossy buttons. His feet wouldn't move because he had been ordered to 'stop'. It was such a vague fucking order. Stop. And the curse always interpreted such commands in their worst light. Sure, stop didn't mean his heart would stop beating, or his blood would freeze. But stop did, ap-fucking-parently, include the rise and fall of his chest. His vision edged in grey and orange before his captor remembered himself.

"Oh, yes, sorry, how forgetful of me, uh…" the troubadour cleared his throat, "you may breathe, but you will not harm me or allow me to come to harm, physically. You can move now. Move all you like."

Lambert tried not to give the arsewipe the satisfaction of a gasp, but he sucked in a huge lungful of air and staggered. As his vision cleared, he lifted his head to level a fierce gaze on Jaskier. "Henselt will have your balls for this, then feed them to you while you're choking in a noose."

The troubadour looked perplexed. "How would that–'' he shook his head, long pheasant feather fluttering over the puffy sleeves of his shoulders, "nevermind, it doesn't matter. Anyway, you would fell every guard that attempted to come near me. Not allow me to come to harm, remember?"

Lambert's jaw creaked as he clenched his teeth, fingers twitching at his sides. There was a knife in the back of his belt. He wanted nothing more than to ram it through the fop's stupid face. He couldn't so, instead, he lashed out with his only other weapon. "So what now, numb nuts? You have my pelt. Want me to go and slit the throat of a man you cuckolded?"

"Nothing so pedestrian," a flap of one hand, the other clutching Lambert's pelt close, "I have a far bigger target in mind."

Lambert's eyes narrowed. "If you order to me to assassinate a king, I'll be sure to tell them who had their hand in my fur when I got the idea." It wasn't unheard of. A few hundred years ago, there had been a spate of political assassinations. Kings sending Witchers after each others crotch goblins to destabilise the kingdom. It had devolved into a clusterfuck and a treaty had been signed at Loc Muinne–the Witcher Accords. No monarch would use their Witcher for anything other than to protect their personage. And yes, that didn't include pre-emptive strikes. Lambert was glad. He didn't much have a taste for murdering kids, even shitheels like Henselt's brats.

"Oh pssh! Not that big. No. You will come with me to Oxenfurt where you will not hurt or harm me, either on the journey, or while there, and then you shall slay one Valdo Marx, slanderist and imbecile."

Lambert rolled his eyes. He should have fucking known. The troubadour had arrived in court two months ago. He introduced himself as Jaskier, with a bow so low that his nose, in addition to the poncy fucking feather on his beret, brushed the floor. Henselt had quartered his last jester for spying, so Jaskier had slotted right into the bloody hole left behind. He was pretty good. A few shanties snuck out in between the courtly ballads. If it was for his penchant for sleeping with every hot-blooded creature on two legs, Jaskier might actually have been fairly tolerable. Voltehre had joked that Lambert was just jealous he hadn't got his dick wet yet. Asshole.

"And then what? You going to post the pelt back to Henselt with an apology letter and a bouquet of flowers?"

"Do you think he would accept such an offering?" Jaskier shot back, lower lip jutted, petulant. "No. I intended to hand it to you. A life for a life, a debt for a debt, I believe that is the motto of your kind, is it not?"

Lambert hadn't been expecting that. He paused long enough for his cynicism to correct the spark of hope that dared flicker in his chest. "Yeah, right."

"I mean it!" Jaskier said, his brows knitting together. "Upon my honour, I shall set you free."

"And why doesn't that fill me with confidence?"

"You'll see. Now, fetch your belongings. You speak to no one, do you understand? Not until we are safely at the border into Lyria. Meet me in the alcove behind the stables."

"Where you fucked the nursemaid last night?"

"Yes."

Lyria. Lambert knew it well. The King of Lyria and Rivia had Geralt and Gweld. Lambert had been hoping to whatever cunt of a deity that liked playing with mortals that the recent diplomatic situation between Kaedwen and Rivia cooled off. The last thing he wanted was to meet Geralt on the battlefield. It would be the first time they had seen each other in fifteen years; Meve didn't bring her Witchers to many official events. She preferred to leave them at home, keeping an eye on her brats.

Lambert headed off to his sparse quarters and gathered the few belongings he had. A battered old journal written by the bastard that had trained him, his sketchbook, his bestiary and his two clean shirts. With his pack and sword on his back, he met Jaskier. The bard had fashioned Lambert's pelt into a cloak, with a bronze clasp at his throat like some fucking parody of a hunter. Maybe he was. Wasn't he wearing the pelt of a wolf, after all? Jaskier flapped his hands once his lute was secure, "Right, you take the dappled one, I'll take–"

"Lambert?"

The blood in Lambert's veins ran cold. Voltehre. Fuck, fuck. He shouldn't be here. Shouldn't fucking be here. He was meant to be out hunting with Henselt. Lambert could smell the copper tang in the air–deer blood–as he turned. He locked eyes with Voltehre just as his partner of twenty years realised what was going on. Someone other than the King had Lambert's fur. Someone was trying to steal him. And what did your best friend do when he saw you in danger? He reached for his fucking sword. No, no, no, no!

Let no harm come to me.

Jaskier's eyes widened, his words froze in his chest, garbled by fear and shock. The curse took hold. Voltehre was a quick draw, but Lambert was quicker. He always had been, ever since they had sparred as children in the courtyard of Kaer Morhen, training to be the perfect bodyguards. Voltehre had always preferred books to fighting, although he could throw a mean right hook in a tavern brawl. In another life, he would have made a great scholar, perhaps even a fucking bard. It didn't matter now. The throwing knife whistled through the air and lodged itself in the only fatal gap in Voltehre's armour. His throat. His steel blade didn't even leave its sheath.

The copper smell intensified and Lambert choked. He watched in mute agony as Voltehre crumpled to the floor, Jaskier's orders ensuring he said not a word. Voltehre's hands scrambled at the hilt sitting between his raised collar, his crimson-stained lips opening and closing as his lungs filled. His blood trickled into the crevices between ancient flagstones, staining the straw and framing his golden curls in a macabre halo.

"Lambert–on the horse, get on the horse! They're coming. We need to go!" Jaskier's voice was shrill, and he shoved at Lambert with shaking hands. Clearly he didn't have quite the appetite for murder as he had indicated, because Lambert could see the terror in his eyes.

Lambert felt numb. His body obeyed even though his mind was paralysed. He swung into the saddle and spurred the unruly beast into a gallop. They cleared the gates in moments. Lambert made himself twist to look back at his friend, witnessing the last fitful twitches of his leg as life drained away. When Lambert turned back to face the green slopes beyond the castle walls, he stared at Jaskier's back and urged the sorrow into anger.

Tonight, he would mourn his friend. He would hide his tears in his jacket. Tomorrow, he would start counting the days until his freedom.

A life for a life.

[b0ther]

tags : drabble/one-shot idk. feminine pronouns, afab reader / royalty or kingdom au, inspired by kill the villainess, eating out, semi-public and clothed though they don’t have sex yet lol we’re gonna have to wait for part two, this was supposed to be short but i got carried away bye.

i’ve been reading a lot of reincarnation manhwas, and i can’t stop thinking about knight yuuta.

knight yuuta with tough, veiny, calloused hands, his fingers are long and pretty and knuckles are chipped with dried blood; a boy that spends his days practicing his swordsmanship against a dull dummy until the sun sets. knight yuuta who is then knighted by a duke’s daughter, whose lips are zipped with obvious intention to display her disinclination to be in the ceremony. knight yuuta who follows the lady home that night, three steps behind her at all times, and recognizes that the vicinity around her isn’t the one that he is welcomed in; knight yuuta who doesn’t speak of it or point it out either way.

“i don’t need a knight,” the lady then says one afternoon, eyes closed as she sips on her most favored flavor of tea under the bright sunlight. knight yuuta is sitting across her, eyes vigilantly watching her every move and ears perked up as if someone is going to ambush her in her own garden — he insisted that the lady enjoy her afternoon tea alone, you see, that he isn’t fit to be sitting on the same table as a lady. but she looked up at him with disinterest that struck his chest, questioning his loyalty to her. he immediately took the only empty seat on the round table.

the duke’s daughter, knight yuuta quickly learns, has a cute side to herself. she keeps him close to her, in the mansion and in the castle, even when she told him that she has no need of him to be around. she takes him to the market, and inside extravagant boutiques that he had never thought that he could enter. and though she has her own lady-in-waiting, she prefers discerning his opinion over hers. knight yuuta does not think of dresses often, and so he carelessly picks ones that he thinks would look best on his lady, and waits just outside the changing room.

but she drags him in, her touch delicate and unforgettable, it’s the first time he’s been touched by those soft hands — she smells of lemon cakes and roses; his lady closes the door and tells him to sit on a chair on the very back of the room. one servant argues — it would be improper for him to see you change, my lady — and she indifferently waves their reasoning away, “he is the only person in this room who has sworn his life to me, wouldn’t it be audacious of me to place my faith on all of you but not him?” as more complaints flows out of the servant’s mouth, his lady raises one hand to silence them and commands another to undo the laces of her dress. that day, knight yuuta learns of the boundaries the lady placed between them — he also learns that the lady has smooth, silky skin, and though his expression is unmoving as he watches her undress to her corset, both hands on his knees forms a fist.

neither knight yuuta nor his lady likes the crown prince very much. he came to learn that the person he is serving is second only to the crown prince, his lady’s inimical fiancé, and that she holds power and influent that most people would not be able to even imagine. knight yuuta knows his lady as one who is loved by all in the duke’s household — and how can one not? his lady, despite her frigid appearance, has the heart of gold that many claims to have, and he is convinced that no one in the kingdom is able to rival neither her elegance nor beauty. and so he wonders, day and night, how is her fate so ill that she is set to marry the wretched prince.

knight yuuta has not ever comment on the countless times his lady hides behind the palace pavilions, shielding herself from leering eyes as she continues to sob and wail quietly into her fragile palms. he has never seen her cry, at all times, he is on the lookout for people that are walking towards them — his gaze is enough to send them away — so that his lady’s dignity would not be tarnished any more than what that bastard prince has commit. he’d kill him, knight yuuta swears, if he isn’t the goddamned crown prince, he’d slit his throat wide open for making his lady cry.

why would anyone choose another woman than his lady? why would anyone openly flaunt their choice in picking arrogant and crude ladies to be their partner? doing so is one thing, but letting his lady catch them in the middle of coition is another. she is trying her best to fit in the mold of the perfect king’s wife, and the crown prince insists lazing around with no inch of grace in his body, even knight yuuta, who comes from a lowly origin, knows better than to exhibit infidelity even in a political driven engagement.

his lady asks him to accompany her to a nighttime tea one evening, and who is knight yuuta to refuse? the underlying sparks in her eyes isn’t present, her voice is low under flickering candlelight as she brings her cup to her lips. “you’re the only one i can trust, sir yuuta,” she says without precipitating movements, “you are my only friend.” that night, yuuta stabs his blade through the chest of a man who tried to bring a knife up to his lady’s face in her own garden. though his lady is unmoving, she lifts her gaze to the sky as the assassin breathes his last breath, “the crown prince has trivialized my knight.” as yuuta peers up at his lady, his eyes widen in overwhelming exalt — she looks magnificent.

trips to town has become a weekly occurrences for yuuta and his lady; her favorite hobby is to dress in regular clothings and prance down the marketplace, making him carry all her luggages. the downtown theater is her best loved place — a new short play every week is to be presented, with new songs and new tricks. his lady loves stories, and yuuta loves watching her eyes light up at every twist the play would offer. though that evening, his lady’s melancholic frown seeps pass her defenses, and he immediately recognizes the presence of the crown prince three rows under where they are sitting — in his arm is another lover yuuta does not recognize.

as his hand creeps to the hilt of his sword, his lady stood up. she is silent, as always, trying her best to not be the center of attention, as she makes her way out the exit. all thoughts of harming the crown prince escapes his mind — his lady is all that matters, after all. he follows her to the empty night streets, hand flying out to catch her wrist; yuuta disobeys his lady for the first time and did not let go even when she tries to pry him off. she refuses to look at him, and he understands, so he tugs her frail body towards his larger one, hand pressing her forehead against his chest.

“i don’t even love him,” as soon as he feels his lady’s sobbings, yuuta pulls them into an alleyway — he will not see her crying face, so no one else can do so. her fingers grip his tunic, tears sopping the material and yuuta can only rock them back and forth as a vain attempt in calming her down. “yuuta, i’m a-always doing my best, i-is that not enough?”

yuuta grits his teeth at the question — he’d kill the crown prince, he swears it. he pulls her from his chest, for the first time, he takes in the sight of her piteous face — her tear-stained cheeks are flushed, eyes swollen, and chest heaving. his heart clenches at the sight, and so, he closes his eyes and brings his large hand to cup her jaws, leaning down to catch her quivering lips with his.

at first, yuuta expects a harsh shove. he expects a slap on his face, or perhaps even a punch. he does not expect for his lady to be melting into the contact; all the tension on his shoulders fades away as he falls in deeper to the kiss, one hand wrapping around her small waist to hold her body closer to his. he can feel her hiccups as she raises her arms to snake around his neck, pulling him down towards her. yuuta knows that he should be careful when it comes to his delicate lady, that he should hold himself back as he is much stronger than she is; and he might have committed a sin when he thrusts her onto the wall.

he silently reprimands his excitement, and while he keeps each hand on her jaw and waist, his dark eyes peered down to his lady, waiting for her to rebuke his actions. but she does not comment on the cold wall or his daring decision — instead, she looks down to her feet, still trying to manage her hiccups, and quietly asks, “are you not going to kiss me again?”

splutters of apologies fly out his lips — he has kissed the crown prince’s fiancé, and while the fear of his own life is not present, yuuta fears for his lady’s. she turns away for a moment, her then erratic breath is now calm and slow, muttering something yuuta does not quite catch. she unhooks her arms from his neck, her soft touch traveling from his neck to the curves of his hard jaws. turning to look at him, shy and timid, his lady grips the base of the hand on her jaw with her smaller ones, tugging it off his face and placing it very carefully on the mound of her breast.

yuuta holds his breath.

the resilient lady keeps her eye contact — he doesn’t know how she does it — and presses her fingers on top of his, making him dig into the fabric and feel his digits drowning in the soft flesh underneath. yuuta does not say a word, he merely does what his lady tells him to do. “you can move,” her pliable voice whispers, and so he does. he takes the initiative to fondle her chest, stepping in closer as he admires how she fits perfectly in his wide palm. the fingers on his hand loosens; his lady takes one thumb to nibble between her teeth as yuuta continues to knead her mound, his breath hot against her face. he was so engrossed in her breast, that when his lady lets out a low sigh, he immediately pulls away.

at an instant, his eyes goes to her face — has he hurt her? he is greeted, however, by his lady’s flushed face (now for an entirely different reason) and her drool pooling on her thumb and on the corner of her pretty lips, threatening to spill out. has her lips always been this plump? yuuta feels his cock hardening against the restraining fabric of his pants as he thinks about how his kiss may be the one making her look so. . . amorous.

“sir yuuta,” his lady whimpers, and he almost flinched at how sultry the complaint sounds. she is so different from the lady he usually serves — so different from the usual bold and prideful woman that she is. yuuta raises his hand back to her chest and she lets out a sigh of relief; his lady looks so small as he towers her, so supple and pliant. is he allowed to do this? is he allowed to see her in such state?

she must have noticed his hesitation. her teeth let go of the thumb in her mouth and she slowly tugs the material of her long skirt to her chest. yuuta let go of her body completely and allows her to exhibit her smooth skin, the fat of her thighs making his head go dizzy even when he’s seen her change so many times. the reveal of her undergarments is slow, but yuuta doesn’t mind, not when his lady is revealing so much of herself to him — her laced underwear cups the shape of her pussy so well, that he almost convinces himself that it’s a sin to be staring for so long.

yuuta swallows the lump in his throat and squats before his lady, the case of his blade clashing against the ground. his face is just inches from her core, breath blowing against her warmth when his lady breaks his trance, “y-you can touch it. if you want.”

he may as well faints. yuuta looks up at his lady who’s intently staring back at him, tense from all that is happening. something tells him that she wants him to touch her, and so he raises one finger — just one, he tries not to be greedy — and presses that finger flat against the length of her slit.

“ngh—“

the responses are all so new for him. he keeps his eyes on his lady as her face rumples into an expression he has never seen her worn — it stirs something inside of him. he wants nothing more but to take his cock out and beat it to the expression she is showing him, but he doesn’t do it. instead, he waits for her cues while occasionally pressing harder on her mound.

“you—“ his lady takes his hand and directs him to a specific spot of her groin; yuuta can feel a bud nestling right there under her underwear, “—you can touch me there.”

yuuta follows her command, and he finds his heart drumming against his chest when his lady’s fingers immediately grips his hair. he places his free hand on her thigh — one he has been longing to hold — and continues pressing her down on the spot she had shown him while occasionally running his finger up and down her slit.

his eyes never leaves his beautiful lady’s face, only glancing to what is in front of him for a moment to see her undergarments getting darker in color when he feels his finger getting wet. yuuta swallows the lump of his throat again — she looks so ravishing, he must say, so inviting. it takes every fiber of his being to not do anything too rash, he wouldn’t want his lady to be uncomfortable around him, but he is only getting more and more close to her pulsating core. her little pants are music to his ears, her little moans of his name — and just his name. they both don’t know what to say in times like this, and yuuta feels content with his lady calling out to him with her velvety voice.

until, of course, something inside of him decides that it’s a good idea to press his lips against the fabric separating his finger and her folds. “yuuta—!” his lady squeals, fingers digging in his scalp as he continues to place flutters of little kisses on her drenched underwear, tasting the sweet slick of his beloved lady. she’s addicting.

yuuta shifts on his feet, angling his face so that he can kiss her better. he uses one finger to pull the fabric aside and let the cool night air breeze against her wet slit. his lady shivers, and he is sure that she is about to say something but his tongue races her, and takes one long lick in between her folds to let her juice run down his tongue. his lips settle on the bud he had felt earlier and slowly sucks on her glistening clit.

noises that his lady makes after he does that is different. though she was panting before, she didn’t do so in a way that is so. . . exhilarating. he is rock hard now, sucking on her throbbing clit, squelching sounds that fill him with delight entering his ears easily. she is so so wet, sopped in her own slick for him.

“y-yuuta—“

he loves her. he really do. yuuta does not lower the intensity of his sucking, and instead, only grips her hips to support her body against the wall once he feels her knees trembling from either side of his body. she’s muttering all sorts of things now, telling him how he feels so good, how his tongue is making her feel so hot.

“yuuta— i’m gonna, i—“

his sweet lady cannot finish her sentence — she is cut off by her own gushing, juice flowing to make a mess on his chin as he continues eating her out, tongue poking at the sensitive button between her folds. she’s trying so hard to keep her voice down, yuuta can tell, biting the back of her hand as she throws her head on the wall. her hips convulses so hard against his face, grinding down on him.

yuuta does not stop. he keeps on lapping up her cum, obsessed with the taste of her honeyed slick as he tugs on her clit softly with his lips, silently begging her to give him more.

“s’enough—“ his lady’s words fall on deaf ears, yuuta keeps slurping up her juice until she finally pushes his head away. “e-enough, sir yuuta!”

yuuta blinks up at her — drowning in the sight of her post orgasm: sweat drenching down her face and neck, chest heaving with massive draws of breath, her hair disheveled and messy (quite unfitting for a lady), and her face somewhat debauched. he made her look like that, a sense of burning pride flares up in his chest, he’s the only one to see his lady like that.

remnants of her juice dribbles down his chin on his throat, and yuuta unconsciously scoops it up with a finger to put in his mouth, indulging himself in another taste of her sweet slick. his lady sees this and looks away, muttering about how indecent he is being. he cannot help the small smirk slipping on his lips as he wipes his face free of her wetness. he stands up, not making a move though his eyes lingers on her chest — he stares longer, more than he usually would and wonders what would his lady’s tits look like under all these article of clothings, and would she ever let him suck on them.

she drops the skirt from her hand, crossing her arms under her chest — perhaps to tease him, or to coax him even further — as her cool expression returns to her face. she still looks embarrassed, face still flushed with her hair sticking firmly on her forehead with sweat, but yuuta does not point it out.

instead, he simply offers her his hand when she says, “take me back to the mansion.” he does not mention too, of course, the way she stumbles in her steps, slightly limping, as they walk back home.

[teecupangel]

So... The idea of assassin's getting joker like scars - what if after Desmond saves the world he goes to DC to become a 'better' version of joker? Or any version of joker? Or his universe is dc?

His memories and his ancestors do get mixed up, some confusion/memory loss of some things ect (maybe everytime he died energy from isu tech remnants he regened with another ancestor more dominant so he switched some styles and personality?

Really just want a jokerish!Desmond who is being guided to do crime and stay on top of things, like the rooks? But does go overboard if he sees red in eagle vision?

Also this one does need a reason for some things they do that are/aren't lethal.

Looking forward to your ideas of joker!desmond

Here’s the slitted mouth Assassin AU idea that most probably inspired this.

I feel like if you want a Joker variant of Desmond, we should base it more on Jack the Ripper’s MO? Not his whole deal but the fact that he weaponized fear itself, using stealth to get to where he wants to be then just going on a rampage to kill every red in the vicinity.

We can use the idea that Desmond’s Eagle Vision has been mutated after the Solar Flare and his Eagle Vision can now project feelings to those surrounding him similar to this ask then we can have Desmond being able to forcefully terrify those around him using this skill. 

Although, even without it, a white figure in a hood suddenly appearing out of nowhere and start killing everyone would definitely terrorize the remaining mooks (like a 100% Terror Build in Ghost of Tsushima type).

In this setup, Desmond would be a rogue all on his own and his hold on his Bleeds have become so screwed up that his very being has become an amalgamation of himself and his Bleeds. He looks like Desmond Miles but his movements, way of speaking, the way he fights…

Everything about him changes without any rhyme or reasons.

His words would slip into different accents without any warning, even when he still hadn’t finished his current sentence. He’s unpredictable because he slips in and out of Bleeds and they all seemed to be in accordance.

Like…

Some kind of hive mind.

Their personalities slip into Desmond whenever a specific Bleed becomes the main personality for… seconds? Minutes? But their thoughts and goals all align. Even Haytham who should be a contrary is a ‘team player’.

Those trying to stop Desmond believe that this ‘harmony’ in a sea of chaotic Bleeds is Desmond. His thoughts, his wishes and his desires are what drives the Bleeds so even if Desmond isn’t the main personality at the moment, granting his desires and wishes will always be the end goal.

But this Bleeding Effect has screwed up Desmond so badly that his morality compass, a flimsy thing from the very beginning, has completely shattered. His Eagle Vision is the only thing keeping him from killing everything in sight.

But…

Desmond would attest to this if he could even remember it.

Lucy Stillman had glowed as blue too.

(I kept it vague if this is purely AC world or a DC crossover so you can take your pick. If it is a DC crossover, Desmond would probably have flimsy alliances with some of Batman’s Rogue gallery like Poison Ivy or maybe even Catwoman. IF he is in the DC ‘verse, Desmond’s gonna set the League of Assassins in the fires of a civil war and he might even come out as the new ‘mentor’ by the end of it)

[arty-shadow-morningstar]

My Maribat Betrothal AU: Take Two

Okay so people like that post that is more of a train wreck produced by my sleep-deprived brain. I expanded on it and added some changes. Fair warning: Most of my ML and DC knowledge came from Maribat fics, a few episodes and the DCU movies like son of Batman. I have Mari's pov and background stuff written and it needs some editing. Anyways, enjoy <3

It is not a continuation but: @alysrose-starchild, @buginetye, @lookatthestars1, @blackroserelina, @macncheesemonster, @mochinek0

[Masterlist]

(Part 2)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

PART 1

Damian groaned.

He was not having a good day.

First, Father decided to pair him with Todd, TODD of all people, for patrol.

Second, while doing a stake-out for the warehouse near the docks which might be used as storage for criminal activity and enduring Red Hood's annoying taunts, they both were knocked out by tranquilizers and his mother's face was the last thing he had remembered seeing.

"Don't worry, little one. You are just fulfilling your duties as heir to the Demon's Head. Then, all will be perfect." She had said, just before he fully lost consciousness.

Third, he woke up to being chained up with a major headache. Taking a bearing of his surroundings, the room he was imprisoned in had two exits, an iron door and a window that had the view of his childhood home. He was dressed in wedding ensembles of the League of Shadows. Red Hood was chained up next to him as well but unlike him, still had his suit and helmet on. Glancing to the other side, he saw a raven-haired girl, chained up and dressed in the black and gold robes of a bride. She had also retained consciousness and was staring at him.

Bluebell eyes met his piercing green.

His betrothal was petite with Asian features. She had freckles dotting her button nose and rosy cheeks.

She is fragile and will break easily, he thought. Why did his mother want him to marry such a weakling?

"Savez-vous où nous sommes? (Do you know where we are?)" Her voice was sweet and trembling with fear. Her eyes were wide and seemed filled with innocence yet carrying great sadness. She was an Angel, an ordinary girl, not fit for this harsh and unforgiving world she was forcefully going to get married to.

She opened her mouth to ask another question and suddenly, she went limp, appearing to be unconscious. Damian furrowed his brows in confusion. Why did she-

A moment later, he heard footsteps approaching and the iron door opened to reveal his mother.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jason woke up to the sight of the Bitch Talia and Demon Spawn, face to face, glaring at each other.

Talia broke the tense silence.

"Damian, I hope you know what you should do."

"To be forcefully married to that little girl. She is no one special. Why am I getting married to her?"

Married? The Demon Spawn is getting married?!

Jason saw through his helmeted vision, a girl about Damian's age, chained up like them but not yet awake. He raised his hand and saw the shackles around his wrists. The chains were connected to the wall. He experimentally yanked the chains, drawing Talia’s attention.

“Well, Jason, you are awake. You can be the best man for the wedding.”

“No. I don’t know what game you are playing but you better release us. B is gonna find us and you will pay. Let the girl go. She is innocent in all of this.” Jason said vehemently.

"Ladybug may not seem like it but she possesses great power that my father converted for centuries. Speaking of, she should be awake by now."

Talia stood up and grabbed Ladybug’s(?) hair and yanked so that her eyes met the girl's. The girl, who unfortunately was going to be the Demon Spawn's bride, lets out a cry and starts to tear up. Jason felt anger at how she was being treated, seeing the girl as a little sister already.

"Tch, See, she is more pathetic than I thought. She is not powerful." Demon Spawn growled out. The girl starts babbling in French. From the little French Jason knows, she was begging for mercy.

“Like I thought, weak. She is not deserving of the title of my wife.” Damian spat out.

"Appearance can be deceiving. Despite her demeanor, she is the current wielder of the Ladybug Miraculous and the Current Guardian. The old Guardian, the old fool had promised her in exchange for his protection." Talia countered, letting go of the girl.

Miraculous? Guardian? What the hell?

"That doesn't mean I want to marry her. She is not worthy of an Al Ghul or a Wayne. Look at her, crying at the slightest feeling of pain."

The mother and son begin to bicker. Damian refusing to marry and Talia trying to change his mind.

“Yes, both have to be willing to be married but the curse placed on both of you will ensure that you will agree.”

The dark haired girl had stopped crying and started whispering in a strange language when the fight started, fiddling with the silver ring she wore. Jason saw a terrifying smile crossed the face of the girl across him that chilled him to the bones. Later, a black blur came out of her robes and went through the door. He wondered if he imagined that before he was a determined glint in her eyes.

He blinked.

Talia was choking on the chains that were previously chained to the wall and were now around her neck. Fortunately for them, Talia had closed the door after her entrance and the guards most likely to be stationed outside didn’t storm into the cell. The girl whispered something in Talia's ear, making the woman's eyes widen with what could be fear.

The experienced assassin struggled to get free and gain an upper hand on the girl but was unsuccessful, passing out from the lack of oxygen and strangely strong grip of the small girl.

What happened next was surprising. She breathed hard on her shackles which instantly disintegrated into flakes of rust.

Holy Shit! Demon Spawn's girl is magic. Jason knows his mouth was hanging open under his helmet at that realization. Damian seems to be in the same state.

Talia didn't have the keys to the locks. Being crafty like that. Bitch

"Call me Lady." she said in lightly accented English as she summoned black orbs at the tip of her hands. “Stay still.”

She then proceeds to place her hands on Jason’s shackles, turning them into nothing more than specks.

"I am Red Hood." said Jason, rubbing his wrists.

"The little shit here," as he kicked Damian's leg, " is-"

"Damian Al Ghul" she said the last name with venom. She moved on to Damian's bonds. "Son of that bitch over there, grandson of Ra's, demon heir, blah blah blah. Hold still, mon mignon. I am sure you don't want to lose a hand."

Damian stopped moving at that, due to the pet name or fear Jason couldn’t tell but by the red at the tips of his ear, it could be the former. And she used her powers to free him.

Lady somehow managed to use what remained of the chains to hog tie Talia up.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“How do we get out?” Damian asked, inspecting the blade that he flinched from his mother.

“Hey, kit.” A nasally voice called out. “I checked out the place we are in. Like you asked. The way to the Throne room is heavily guarded and they seem to think old Ra’s the target. The Pits are guarded too but they are nothing you can’t handle.”

“What is that?” Jason shrieked.

“Thanks, Plagg, you will get that camembert danish when we get back. This is a kwami, a god of sorts and his thing is destruction so I wouldn’t insult him if I were you. He likes to go by Plagg”, answered Lady, which doesn’t clear up Jason’s confusion.

“So, Pigtails, what’s the plan?” The floating, black cat-shaped god(?) asked.

“I was thinking of destroying the Pits to give Al Ghul a middle finger and call Maman to use the Horse to get home.”

“We need Tikki to get rid of it..”

“I will just tell Maman to bring the earrings.”

Damian snorted, “That sounds like a foolish plan. You are insane and not strong enough to take on the League alone, despite having a ‘god’ of destruction at your side. This Tikki or magic earrings will destroy the Pits, many have tried. And sorry to disappoint but no horse can make it up the mountainside of Nanda Parbat.”

“Have to agree with Demon Spawn here and I rarely do that. Your plan sounds insane, Pixie. You are just one girl. Let us help, we know the League better than you. We can come up with a better one.” Jason was worried for the girl, she was crazy if she thought her plan would work.

Lady smirked, “It is a perfectly sound plan. I know what I am talking about. Despite the weak girl act, I am no Damsel in distress. After this is all over, we will split our ways and hopefully, never see each other again.”

“We can’t separate. My mother said there is a curse that will ‘make us fall in love.’” Damian said, using air quotes. “You need to come with us so we can get someone to break it.”

“Fine. But I need to do something before I am coming with you. Plagg, Claws out.”

Bright green light flashed around her and she was now dressed in a black bodysuit with green linings. It was armoured at the chest, knees and elbows. (Add whatever details you want, I can’t do it. Jacket, designs, use your imagination) Her gloves were claws-like, reminding them of Selina and there was a belt carrying some vials, pouches and throwing stars. Her hair was now longer and braided and seemed to move on its own. Cat ears were attached to her head. Her eyes were changed so the sclera were the same shade of blue as her iries and the pupils were slitted like a cat. A black domino mask framed her face. Two ten-inch daggers appeared out of thin air in her hands.

The transformed Lady did the inhuman feat of kicking the door open. The assassins stationed outside were immediately knocked out by Lady.

“Well, are you coming or not?” She called out, before running down the corridor. Jason patted his shocked brother’s shoulder, “You doing okay there, demon spawn?”

“Tch, Let’s go, Todd.” Damian replied, trying to get rid of that funny feeling in his chest.

[yoonpobs]

bodyguard | kth | m

pairing: kim taehyung x oc

genre: enemies to lovers, Bodyguard!AU but oc is the bodyguard, fluff?

warnings: eventual smut, sexual tension, light choking, suggestive content bc oc is a minx and so is tae, i'll add as the story progresses, kim taehyung as a rich kid

words: 2, 138

summary: you protect taehyung from people but forget about the biggest threat. yourself.

“You’re who Namjoon hired?”

You’re used to having bewildered expressions when they find out that you out of all other possible candidates was what your agency decided to provide clients with rather than an objectively more stereotypical option—the big man.

But you were here for a specific reason and you knew that your duty lied in your responsibility to the man in front of you, even if his expression of doubt irritates you.

“Yes, Mr Kim. My name is ____.” You bow your head slightly, hands held together by your pelvis as you stand with your back straight.

The man in front of you glances over at his assistant, who only shoots him a firm nod as if to tell him that he was in fact stuck with you, despite all the uncertainties he may have.

Frankly, when Seokjin first recruited you into the agency, you were merely meant to be in charge of off-field duties and act as intel for field agents, but few of your previous mentors recognised your potential and physical agility when it came to mandatory training and pushed for you to be trained as an official agent rather than a tech lady.

You were lucky that a few of your colleagues had long ditched the misogynistic mindset that women were biologically weaker than men and would serve as a liability to the agency, but there were still a few higher-ups that were traditional in every sense that stuck their noses in your business when Seokjin would assign you to high profile clients.

Kim Taehyung was no different, but you were sure he fell into the latter of the traditional man. He did come from a lineage of old money.

“But you’re a … woman.” He says slowly, eyeing you up and down.

Even the outfit you were in was far off the usual appearance that most bodyguards would take on the first day of work. A long dress with a maxi slit by your leg, which left little to imagine what lies beneath. You bite your tongue to keep the snarky remark down and nod your head tightly to your new boss.

“I best fit the requirements you listed out to my agency.” Is your simple response.

His assistant steps between the two of you before your boss can say anything else, and based on your observations you note that he probably is the rationale behind Kim Taehyung’s mind; the reasonable and objective one.

“I’ll show ____ around headquarters just so she’s aware of the layout.” His assistant says hastily.

You don’t miss the last look your boss gives you, and all you do is bow your head before you turn on your heels, pulling out the gun in your garter and hold it behind your back—ready for duty.

“Jesus fucking Christ, _____.”

You’re used to hearing Taehyung sneer at you. It was something that you needed to get used to when you first were hired for the job because while he was known as an icon, a genius behind his father’s legacy—he was still wholly immature in every sense of a man child.

“Yes, Mr Kim?” You say blandly, flipping through the brochure that was laying idly on his coffee table; clearly ignoring the glare he was shooting you as he wraps the robe tighter around his frame.

Before he can open his mouth to yell at you again, you see the silhouette of the woman that was previously occupying his bed scurry past by the two of you, offering a meek bow of her head towards Taehyung before she’s out the door.

Your eyes follow her uninterestedly until you hear the click of the door, signalling that she was out and gone.

“What is your problem? Is my sex life something you need to protect too?” Taehyung spits.

You skim your eyes over his frame and spot a few marks littered along the expanse of his neck before your eyes rest on his tightened expression; your own one remaining impassive.

“My duty is to ensure you’re safe.” You remind him.

He scoffs, running a hand through his tangled hair—a clear testament to what he was engaging in before you had shamelessly kicked the woman out, mid-progression.

“Hyunbi is harmless.” He sneers at you.

You note that his erratic behaviour was likely a symptom of being cock-blocked, so you hold your tongue and just level him with an unimpressed stare.

“Hyunbi is the heir to the Im group. Need I remind you that her father’s company is the one that threatens your stockholders?”

Frankly, you try to engage with Taehyung on business matters as little as you could because all you were here for was to protect him and ensure that his head wouldn’t be served on the plate of an assassin that was out to get him.

You scoff to yourself because men were truly blinded by their desires and he would’ve risked his family’s fortune because he wanted to get laid.

“Okay, and? She was about to suck my dick not steal intel to the company.” He scoffs.

You don’t say anything but drop the files you found in her purse as you were doing your much-needed background checks on the woman that was visiting on such short notice, especially given the fact that she managed to bypass the system on being on the list before she was sent up.

The moment the beautiful women stepped foot into the apartment, you knew something was off about her. It was intuition from years of training under your belt, but also a womanly instinct. An intuitive sense that told you that she was going to wreak havoc if she could, and it was your duty to prevent that from happening.

“What’s this?” He picks up the documents to skim over the contents.

You don’t say anything but keep your eyes focused on his expression when you see it morph from confusion to realisation and pure mortification.

“She was going to blackmail me?” He asks in a disbelieving tone.

You nod your head.

“And if I hadn’t intervened then she would have probably falsely claimed that she was carrying your child.”

Taehyung shoves the documents aside and rubs his hands across his face, releasing a grunt as he lays back into the expensive leather of his couch.

“I can’t even get laid.” He huffs.

You roll your eyes.

“Taehyung,” You call out to him sternly, and when he opens one eye to look at you, only then do you continue, “You need to be more careful with who you fraternise with. You’re the CEO of the biggest manufacturing company in Korea and that is bound to make you a target to competitors. I can’t be cross-checking every single person you come across because my job is to protect you from physical harm—not be your mother.”

He narrows his eyes at you, and you see the petulance skim the surface of his iris as he leans forward, ensuring that his gaze is kept on your blank expression.

“So, that’s it? I can’t fuck around with anyone? Just because of my position? That’s a load of bullshit ____.” He snaps.

You purse your lips and give him a pointed glare.

“Stop twisting my words. Fuck who you like but be smart about who you stick your dick into.” You tell him lowly.

“Then I might as well fuck you, right? You’re the only person I can trust.” He sneers, leaning closer to you.

Your eyes widen, and your stoic demeanour is interrupted with his blunt words.

While you couldn’t deny that your boss was undeniably attractive, and alluded major sex appeal—he was still your boss and you would never cross professional boundaries no matter how much your body betrayed you. Even the Taehyung’s banter got much more … explicit and flirty, you brushed it off as him being himself. But he’s never explicitly stated anything like that before.

When you realise you’re gaping at him, you quickly try to compose yourself but unfortunately for you, he immediately catches on your surprised expression and bathes in it.

He smirks at you, standing up to walk across to where you were sat and plops next to you, a bit too close for a boss to be to his bodyguard.

“I’m right, aren’t I? You said to be smart and fuck someone who won’t have anything against me.” He whispers into your ear and you try to stop the shivers that travel down your body.

Taehyung notices how tense you are and reaches an arm to trail down your neck, slowly and teasingly until it rests on your hipbone.

You curse yourself for wearing only a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, since it was meant to be your day off until you were made aware of Hyunbi’s visit.

“Watch your mouth, Kim Taehyung.” You grit.

He snorts but nuzzles his nose into the column of your neck, and you feel the hot breath fan across your skin.

“You’re not denying it. Does that mean you want me to fuck you? Nice and deep?” He whispers the words against your skin and you can’t help the involuntary clamp of your thighs.

Taehyung, even as dense as he is, picks up on your movement immediately and reaches his other hand to keep your thighs apart, large hand sprawled across your thigh and you marvel for a moment at how big his hands are.

“Bet I could fuck the uptightness out of you, sweets.”

“Did you forget that I know everything about you?” You hiss, attempting to sound threatening but that only causes Taehyung to grin wider.

“Ooo. I love it when you get bitchy with me.” He teases, rubbing a circle with his thumb on your inner thigh as you feel desire pool in your belly.

“You’re insufferable.” You huff and you hate the way you sound breathless.

“Did I ever tell you how much your bitchiness turns me on? Always dreamed of shutting you up with my cock.” He confesses against your cheek this time and your eyes widen comically, your own hand clamping over his one over your thigh.

As Taehyung momentarily gets distracted with mouthing at your ear, you come to your senses and realise that you’re becoming the pawn in his game.

You quickly flip him over, until he’s settled under you with your knees sprawled next to his thighs, pelvis’ nearly touching as he smirks at you.

“Listen, Kim,” You whisper, leaning down until your noses are touching and you can spot every freckle on his face. He leans up to chase your breath but you don’t allow him the satisfaction of caving in.

“You’d never be able to handle my pussy.” You grin at him.

His eyes darken, and you feel his hands rest tightly on your hip.

You straddle his thighs and lean in until you’re sure his cock feels your pussy against him through the barrier of his robe and your shorts.

“Try me.” He challenges, mirth dancing in his eyes.

“You know why?” You lean into his ear to whisper, and your hands trail down his chest slowly and seductively until they reach the opening of the robe where his pelvis is, touch teasing and suggestive, especially when his breath hitches.

“Why?” He attempts to grind up to you, blinded by his carnal desire.

“Because …” You bite his earlobe and hear the grunt he lets out, cock unmistakably hardening until your core.

“Once you fuck me, you’ll never be able to fuck any other pussy without wishing it was mine.” You say as you pepper kisses down his jaw, right up to his chin until your lips are hovering above his.

But as soon as he attempts to close the distance, you push yourself off of him and return to your stoic and professional stance.

“You have a meeting with your investors in twenty.”

Taehyung gapes at you, the outline of his cock clear against the thin material of his robe as he releases heavy breaths of want as he looks at you in disbelief.

“You can’t be serious.” He snaps.

You shrug your shoulders and cock your head to the clock behind him.

“Good luck getting ready, Kim.” You say with a final smirk, enjoying the fact that you had him frustrated and high.

“This isn’t the end, _____.” He says lowly.

“You better hurry up and hope you finish in less than twenty minutes.” You tease, and you see the tip of his ears burn.

“Maybe I’ll give it five.” You say, flipping your hair over your shoulder and making sure to add a little sway to your hips when you walk away.

You briefly hear a fuck being uttered when you open the door to leave, and you feel triumphant with what you left him with.

[ceruleanskies]

la veuve noire (q.kn)-preview

details: black widow!au, assassin!au, ceo!au, mafia-esque!au, part of the ‘almost’ collab

genre: angst with no happy ending, smut.

pairing: nct’s kun x fem!reader

projected word count: 20-25k

warnings: graphic violence, graphic injury description, depictions of torture, no happy ending, death, weapons, drug use, drinking, swearing, graphic sexual content (tba when it is written), drink spiking, infidelity

Mister Qian leaned forwards so he was close enough that his cologne wafted up your nostrils. Intoxicating. You detected a faint note of cedarwood and the scent of blackberry. 

“I would expect my Executive Assistant to go above and beyond for me in every aspect.”

He placed a hand on your thigh. You resisted the urge to grab his wrist and smash his head against the glass desk. Kun seemed surprised that you didn’t act coy with him; it seemed he enjoyed that.

“Would you be willing to do that?” He teased, moving his hand further up your leg. You suppressed the urge to take the knife from your bag and slit his throat right there and then.

“Of course,” You replied, leaning forwards to give Kun a view of your cleavage. You let a playful smirk cross your lips as you looked down at Kun’s own mouth. Your face was dangerously close to his and you felt your heart rate increase. It had been a while since a man was able to do this to you so easily. 

“That’s what assistants are for, after all,” You flirted back, biting your lip as you gazed deep into his eyes. 

Just as Kun was about to lean in for a kiss, you moved away. The work-oriented part of your mind was triumphant; you had already managed to get Kun wrapped around your finger despite meeting him a mere few minutes ago, but the rational side of your brain was screaming at you to move away from him. You knew he was dangerous. One wrong move and your innards would be splattered all over the pristine windows of his office.

He took your hand and stood you up. Slowly, he wrapped an arm around your waist. A chill ran down your spine as you looked into his eyes. He was testing you. Your mind flashed back to the file you had read on him; he didn’t like women who flung themselves at him. You made sure to keep your breathing calm despite the rapid beating of your heart. 

“Mister Qian,” You said firmly, dropping the cheeky smirk and replacing it with a serious expression. Kun raised a challenging brow. 

“Yes, Miss L/N?” He replied innocently, gazing deep into your eyes. “Is something the matter?”

You kept your eyes on him, defiant. 

“Please remove your hand from my waist,” You said. Kun looked genuinely shocked at your statement. As if he was expecting you to beg him to bend you over the chair and take you from behind. While you did want him to do just that, you knew you had to restrain yourself if you were going to have a good chance of becoming his next Assistant and having a shot at the money you had been promised.

“And why would I do that?” He asked, challenging you. You could tell he was trying to see how far he could push you before you snapped. Little did he know that you were trained for situations like these. You chuckled a little and looked down. You dropped your smile and stared at Kun dead in the face.

“If you don’t, you’ll lose the only woman out of all the candidates who is actually qualified for the position of your executive assistant,” You replied calmly. Then, you leaned in to whisper, “I wouldn’t try your luck, sir.”

You moved your hand down to cover his own, then removed it from your waist while Kun was still in his shocked state. You took a step back and offered him a calm smile. 

“Thank you for this opportunity, Mister Qian,” You said, picked up your bag and walked towards the door. Without turning around, you called, “I look forward to hearing from you.”

a/n: so this is my instalment of @hyucksie​ ‘s ‘almost’ collab! i’m enjoying writing this so much and i hope you are all as excited for this as I am!! if you would like to be added to the taglist, send me an ask or reply to this post!

‘la veuve noire’ is copyright © ceruleanskies, 2020. all rights reserved.

[guiltydumpling]

The Guard: Chapter 4

[KUVIRA X READER ROYAL AU]

Summary: “I called you all here to announce that we have a guest arriving sometime later today. Princess Y/N of the Kingdom of Elysian” The people in the throne room looked at one another confusingly. “Their palace was under sieged and the king had to send the princess away to keep her safe from any assassination attempts. Their kingdom has done a lot for us and has proven to be great allies for generations. She’s come a long way and has been traveling for a week, I expect nothing less than for all of you to treat her as you do a member of the royal family and to attend to everything and anything, she might ask for… This poor child has already been through too much.” There was silence in the throne room for a while, as they let the information sink in. “Dismissed.”

A/N: Hi beautiful beings <3 This chapter has mature content (i.e. explicit lesbian sex and um... death) so please stop reading if you get uncomfortable !!

Word Count: 5.5k

Your kiss grew deeper and more intense. You eagerly pulled at each other as close as you possibly can and you feel Kuvira’s tongue tracing your bottom lip asking for entrance, and you let her. The butterflies in your stomach left your body and all you were feeling at the moment was pure bliss. Your tongues collided and you were slowly being pushed against the wall beside your door.

One of Kuvira’s hands leave your waist and leans it against the wall beside your head. She pulls away from your kiss and you almost whined in disapproval but was immediately replaced by a soft moan when you felt her lips attach to your jaw. She continued to trail wet kisses from your jaw to your chest, careful to not leave any marks that may be difficult to cover up. Your fingers go to her hair and you pull the pins that were holding her usual bun together, letting her hair cascade down her back and you entangle your fingers through them lightly pulling at it “fuck” Kuvira moaned, revealing that she liked a little pain with her pleasure and you pulled on it a little more to satisfy that desire.

Kuvira travels her hand from your chest to your waist to the back of your thighs before hoisting you up and you wrap your legs around her waist as she pinned you harder against the wall. Once you were secure, her hands go to your ass giving them a squeeze while she travelled her lips to your breast, pushing the neckline of your robe to the side. You gasp in pleasure when she takes your right nipple into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it and you grip her shoulders. Your post-masturbation heat warming up again and you pull her with your legs tighter longing for some sort of friction.

Kuvira notices and her hand insinuates to your heat, releasing your nipple from her mouth with a pop and brushes her lips to your ears, giving you goosebumps. You swallow in an attempt to hold back a moan, breathing faster and heavier against Kuvira. Your eyes fall shut as Kuvira lets her fingers idly stroke your blazing heat, teasing you. You release a string of soft moans when Kuvira traces the shell of your ears with her tongue and her touches becomes bolder. Her one hand still gripping your ass through your robe and the other scratching your clit lightly, slowly up and down and your breath hitches when it traces down to your slit. You try to release some tension by moving your hand to her chest to palm her breast through her unform and you feel her heaving from arousal.

“I love whenever you would wear this night robe around me” she whispered in your ear. “I would drive myself crazy thinking about the things I want to do to you when I see you wearing only this… Your neckline falling low… Nipples marking through the silk… I always wondered what it would feel like to slip my hand underneath it and have you moan my name” You massage her breast harder and you take your free hand to place it between your thighs on top of Kuvira’s hand.

You press your palm against the back of her hand consequently putting more pressure on her fingers against your clit and you release a moan. Kuvira chuckles “Eager, are we?” and you hum in response not trusting yourself enough to talk. She obliges and she rubs your clit harder, her other hand pushing your robe up to grip your now bare ass. “fuck Kuvira…” you moan into her ear and she increases her speed. Moans fall from your lips and you start to undo the first few buttons of Kuvira’s uniform revealing a black sports bra. Her forehead was now against yours and your lips were brushing as you felt each other’s breath grow heavier by the second. You lifted her bra to reveal her plump breast and you wasted no time in massaging it against your palm, twisting her nipples between your thumb and your index as your free hand moves to Kuvira’s hair once again to lightly tug on it and Kuvira releases a moan.

Kuvira keeps her fast pace on rubbing your clit and you were already so wet for her. You moan her name repeatedly as you feel yourself closer to the edge. “That’s right princess… come for me…” Kuvira whispers against your mouth and you feel your legs around her growing weaker, overwhelmed from bliss. “Come for me Y/N” she says before increasing her speed against your clit even more and you had to bury your face between her neck and her shoulder to keep yourself from being heard by the entire palace. You climax and your left leg slipped from Kuvira’s waist as she holds your right leg up to keep you from falling on the ground. She continued to rub your clit slowly as she let you ride your orgasm out and you slowly lifted your head up from her neck only to meet Kuvira’s lust-filled forest green eyes.

She slowly pulls her hand away from your heat and drops your right leg to the ground to let you stand on your own now. You stare deeply into each other’s eyes and you take her by the hand “Come here” you say as you lead her to your bed. When you reached the foot of the bed you put both your hands on Kuvira’s shoulder pushing her down to sit on your bed. You don’t break eye contact when you stand between her legs and start to slowly untie the ribbon of your robe. You let your robe fall open for a while, teasing Kuvira when you see her eye your body up and down. You should feel conscious. But you felt powerful. Finally, being able to control something for once in your life. You loved it.

Kuvira couldn’t stop herself from gawking at your naked body as she lightly dragged a finger from your knees to your thighs to your ass and giving it a gentle squeeze. You giggle and you leaned down to give Kuvira a deep kiss before pulling away shortly to let the robe fall from your shoulders and pool at your feet. She grabs you by the waist to pull you closer as she starts to place gentle kisses on your body “You… are… so… fucking… beautiful…” she mutters in between the kisses around your breasts and your stomach and you hum in pleasure, enjoying this sweet and erotic moment.

When she pulls away, you gently push her down the bed and she hold herself up with her elbows as she eyes you in desire. You climb on to the bed, your knees on either side of Kuvira’s waist straddling her and you lean in slowly to brush your lips against hers, and you linger your lips there for a while and you slightly pull away enough to not let Kuvira close the gap between your lips when she lean forward. She does another attempt to kiss you and you repeat your previous action, smiling in amusement when you hear a low growl of frustration from her. “Eager, are we?” you whisper to her and Kuvira lets out a small chuckle, “Are you teasing me princess?” she says, and you hum in response. You start to trace kisses from her jaw down to her neck and you feel Kuvira’s breathing grow heavier and faster as you go further down. When you reach the strap of her sports bra, you now realize that she is still fully clothed.

You suck on a spot between her collarbone and her neck knowing that it will be covered by her uniform anyway as your fingers expertly undid the last few buttons up her already opened top she lifts herself off the bed a little bit to take her arms out from the offensive clothing. You take this moment to release her neck and pull her sports bra off and flinging it to spirits knows where across your chambers. And you go back to brushing your lips against her again while one of your hands fondled with her breast. She makes another attempt to kiss you and you pull away again making her whine “Stop teasing me” she says in a more serious tone and you shake your head, still not moving an inch. “I’ll stop when I want to stop Vee… and right now… I want you to want me… crave me… I want you to desire me like you’ve never desired anyone before…” You whisper against her lips and her half-lidded eyes were so full of lust.

You trace the butt of her lips with the tip of your tongue agonizingly slow. And Kuvira’s eyes were closed now, clenching the sheet beneath her to stop herself from pinning you down and you appreciated it. Even in the heat of the moment she’s still willing to compromise herself for you. Her chest is now heaving when you slid a hand down between the two of you, easily, undoing the button of her pants. Once you did, you slipped a hand in there, situating your hand to her center, her underwear being the only barrier from your hand, and you put pressure against her underwear. Kuvira furrows her eyebrows and gasps in pleasure. “Keep going” she says, eyes still shut. So, you do.

You apply enough pressure to make sure she can feel the friction as you expertly increase your speed. Kuvira still gripping the sheets you move your mouth to her jaw down to her chest and you take a nipple into your mouth, licking and sucking. You lifted your hand only to slip it in once again, this time under the offensive garment and your head was spinning with arousal when you feel how drenched her heat was. This is all for me, you thought. Kuvira arched her back in pleasure and her hips rolled and rocked against your hand desperate for more, creating a rhythm. Letting go of the sheet beneath her, she takes her hand to entangle it to your hair gently massaging your scalp “F… fuck” she moans and she opens her eyes wide enough to meet yours and you release her breast from your mouth still moving your hands between her legs. “Take it off” she says, referring to her bottoms. And you waste no time in pulling your hand away from her to fully undo her bottoms, removing Kuvira’s shoes in the process. You ran a hungry gaze over her beautiful flushed face, collarbones, muscular arms, beautifully toned stomach, and her perfectly shaped thighs.

“Enjoying the view?” She retorts, voice strained. “How can I not?” you say with a playful smile and you lean down to place your lips beside her ear, “You’re so fucking beautiful Vee” and kiss the spot behind her ear. You situated your right leg between her, and your heat was now hovering over one of her legs. You continue to kiss her all over her jaw and her neck and you insinuate your hand between her legs once more caressing her now exposed heat. “… So beautiful” you whisper between kisses and you apply more pressure to your fingers against her blazing heat and increase your pace.

Kuvira’s breath becomes deeper and faster and you take this as a sign to continue increasing your pace. Still holding herself up with her forearms, Kuvira puts her hand on your ass giving it a light squeeze before pushing you down to her leg. Your heat was no directly on her bare thigh as Kuvira grips your hip gently guiding you to rock against her leg which you obey. Your arousal from servicing Kuvira together with the sensation of her leg grinding against your heat was almost too much for you. The exchange of moans and names falling from both your lips echoed through the room as you kept the fast rhythm. Kuvira’s leg was starting to shake and you  knew this all too familiar body reaction. She was close. You grind harder on her leg and you take your free hand to grip on her hair and tug at it “oh fuck…” Kuvira moaned and you pressed your forehead against hers not wanting to miss a moment of her falling off the edge.

“Y/N…” she moaned against your lips as she moves her hand that gripped your hip to the back of your neck forcing your lips to meet hers, no longer wanting to wait. You both moan into the kiss and you were already feeling yourself come close. You don’t stop your kiss in an attempt to muffle the noise you were both making as Kuvira reaches her climax, and after a few more hard grinds you reach yours too. She pulls away first and you look at one another for a while trying to calm your heart rates down, feeling the moist from both your bodies turn into sweat.

Kuvira gives you a small smile before flipping you over so you were now beneath her. “I’m not done with you princess” she says with a mischievous look and you raise an eyebrow “Oh?” you replied in amusement.

“You teased me… now it’s my turn” she says and your heart beats faster when you feel your heat start to warm once more.

Kuvira gives you a deep peck on the lips before trailing wet kisses from your jaw to your neck, chest, breast, stomach, navel, until she was lazily kissing your inner thighs and your breath hitches when her lips brush against your clit. You were so sensitive now and her breath tickling your heat was enough to for you to release a moan and Kuvira chuckles lightly, “I haven’t even done anything princess” she playfully says and you were about to retort back until you felt her press a kiss on your clit and your head falls back in pleasure as you release another moan. She hooks her around your leg to keep it open for her as she starts massaging your clit with her tongue. Her soft tongue against your oversensitive clit was proving to be too much when you feel your legs and your core stiffen “Spirits Kuvira… Fuck…” you moan as you reach another climax and you grip the sheets on the bed to release some of the tension in your body.

She presses a few more kisses on your heat causing your body to jerk in response due to the oversensitivity.  You pull her up from her position and press your lips against hers tasting yourself from her own tongue, but you didn’t mind. You actually liked it. You make out for a while and Kuvira pushes your legs apart once more, tracing her fingers up and down your heat down to your slit and she pulls away from the kiss. “All this… for me?” She whispers as a statement rather than a question, referring to how wet you were right now, and you hum in confirmation.

She continues to trace around your slit and your body was now growing hungry once more. You wanted her inside you. “Vee…” you whined “What?” she asks, locking eyes with you.

“What do you want princess?” she repeats

“please…” you whined

“please what?” she pushes “tell me what you want… what do you want?” she whispers against your lips, not breaking eye contact with you

“I want you…” you mutter

“You want me to what?” Kuvira asks softly already knowing the answer from the way your lust-filled eyes looked at her “I want to hear you say it”

“Fuck me…” you answer breathless

“You want me to fuck you?” She reiterates and you nod your head yes “fuck me… please Vee” and you feel her middle finger pressing to your entrance slowly sliding it in “Yeah?” she asks again “Yeah” you confirm and your eyes fall shut when you feel her bury her strong finger in your heat.

She pumps her one finger in and out slowly before adding a second finger in. Your breath hitches and a string of moans fall from you lips when she starts pumping faster and deeper hitting your sweet spot and you grip her shoulders when she does. Kuvira slowed down for a while before sliding her fingers deep enough to curls her fingers inside you directly hitting your sweet spot and you let out another moan. She doesn’t stop curling her fingers knowing very well what she was hitting. You open your eyes to meet hers and you were so close.

“You like that?” and you nod your head, not trusting yourself enough to form words. “That’s right baby… Come for me one more time… Come for me Y/N” she says, and you were now rocking your hips to meet her fingers as you shut your eyes once more feeling the intensity of your nearing orgasm “Yes Vee… Don’t stop” and you mutter this like a mantra until your body is now jerking from climax. You were breathing so heavily now, moaning Kuvira’s name repeatedly as she slowly pumped her fingers inside of you letting you ride your orgasm out. She pulls out and licks her own fingers clean. Spirits, it was the most erotic thing you’ve ever seen. Your body collapses onto the covers of your bed and Kuvira joins beside you a few moments later your heavy breaths the only thing echoing in the room.

~ ~ ~

It was passed midnight and you were under the covers with Kuvira. Your head was on her chest as she had one arm wrapped around you, her index tracing lazy patterns on the dip of your waist, legs in a tangled mess. You were both staring in the dark.

“Vee?” you whispered, and she hummed in response, “Have you ever been in love?” you asked

“No” she answered. “You?”

“I don’t know” you answered, and she chuckles. “What do you mean?” she says, and you think about it for a while, “I don’t know what it feels like” you finally answer

“love is… when you’re willing to do anything for that person. Suffer for them, work for them, even die for them. When you want nothing more than to see them happy… even if it’s not with you.” She says quietly and you frown. “love sucks” you simply answer, and you feel Kuvira chuckle at your response, “yeah… I guess it does” she agrees, and you lift your head up from her chest to look up at her. You stare into each other’s eyes and you wonder how you’ve lived all your life without knowing this woman. How did you last more than a month in Zaofu without feeling this woman this close, being this intimate? And what do you do when it’s all gone?

“I love you.” you say, “Even if it sucks?” Kuvira replies and you suppress a smile “Even if it sucks.” You respond and Kuvira takes a beat before pulling your face into hers, giving you a sweet kiss.

“I love you too.” She says after pulling away “Even if it sucks?” you ask back and she laughs lightly, “You could be the death of me, and I would still choose to love you Y/N” she answers and your heart swells. You two smile at each other like idiots. You two were idiots. You press another kiss to her lips before laying your head back down on her chest.

None of you spoke after that. You felt Kuvira’s breathing slow and your eyes were drooping down. You fell asleep in each other’s arms.

You here something shuffling in the dark and you stir only to feel the other side of the bed empty. You slowly pry your eyes open and you see Kuvira in her pants and sports bra searching the floor for something.

“Vee… What are you doing?” you mutter half asleep

Kuvira finds her top and wears it, doing the first few buttons before walking towards you. She sits on the edge of the side of your bed and caresses your sleepy figure, “I have to go” she whispers. You groan in rejection and you lazily tug at her arm, “no… the sun is barely up… go back to sleep with me” you whine, and she laughs lightly at your childishness. “I would love nothing more princess… But I have to get ready for the day and make my rounds” she explains, and you groan in frustration “fine” you say sleepily. You feel her get up from the edge of the bed only to have something tosses at you a few moments later. Your eyes snap open and you immediately sit up. You looked down at the tossed item and you see a robe.

“You wouldn’t want Zhu Li catching you naked in bed now, would you?” Kuvira asks playfully standing at the foot of your bed and you secure the robe around your waist as Kuvira walks towards you again. She takes either side of your face and kisses the tip of your nose and you smile at the gesture before she gives you another peck, but this time on the lips. She holds your face for a while before she pulls away “I have to go…” she whispers with a disappointed tone and you shake your head in disapproval “I’m a princess so what I say goes and I want you to stay” you answer playfully earning a smile from Kuvira “I’m just kidding… do what you have to do captain. I’ll see you later” you smile at her and Kuvira kisses you deeper this time. “I love you, princess” she says after pulling away and you almost tear up from the fullness of your heart. “I love you, captain” you respond, and she moves away from you, much to your dismay and left the room.

You looked out the window, and the sun is barely peeking through. You let out a deep sigh and fell back into bed quickly drifting off to sleep once more.

A few hours later and Zhu Li enters your room with the sun shining this time and you greet Zhu Li with a bright smile and an overly enthusiastic “Good Morning!” and Zhu Li stops in her tracks and looks at you suspiciously. You stare back at her in confusion “what?” you ask.

“You seem… happy?” she says cautiously walking towards you to place your tray of breakfast down on your bed and you pretend to look shocked, “Am I not allowed to be happy?” you ask, faking offense. “No I’m glad you’re happy your highness it’s just… out of the blue” she explains and you were about to say something when you were cut off by a knock on your door and Kuvira entering your chambers, in a crisp new uniform and armor.

“Good Morning!” She says brightly with a big smile. Zhu Li raises an eyebrow and looks back and forth between you and Kuvira. After a few seconds of silence and staring at one another Zhu Li clears her throat and adjusts her glasses.

“I can’t say I’m surprised” she finally says, motioning between you and Kuvira, and you try to suppress a smile.

~ ~ ~

Another month goes by and you have never felt more happier in your life. You and Kuvira decided to keep your relationship between the two of you for practicality except for Zhu Li. You went through everyday as you usually would. You would spend your mornings either training with Kuvira or watching her train, the afternoon with Suyin or in the library, and the evening with the Beifongs during supper before you retire to your chambers with Kuvira as an “escort”.

You weren’t allowed to show public displays of affection, even alone in the library, you would sit a chair apart and would just occasionally steal glances or exchange passive flirtations and that was about the most you could do. You were still a princess after all, and she was a guard. Someone could easily walk in and catch the two of you.

You lived for your moments with Kuvira during the evening in your chambers. The walls you built around you during the day immediately crumble when you two are left alone. You two talk about anything about everything as you cuddle and share sweet kisses. A reserved quiet princess and a respected captain, now just simple people in love. After over a month of this dynamic, you two were more than just lovers now.

You two would share drinks, soak in the bath, or watch Kuvira make incident reports or she watches you sketch before you fall asleep in each other’s arms. It became a regular thing whenever Kuvira would sneak out before dawn for precaution and as much as you disliked waking up to her empty side of the bed, you understood. You had to.

You received another letter from your father two weeks ago saying that the rebels were surrendering, and they were in the process of meeting terms and negotiations which you were glad to hear. As much as you were happy, you missed your father, and it guilts you that he’s alone in Elysian taking care of a mess he shouldn’t have to because he was betrayed by his most trusted advisor shortly after the death of his own daughter and your sister. Meanwhile, you were here in Zaofu, not able to do anything about it. Kuvira tells you that your father would want you to be happy and that you shouldn’t guilt yourself that you are. And knowing your father, Kuvira was right, but you still can’t help but feel the guilt.

At the moment, you just finished bathing and you exit the bathroom in your night gown to see Kuvira on the couch reading a new book. You smiled and walked towards Kuvira, situating yourself beside her. She automatically extends her one arm to wrap around you and you put your head on her should before tucking your feet underneath you. “Am I dreaming or are you reading a book?” you ask playfully, and she rolls her eyes. “I’m just teasing” you say before giving her bare shoulder a peck. Kuvira’s eyes does not leave the page.

“What are you reading” you ask. “The Lord of the Flies” she answers shortly, “What is it about?” you ask as if you have never read the book and Kuvira raises an eyebrow at you knowing well enough that you knew what is was about “I’m not about tell you a story you already know” she states and you giggle, “You don’t know that… What if I’ve never read it?” you challenge, “I would bet our relationship and a million yuans that you’ve already read this…” and you pretend to frown.

“I genuinely thought I was going to be in a relationship with a princess, not an old lady stalker who’s read every scripture to ever exist and draws me in secret hoping I wouldn’t notice” she says playfully eyeing you, and you blush pretending to be offended.

“Well pardon me, for not being as cool as you, miss captain of the guard” you retort

“You wish you were as cool as me” she says as she closes the book and puts the book down

“I can be cool… I’m a master archer” you say as archery was literally your only impressive skill and she rolls her eyes at you. “Which reminds me!” you add, “I can’t believe you quit on our first lesson… I’m not that bad of a teacher, right?” you say somewhat seriously, and she laughs lightly. “What?” you ask not understanding her reaction.

“No… you were a good teacher actually” she says, and your eyes widen in surprise. “Well then why did you quit on our first lesson?” you ask and Kuvira locks eyes with you, her features tightening to look more collected as if she was about to tell you something very important.

“When you were teaching me… You were very close to me and your hands were touching mine.” She says seriously and your mouth falls slightly open in the revelation “your boobs were pressed against my back and you were whispering in my ear the entire time” she continues, and you stifle laugh. “At that point it was either I quit our lessons to make sure I’m never teased like that again, or I fuck you right then and there… obviously I chose the former to be more appropriate” she said with a smirk and you still couldn’t believe her reason “You fucked me a week after anyway so it didn’t really matter did it?” you joke and Kuvira laughs, “Are you complaining princess?” she asks and you shake your head no

“… I thought you quit because I was bad” you said and she shakes her head with a smile leaning closer to your face, “you were wonderful, my love… I’m afraid the issue was on me” she says before giving you a peck and before she pulls away you grab the back of her head pushing her back in again to deepen the kiss.

She snakes her arms around your waist, and she pulls you on top of her and you were now straddling her lap. Her hand settle on your ass gently squeezing when she pulls away to trace kiss down your jaw to your chest. You were about to pull the pins that held Kuvira’s hair up when—

Knock knock

causing you both immediately halt your activity and you instantly slide off Kuvira’s lap. “Who’s that?” Kuvira whispers in an alarmed tone and you shrug your shoulders “I don’t know, nobody knocks on my door in the evening except for you” you whisper back.

Knock knock

You two start to panic. “Should I hide?” Kuvira asks and you nod your head “just… stay here and out of sight okay.” You say

Knock knock

“Hold on!” you say loud enough to make sure whoever is on the other side of the door can hear you. You get off the couch and make your way to the door, grabbing a shawl on the for extra coverage. You swing the door open to be greeted by Suyin.

“Your majesty!” you greet surprised and you do a curtsy. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” you ask and Suyin does not say a word. She just looks at you with sad eyes. “Your Majesty?” you ask after a few moments of silence and you start to become nervous. You hear Kuvira’s footsteps as she walks to the door to reveal herself to Suyin.

Shock and realization flashes in Suyin’s eyes but she still did not say a word. You feel Kuvira walk closer to you and she gently puts a hand on your lower back discreetly. “Su… What’s wrong?” Kuvira asks for you, and Suyin’s eyes were glistening before a tear falls and your hands were starting to become clammy from nerves.

“Oh, my child… Someone’s here to see you” She finally says.

~ ~ ~

You were led to the receiving hall by Suyin with Kuvira shortly behind you and your mind was running wild of who might want to see you and what news they may bring. You were sure it wasn’t your father considering that he was in the middle of making terms and negotiations to finally end the attacks on your kingdom without having to start a war.

You enter the hall and you see a tall man with his back facing you. He was looking out of the stained-glass window with his hand behind his back. He was wearing an armor with your family crest on the shoulder cap. He looked familiar.

He turns around to face you and you immediately recognize this man, he was the King’s Guard. What is he doing here? He should be with my father. He walks towards you and kneels before you with his head down, “Your majesty” he greets you and your brain lags for a moment. Your majesty. That was meant for kings and queens why would he— “oh…” was all you managed to say not quite sure how to react.

“I am so sorry…” Suyin says as she pulls you into a hug and you bury your face into her neck. You didn’t know what to say or what to do. All you know is the pit in your stomach, the emptiness in your chest, your knees wanting to cave in, and the tears that were now streaming down your face. “Oh, my child…” Suyin gently whispers as you pull her tighter and your sob becomes louder. You feel Kuvira’s hand gently rubbing your back, but you refused to let Suyin go afraid that you might collapse if you do. You continue to cry.

He’s gone… The king… The only family you had left… Your father… is dead.

[inber]

Monsters and Monarchs - one shot AU drabble

"Born with a silver spoon in his mouth." Geralt overhears a woman talking, "Too good to show his face at these events. Us common folk aren't worth his time."

Inside the carriage he's travelling in - alone - he laughs. He laughs until he's breathless and wheezy. The royal procession continues; his uncle, Lord Stregobor, rides up front on a decorated horse, then his stepmother, Queen Visenna - and then the golden, windowless vehicle that he inhabits brings up the rear.

Would that he had that silver spoon, he thinks, wiping his eyes. Perhaps he could use it to bribe one of the guards at his tower door, so he could sneak outside and feel the sun on his skin. But he'd certainly not put it near his mouth.

Silver burns monsters.

"All hail Queen Visenna, Prince Geralt, and Lord Stregobor!" A page announces, his voice breaking mid-sentence under the strain of puberty. Geralt hears the creak of the castle gates, the last cheers of the faithful crowd, and he is so fucking glad to have that annual nonsense over with that his body feels heavy with relief. He will return to the tower. Another year of darkness.

His uncle swears they are seeking a cure for Geralt's affliction. They will find a way for him to live peacefully amongst people. Someday he'll eat food that isn't warm with recent death, still feathered or furred, slit open for him to tear apart raw.

Geralt doesn't believe that. He will live as long as his stepmother does. She does not visit him, does not send word to him, but he knows her pity stands between him and a silver slice of an assassin's blade. His uncle has a taste for power, now.

And a monster could never rule.

They stop the carriage directly outside the door of Geralt's tower. He knows the ritual. Obediently, he waits for the sound of the heavy oak to creak open, and then the prop of protective boards to shield him from view. When the carriage door opens, he steps out through the temporary tunnel, and back into his lair.

The bolt jars into place behind him. He knows better than to test it by now. Instead, he ascends the winding stairs that lead to his room.

It's a large and lavish cage for a beast, he guesses, judging by literature he's read. He has candlelight and a desk. He has a bed, covered with thick furs. He has a fireplace and a copper bathtub. He has an area to exercise in, with heavy weights to lift.

Food is delivered downstairs, once a day. Keeps the blood and viscera to one place. Sometimes he's given soapy water to rinse the floor down with; all the grime filters down through a grate.

He stands awkwardly in his domain, the crown prince of nothing, and thinks of that assassin's blade.

"Awfully morose bedroom for a prince," A cheerful voice flits from a dark corner, and Geralt startles violently enough to trip over his own feet, landing hard on his arse.

"Who goes there?" He barks; his throat hurts from lack of use.

"Nobody of import." The voice assures him, and a man appears from the shadows. He's dressed plainly in shades of muted grey. His chestnut hair is a reflection of his demeanour, casually ruffled. He has the clearest blue eyes Geralt has ever seen.

"How did you--?" Geralt rasps, and then curls his upper lip. "Thought uncle would wait a little longer. Never mind. Grant me a quick death as a mercy, and you have my pardon."

"Death?" The man frowns, "I have no desire to kill you, your highness. I was just dropping by to steal a few things, actually. You have no idea how much something with your handwriting on it fetches, in the right circles. The cursed prince, ooooh." He tilts his head. "You don't look very cursed to me, actually."

Geralt stares at him stupidly. All he can manage to ask is, "How the fuck did you get in?"

"Your roof tiles are rather easy to slip aside, and the rafters are spread far apart."

"You... climbed onto the roof?" Geralt's mouth hangs open in disbelief.

"Climbed the whole tower. The ivy growing up it makes it easy, then there's footholds in the stone -- anyway, I'm sure you don't wish to hear a thief's nonsense." The man shrugs.

"I do!" Geralt shoves himself to his feet, "I really, truly do. Here, take, take what you want," He pushes a stack of parchments forward on the desk, "If you'll just sit awhile. And tell me about things outside."

The thief looks wary for a moment, before he grins. "Yeah, alright. What did you want to know?"

Geralt sighs wistfully. "Anything."

[rouiyan]

𝘋𝘌𝘈𝘙𝘓𝘠 𝘋𝘌𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘛𝘌𝘋 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

⧏ the third volume of rouiyan’s debut series, till death do us part ⧐

synopsis: “prince jeno looks for the man in the moon, he wonders if he's looking right back at him.”

✧ prince!lee jeno x crown princess!reader ✧ royalty au

✧ genres : angst ✧ word count : 5.0k ✧ disclaimers : childhood trauma, mental/emotional parental abuse, depictions of drowning, violence in the form of attempted assassination/murder, blood, gory scenes

✧ author’s note — i had this finished and drafted on sunday. i proofread it, fucking hated it, and deleted it. here's the much better version that was finished at 3:27 a.m.

read volume two here: overcast skies and those who die.

prince jeno is seated at the head of the dining hall among an array of immediate family, distant family, advisors and any other official that is deemed trustworthy enough to attend the second prince's fifth birthday. his seat is raised so that he's able to reach the table but even then, his short stature makes it seem as if his parents and sibling are still towering over him, still. instead of smiling over the platters of food that are all catered towards his taste, he's glowering and persistent, if anything, to return the gaze of anyone but his own reflection in the porcelain plate.

he looks up, for the briefest of seconds, and his mother is relieved, also for the briefest of seconds in the belief that he was to say something of importance, perhaps a 'thank you for coming,' would be the most appropriate for his age. she's disappointed to note that jeno's eyes are held in distaste on the boy seven seats down from him, smiling and talking to himself, or rather the food he's chasing around the plate with his fork. his mother is disappointed, to say the least, that jeno cannot get past that thick little head of his and be prince-like in any way. 

she wouldn't be surprised if it was in relation to the events that occurred a little over a fortnight ago.

jeno peaked his head into the throne room and, noting that it was empty, turned back to look at his friend since birth, na jaemin. "what do we do now?" jeno's shy his friend's height by a quarter of an inch, not that height matters all that much when you're only four years of age. jaemin looked into the prince's eyes, "we go in," he said with a mischievous glint. 

the kids were tiptoeing, for the dramatics, there really wasn't anyone who could notice them with the rest of both their families caught up in the schematics of a new trade war. the two of them excluded for obvious reasons, their age. prince jaemin at the age of four was already used to dominating in all aspects of royalty. jeno supposed that being the sole heir of the throne had its fair share of benefits, maybe not fair, definitely unfair. the two were friends because of family ties and if not for family ties, jeno wasn't sure he'd ever like to talk to the likes of jaemin, the royalty of royalty.

jeno's nose scrunches each time some adult would comment that he was 'cute' and jaemin 'handsome.' he wonders why his status as second prince would make him look different in any way. even now, looking over at jaemin's side profile, he doesn't think of him as any more 'handsome' than 'cute.' resolutely, his eyebrows knit as the two boys round up on the two elevated thrones at the back end of the extensive room. jeno peers at jaemin behind him for affirmation to do the deed. he only nods encouragingly.

taking a deep breath, jeno takes a step upwards, two, and looks back at jaemin again. he's a step below him now. three steps later and they’re at the platform on which the two royal seats are built into. jeno pads carefully to the more elaborate of the two effigies on the left. his steps were silent on the woven rug and he's reminded of his bare feet, he'd learned a great deal long ago in his etiquette of royalty lessons how hefty of an offense bare feet on the royal rug is, much less the trouble he was to make not a minute after. 

jeno checks but notes that jaemin's face was drawn in much more michievy than playfulness. he nods with the same look on his face and jeno doesn't think twice when he sits atop the throne, his father's throne. the room, from this angle, is spectacular. the vast carvings in the ceilings all seem to point to this exact spot, the way the murals trace up stories from the door and ending at the spot before him. the skylight that pours down light on this seat and this seat only. jeno wonders what it would be like to be sitting here on a daily, to have the room filled from front to back with advisors advising him and congressmen addressing to him and all his royal subjects addressing him as your majesty instead of just your highness.

the second prince is so caught up in the way the light cascades down, the way it reflects, the way it bends around the gold leaf pillars, that he doesn't notice jaemin mouthing at him, then whispering urgently to him, then screaming silently into his face. before he can even register the past seconds he's lost to the vastness of the throne room, his father, the king himself, is advancing towards him. he's advancing fast, angry, furious, at why his son would dare commit such heinous act, such disrespect towards his power. 

the king's throne is not a simple chair, not in any kingdom, nor is it just a symbol of the highest achievable royal. the throne represents the generations that built the most formidable lands in all the world, the ancestry that raised the most capable of rulers, the most honest of men and women. the throne, passed down from heir to heir, is the one thing that defines the history of the kingdom, the one thing that serves as the source of vitality for the one individual with enough power to sentence death, the king. and lee jeno, second prince of the southern kingdom, was certainly not the king. 

the true king now stood before his son, a yearning passion in his eyes to slit his throat right then and there. "now," the king's voice reverberates and ricochets off the walls in ways that jeno's four-year-old squeak toy of a voice could not. his tone increases in mockery as he speaks, "do you suppose i bow to you now? is that right, son?" jeno can't will himself to move his head for a nod, he simply cannot. his father's hands are behind his back, pleasant in stature, but his demeanor emanates a daunting power. when his son is silent, he reiterates, "are you my king?" 

jeno can't will himself to speak, he simply cannot. the king’s hands are drawn from behind his back, they unsheath dagger from his hip. it's brought to the prince's right ear. "must i remind you," the point of the knife is pressing into the lower tip of his lobe. "a man, unfit for the title of king, but found on the king's throne, is punishable by death." jeno winces now, the only thing he can offer in response as the knife threatens to cut deeper. as his father threatens to cut deeper. "but the death is a gift, is it not?" the king talks leisurely, as if his words were not directed in threat to his son, but to a class of schoolchildren.

but the king does not take disrespect lightly, and in his eyes you will find the rich amber color of muddy hatred. a textbook definition is rehearsed, "for a man, one who has beheld the sight of this very room from that very spot, assuming the rightful place of the most relevant man, he ought to have achieved everything to think he deserves the honor. everything except death, of course." a textbook definition, yet, the king's son is quivering before him, blood running down a cheek, the side of his neck, the ruffles of his pressed white shirt. jeno cannot speak, he cannot move, he believes he's losing his sight as well, maybe even his ability to think.

his father place two hands on the armrests on either side of his throne and leans so his face is mere millimeters away from his son's. the king lowers his voice for only him to hear, "now, son, is that not what you were taught?" 

he is met with silence.

 "IS THAT NOT WHAT YOU WERE TAUGHT?"

the prince might as well be dead. 

it is the first, but not the last, time that prince jeno is thrown into the dungeons. not to die, but to barely live on the remnants of the pig trough and horse feed. the prince sleeps most the time, on the stone cold floor, in the middle of the winter, but when he wakes, he is a fitful of coughs and vomit. and when he has enough energy to sit up and stare through the barred window, to the left of his cell, he thinks of jaemin. jaemin playing in the fields, jaemin dining in the long halls, jaemin bathing in a rosewater bath, jaemin sleeping in his four-poster canopied bed.

prince jeno is four, almost five, when he conjures his belief that friends lie, they manipulate, they will never stand up for you if it means getting into trouble as well. friends are not companions, there is no such thing as a companion. there is no one to trust. at least, that's what the bleak ceilings of his cage tell him. they whisper it into his ear, his cut ear that's now crusted with dried blood. they whisper it when he sleeps, when he wakes, when he isn't aware of who he is anymore. and they chant it, lowly, and hauntingly, when he's willing to listen. it's all he hears for the sixteen days he spends in his lone company. the sixteen days before he is snatched up by a royal guard to get cleaned and dressed for his fifth birthday celebration.  

"the coal we mine. our lives on the line." the crowd chants. the crowd, the townspeople, the poor and the wealthy alike, they all chant. "the coal we mine. our lives on the line." prince jeno wants to cover his ears though he knows that's not princely of him. "the coal we mine. our lives on the line." he sees his father's arm, waving to the people, a little ways ahead on the grand horse-drawn carriage. the wood is painted a deep black, the embellishments are leafed in gold, and the upholstered seats draped in dark velvet. "the coal we mine. our lives on the line." jeno himself sits atop a black friesian horse, the mane glints in the piercing sunlight. his brother is beside him yet, as the concession draws away from the hundreds that line the streets on a dreary sunday morning and into the grounds of the palace, doyoung yanks his own friesian ahead of him.

the thundering choruses of the people wane in the departure of the royalty and the prince and his family are slowly trickling into the crowd that rests under umbrellaed lawns. they're dressed to their best, and their eyes pleasantly flick between the members of the royal family before them, in best efforts to conceal whatever judgements they have. the king dismounts first, and moves to greet his visitors, guests, from all over the region and of royal ancestry. the queen is next and doyoung and jeno himself are intended to follow suit. 

but it's the moment prince jeno's eyes rake upon the boy, the retched boy whose title ranks crown prince na jaemin, that he wrenches the reigns of his horse in such an unrestrained, unbridled way that the horse rises instinctively onto its hind legs. prince jeno's fall through air is neither graceful nor a sight for sore eyes. his delicate, six-year-old spine is thrust into an arch. his neck, his upright neck, is flung into a curve. his arms, lean though feeble, can only thrash in protest and a learned helplessness ensues immediately afterwards. his small hands grasp the thin twines of nothing. his eyes, the deep brown that shines honey in the sunlight at the exact angle at which he his forced from the earth, they meet his mother's. 

he had figured his death was imminent, and he had figured it'd be at the hand of his parents.

a shoulder, then an arm, the back, the legs, the heels, and finally, his head clunks onto the trodden turf. a horse crosses over his fallen body. there are people hovering about him in an instant. words that are no longer up for his comprehension are tossed his way. a hand is felt on his shoulder, the one he landed on, the one he can no longer feel. black spots begin to cloud his vision, his hold on reality is starting to become grainier as the seconds tick. 

the last image he is able to put together is the face of his mother. stone cold, void of sympathy, void of warmth, void of motherly affection, but congested, not with blood, but with apathy. when he wakes, and thinks of the scene, he can only hope it was a vicarious conjurance of the bleeding gape in his skull.

when he wakes, he is three weeks ahead of when he'd fallen. the memories of this period all blur together for the jeno in adulthood, he swears he can never remember much of it. but if he did, he would recall a girl by his side, of similar age. if he did, he would recall the girl's fingers carefully renewing his soiled bandages every six hours. he'd remember the way she smiled, called his name, kept him company. he'd remember the sympathy, warmth, affection that emanated from your every word, action, mannerism. if he remembered the happenings after his fall from grace, he'd remember the one who healed him, resurrected him. 

he would remember y/n, his first friend, companion, love. 

the air of the sea bites with salt, and offers little refreshment during the hours of daylight. it's in the evening when the skies clear, when the stars begin to show, aligning themselves like golden eyelets on a black satin fabric. prince jeno isn't nearly as tall as the grasses that spurt from the ground, in every direction and covering every viable piece of land. the stares up at the stalks as he walks, the ends flitting with the wind, bending down to tickle his forehead and over its back, motions repeating like one of a giant mass or swaying crowd.

he doesn't dare enter the fields, the prospect of becoming lost all too prominent even before stepping in, but the prince stands right in front of the first rows of tall grass, imagining what was beyond, what he would see when they crossed. at the simple age of seven, he'd already become accustomed to letting his thoughts rampage in his mind over voicing them aloud. voicing them aloud would do him now good, perhaps it was because a child's thought were nearly never as gentlemanly as his mother hoped him to voice, as his father expected of him.

prince jeno is seized by the back of his collar with his father's iron-tight fist. he's dragged, little feet barely reaching the floor as his neck is caught up within the confines of his cotton shirt. he's coughing and having a hard time breathing when he's thrown back into the carriage with a shove and a thud for a landing. his brother sits in front of him, posture straight, the bends of his pant knees clean, and a stern look adorning his face. jeno thinks of clawing the older's face with his finger, the inside of his nails laden with dirt, just to smother his perfect side profile he adores so much. jeno can only think.

the horses are set on a run again and as the family rattles along the unused path, further up the mid-sized hill they were crossing, the view just beyond those grasses come into view. a clean-cut, seaside cottage with shutters of cream and siding of beiges. the roofing, by the looks of it, was made by a thick thatch, though the chimney that stands tall upon it is tiled in white brick. the cottage is set on the shore in such a way that the sands of the beach it opens up to ride as high as the parkway permits and the ocean itself, the glittering ocean, emits the most lovely sea breeze. it's mint green with touches of turquoise and as you draw near, the sandy grounds gradually dissolve into bottomless depths. 

jeno thinks what it would feel like to be caught in a current and be swept into the middle of the glittering ocean. he wonders what it would feel like to be surrounded by nothing but the suffocating salts of the water and the beating of the sun's rays. jeno would like to know if it was better than being surrounded by his family. he hates the way his brother's face is still a pristine clean surface and the way his mother's legs are crossed pretentiously, for absolutely no one to see, and how his father can never see past his set furrowed brows.

the carriage stops before the cottage and it's enough to see it from afar but up close, the prince doubts anything could compare. it's small and quaint in the way he supposes most people's homes are and the air of the inside holds the bordered between musty and a tang of sea salt. jeno's four-year-old mind has yet to wrap its head around the concepts of familiarity and succor in tangible objects but the way that dusts settles on the kitchen counter, the edge of the bathtub, the posts of his bed frame, are oddly comforting in a way he could never describe. perhaps it's the simple fact that the dust will sit for awhile before being swept away, they get the chance to. jeno's four-year-old mind fails to notice that he finds solace in the four walls of his designated bedroom that he can see with one sight, the end of the hall visible from one end to another, the kitchen adjacent to the dining room. he fails to notice how he feels most at home in a home and not in a godforsaken palace. 

midnight strikes on the unaware prince as he ventures out the back end of the cottage, towards the lining of the beach. the screened storm door is left unhinged in his wake, flapping open and shut in correspondence with each gust of nightly wind. prince jeno's bare feet leave the shallowest of rifts in the soft sands, the sand itself blowing over and evening out the rupture in mere seconds. the midsummer humidity allows the boy to don only a pair of swimming trunks as he wades in the cool water, jumping as the tides roll in and kicking up at the pebbles that dig into the soles of his feet. gingerly, he braves himself for the chill that is inevitable when he lays himself gently on his back. the little prince shivers.

jeno names the stars in his head, he draws constellations, drones on about the zodiac signs he's learned of and makes up ones of his own. he conjures images of mythical creatures in his mind as he feels the water, now lukewarm and adjusted, lap over his bare torso. prince jeno looks for the man in the moon, he wonders if he's looking right back at him.

the moon draws its waters with force when the clock strikes one. it pushes them to shore, in the direction of the cottage, in the direction of the adrift prince. the first of the waves, slosh gently into him, sending him in unison with the fluctuation. the second only hits as high as the sides of his cheekbones but the third is strong, it submerges him. 

prince jeno no longer has to wonder what it would feel like to be caught in a current and be swept into the middle of the glittering ocean. like to be surrounded by nothing but the suffocating salts and the little moonlight that dwindles between the undulating water above him. it flits and when in darkness, the boy finds difficulty to decide which way is up, he's afraid he can only fall further downwards. that is the only thing he is afraid of. even when briny droplets begin to line the inner surfaces of his windpipes, even when the thrashes still, no longer supported by his weakened limbs, even when his vision spots, his eyelids shut, his ears clogged. prince jeno is afraid he can only fall further downwards. 

the sun is the next thing jeno sees, quite off-putting after having been under the sheets for the previous day and a half. it seems that though he's fully awaken at this point in time, his legs are not, his arms are not, and sure enough, every other part of his body reverberates in the only way the numbness of paralysis would give. prince jeno is not paralyzed but he hasn't been washed, fed, not even a sip of water has passed his lips since he was washed ashore and collected by a royal guard. 

he lays still for another minute or so, which may as well have been fifteen, forty, and hour, he isn't sure and he has no way to be sure but once he feels the slightest twitch of a toe, he's up and moving. moving to the kitchen, the source of all sounds he hears, of laughter, banter, spoons clinking in ceramic bowls. jeno's moving until he is not, but rather than the kitchen, he's in a fairly inaccessible hallway and at a foot of set of steps that spiral beneath the earth. prince jeno is seven and he is curious.

the biting brass of the stairwell against his sock-clad feet is silent but frigid to the touch, the rails, equally as brass, are ornate in detail with excess knobs and spindles for effect. it only comes in full picture when prince jeno reaches the bottom where a brass door is set, completing the sight. pupils shaking, he places a hand on the handle, then two, and pushes it open. 

the dust that rests in the room is certainly not something he finds comfort in. the thickness of it becomes suffocating the more he treads within and it isn't until he reaches the back end of the room, where a little barred window is perched, does he understand the purpose of the room. there's an underlying rumor that passes within the confines of the room, by the way of an apparition, a lost soul, a deceased soul. 

the prince shivers, he is standing in a cage, and he runs before it can encapsulate him once more.

panting, he is on the landing, in the obscure hallway, to the door to the right, the one straight ahead, until he's in the kitchen, voice quavering, "there is a dungeon, brother! there is a dungeon beneath us!" the kitschy tiling is starting to marble before his eyes as they brim with tears. they turn to look at the helpless boy of seven years, in pajamas, the scar on his left ankle showing, his hair upturned, eyes blown wide. 

bemused, it's rather his father who turns to look at him and speaks with a voice that could only denote belittlement, "ahh, yes, the one for the unruly children."

prince doyoung laughs because he is not an unruly child. prince jeno does not laugh because although he is not an unruly child, he is also not the crown prince. 

✧ PRESENT

second prince, lee jeno, draws himself straight, emerging from the black marbled carriage drawn by horses of black mane, he sets his sights on the scene that unfolds before him. the southern castle is fortified in pitch black; black footbridges, posterns, battlements, towers and pinnacles, and all that meets the eye upon first glance. in the moment, the moonlight is cascading down between passing clouds, reflecting across the rounds of the turrets like thick coils of smog. the castle itself, though, serves as a looming presence that rests above a barren forest which is then, set behind a pathed field of low blown and weeded grass. there’s a noticeable wind that courses through the hallowed glade, gurgling the water of the well he’d just passed and ruffling the dried leaves off their branches. jeno’s spirits dissipate as the stems of browned flowers uproot themselves, undulating with the chorus of the wind and wafting a fetid scent.

the prince is accompanied, on either side, by his guards dressed in black and gold accents, he himself, wearing an ensemble of white in contrast. there is no one to guide him home. 

it’s awfully difficult for jeno to forget the reason he is here in the first place, as much as he'd like.

he stands there, that night, his features casting lengthened shadows on the wall behind him, basked in the flickering light of a single candle. crown prince doyoung sits across from him. 

"i suppose the time has come for me to congratulate my younger brother." jeno wonders why he cannot take him with an ounce of sincerity.

"i hope that you have not called me, on such short notice, to give your feigned-hearted felicitations." jeno supposes it's because of the excessive mockery with which his brother speaks that he cannot bring himself to feel particularly fond for. the older clears his throat in an attempt to hide his incoming smile, "and why might you think my heart be feigned?"

scoffing, it's the second prince's turn to push forth mockery, "do you believe us brothers to be close? to be compassionate with each other?" his brother remains silent at that but his face is still drawn in amusement. jeno continues, "i do not believe i am in need of your congratulations on my marriage."

the smirk on his face only seems to grow, jeno could say his anger grows with it. sneering and in full anticipation of the younger's response, prince doyoung quips, "then i suppose i am to offer congratulations on the grounds that you have claimed a throne," jeno's face returns taut, "albeit not from your own will, or even your own silver blood, but congratulations on the throne, nonetheless."

it's years later and jeno can only think of grappling the stiff neck of his brother within the hold of his hands and juicing his blood in such a way that his veins run dry. jeno can only think of throwing him in the cell of their vacation villa, he can only think of slitting his ears. he can only think.

the room is gathered in silence. jeno pushes forth with his speech, "and i would like to thank the whole of this room on the basis of my livelihood, i could not have gone so far, done so much, grown to such lengths, without the support of my kingdom. now, it seems it is in my hands to recover the losses of the northern kingdom, their deceased king in reference-" he is cut off by the king.

"an unfortunate circumstance, might i add." jeno's father laughs, he laughs. his mother begins to hide a chuckle behind her hand, and the advisors and officials in the room all seem to share the same enjoyment. 

his brother. his brother is laughing as well. the room is sprung in gaiety and jeno can only allow his body to run autopilot as he processes the revelations, a sick feud between kings. one that, if not for your loving presence, he would be partaking in, willingly. but instead the world has the gall to mock him, rightfully so, for years of his life have been spent with the same thoughts plaguing his mind. 

"but, oh! our dear jeno, whom we'd never have thought more of, charming the wits out of a lass with golden blood!" his mother has removed her hand, no longer feeling the need of propriety, and exclaiming her heartfelt sins with pronounced fervor. by then, jeno's blood is already set to boiling, flames flickering and erupting in his irises but he has enough composure to soothe himself with thoughts of you. as it so happens, that is the extent of his composure.

"you never know, next perhaps, will be the princess herself." he gives it five seconds.

jeno launches himself at his father across the table, knife in hand, lodging the apparatus into the old man's abdomen with sleazy aim. jeno pulls his posture upright, now atop the table, gravy smothering the satin lining of his slacks. his eyes are in pursuit of his father's but the others in the room have eyes only for him. he attempts a kick to the damned git, when he's thrust back forcefully by a swarm of arms and trepidatious glowers. he responds in a fit of anger, as if his previous outburst had only served as a preamble, hand gripping the head of a bottle of wine as he crouches. with practiced stealth, he pummels the glass in such a way that sharp edges are formed and he storms again, the intent of death in his eyes. 

as the swish of a tranquilizing dart slits open air, lee jeno can see his father, the crimson substance leaking inside out. he can see the spray of wine red liquor as it sails without direction. he can see the scarlet veins in his brother's eyes, the scarlet rims of his mother's. and, when his eyes fall shut and he feels his knees hit the rufescent tablecloth, all he can see is you, drenched in red.

read volume four: and when i fall.

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — not much happens in this one, admittedly, but jeno's childhood and upbringing is something i really needed to touch on and this version really fleshes it out nicely. the original one that i scrapped felt super rushed, and though i developed more into the forefront storyline, i started to hate the use of a linear plotline for this piece because the main ideas on which it was built upon sounded so feeble when put in context of only the 'present.' but enough of me rambling, i love you, good day. <3