#they’re designed to keep SNAKES out of your pants!!!!

[davekatzdefensesquad]

Who do I need to call to get this to stop? CROCTOBER?!

[helpinghanikan]

König NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He overcompensates for every touch and taste he makes. Worried that he hurt you or did something wrong during your session. Convincing himself that you need to be held close and offered water at least twice.

A warm washcloth is the next step after sex. If you’re fine with raw dogging than it’s required before letting you fall asleep.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves your face. Holding it when he kisses you, your expressions when he penetrates, and especially your lips. Liking to have his thumb over your lips when you’re just holding eachother. But absolutely loving how those lips wrap around his cock.

His favorite part of himself is his thighs. He’s overhead the comments people make about them. He knows just how thick they are and strong. It’s part of what makes him dangerous in the field. So to see your hand sliding down his thighs in appreciation is a great compliment.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

König cums a lot when he finishes. Whether it’s on your face in your pussy, it’s gonna make a mess. Something that actually likes but isn’t willing to do without your okay first.

If you are cool with raw dogging it then there’s a little date you gotta go on first; both of you would need to get tested. This isn’t an insulting thing but König comes in contact with a lot of bacteria and fluids with unknown origins at work. The last thing he wants is to give you anything. And it’s only fair that if he gets tested than you should to.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He has a tattoo of a snake running from the small of his back, over his asscheek, and down his thigh. He got it after joining the military and realizing just how common tattoos were. Pressure to conform brought him into a tattoo shop with a buddy before he was twenty. Thinking back on it he’s pretty proud that he didn’t get one on his arm or back like the others. All he could think about while getting it was what his mother would think if she found out.

 A bit of money was put into the design, too. The dark lines and red scales were still holding up years later. It’s also a reason that he works to keep his ass and thigh muscles tight.

It’s created a little part of him for you to admire. When he lays on the bed in his shorts you’ll usually find yourself next him. Running gentle fingers over the line of his tattoo, following it, and tickling him while doing so.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

While not a virgin he’s never been one for just finding someone for the night. Preferring to a have a real relationship before letting them into his way too small bed.

So his experience is little to none. Call it a pride thing but he’ll never admit it. Instead trying to hide his inexperience behind wanting you to take the lead.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He likes missionary. He gets easy access to your face and breasts. Able to move your legs up and over his shoulders, to lift your hips with both hands and watch the masterpiece he makes with your body and moans.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s only goofy at the beginning. When he’s trying to subtly get into your pants. He does this by jokingly biting at your neck or by lifting you up suddenly and kissing you fiercely.

During sex he’s taking it much more seriously. When he speak it’s either to ask if something felt good, or it’s to compliment you.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s not too attached to his pubic hair, let alone how it looked. Rather he just lets if be, sometimes trimming it down when it got in the way.

He waits for you to say something if you wanted him to do anything different.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He’s a hopeless romantic through and through. Not in the way of restaurants and expensive gifts but more in the little details: like knowing what flavor of lube you liked better or constantly complimenting your body.

Little appreciations slip out of his mouth like music when he fucks. Appreciating your breasts, becoming almost aghast at the sight of your body, and simply thanking you for being so good to him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He masturbates whenever he’s away or if you’re not in the mood. He’s never been ashamed of his habit. It’s just something he does in private, no different from using the bathroom.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He likes that he’s bigger than you. But not in a domination way, he likes to have you be the powerful one in a relationship. To submit down to someone and feel a comfort in that you would take care of him properly.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Your apartment, more specifically your bedroom.

He likes to feel safe, to be in a comfortable environment, and not to worry about what’s going on around him. Sometimes he’ll be adventurous and take you in the kitchen or living room. But, as a rule, your shenanigans aren’t going to leave the house.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Being home, being around you, it makes him want more than just to fuck you. He wants to appreciate you in any and every way he can.

This can make it annoying for when he comes home. When you just wanted to jump his bones he’s all huggy. Asking if had dinner yet or not.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Public; the idea of being caught is a nightmare. What would be even worse is the idea of being caught in a civilian area. This wouldn’t just result in his firing; it would put you in danger too.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He likes to receive more than to give. This isn’t to say that’ll he’ll ever say no to you, or demand to get before he gives.

It’s not so much because of the feeling, but more of the view he gets. Watching your head slowly move back forth down his cock. Whatever lipstick or lip gloss you choose decorating his skin. If he’s lucky than it will leave color on his cock.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

No matter how fast he starts off he’s always going to start to slow down. Liking to press you in close, feel your soft skin, and pull you so close that you’re practically a single entity.

His kisses slow at the same pace. Replacing his kisses with words of praise and thanks in a language you may or may not understand.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not his preferred way of going at it, but sometimes the want is just too much.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Any and all risk only happens inside the safety of your bedroom. It’s the only place he’ll feel safe giving himself over to you fully. Anywhere else he’d be too worried about someone seeing you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can go twice before needing a break. Personal stamina and training gave him this gift. Seeing the results of cumming deep inside of you also has that effect on him.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Most of what would qualify as toys in your relationship is mainly lingerie. Some little dresses and nighties, stockings for König, and underwear that has mostly been bought as a gag gift.

A few months ago you and König made a little trip to you local sex shop. A dildo and strap on combo caught your eye. Comfy straps in a light color that wrap around your hips. It came with several dildos of multiple sizes for different levels of experience.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s not a teaser, he honestly wouldn’t know how.

Instead he prefers to be teased. Loving when you don’t outright state that you wanna be railed but giving hints by bending over, wearing a certain piece of clothing that draws his eyes, or simply asking for a massage/rubbing on him.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

It’s adorable how hard he tries to keep his voice down. Pressing his face into your shoulder or biting down on his own lip.

It takes some coaxing before you lets himself make noise in bed. When he does it comes out in a shout while cumming. Pressing a hand over his mouth one night when you had snuck into the barracks. Luckily no one was going to snitch on a soldier getting some.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

The best moment in sex, in his whole life, is that eye-contact after you cum. He might still be hard inside of you but if you have that glossy, cock-dumb, look on your face it’s all over for him.

It’s an award to see this. Better than any metal he ever could have gotten. Knowing that he was the one who made you cum makes him the greatest man on earth.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

About eight to nine inches and decent in girth. Honestly, your first time seeing it did make you reconsider for a second. But only a second, after that it becomes a mountain that you are determined to climb.

Just make sure you got some lube within reach at all time.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

For an inexperience man König has a surprisingly high sex drive.

Every morning is going to start with some kind of hard wood against you. If you don’t reciprocate, or simply don’t wake up, he’s not gonna force it or even ask. He just takes care of it himself in the bathroom.

Cuddling in the afternoon? Expect his hands to slide up the back of your shirt.

He’s making dinner? Well, that’s not the only thing you can eat.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’s still awake after finishing up. Maybe it’s his training or maybe he was a deer in another life. Either way he’s up and moving around after making sure you’re all set.

That post nut clarity is real and strong. For some reason cleaning you up reminds him of whatever chores that need to be done. More than once you’ve seen him doing the dishes in the buff, as if they couldn’t wait the few seconds it takes to pull his briefs up.

[cornflakesdoesart]

sketchy “dress up doll” outfit ref of Dawn, some lore and design notes under the cut!

[ID: four images of the same character in different states of dress, the character has tan skin, elf ears and messy waist lenght grey hair. In the first image she is wearing simple grey underwear consisting of a bralette and panties, in the second she is wearing brown boots with beige spats, muted green ankle lenght pants and a cream longsleeved henley top, in the third image she is wearing a cold muted green poncho with pockets over the previous outfit, a belt with a hip pouch and other pockets, fingerless gloves and armwarmers and a khaki green scarve, on the next image she also has a back pack on with a rifle, the scarve is pulled over her head like a hood and she has googles and an air filtering mask on End ID]

Dawn is a wasteland wanderer known as a "stray" on a rocky, dry planet on the rim of a galactic empire in the far future! She is a calm and capable person who is generally kind but she is not very expressive and often feels detached from her own emotions, she is not a lousy fighter, skilled with a knife and a rifle, but that’s just out of neccessity of her lifestyle, she also has some arcane and healing knowledge. As most strays, she is not too keen to divulge her real name or who she was before she became a wanderer, the only thing people know for sure is that she has been one since she was a child. 

Some obvoius inspiration for the setting and story is all your favourite desert media, such as star wars, dune, mad max and trigun.

 For her outfit I looked at some demobaza clothes and star wars concept arts specifically but I have a whole pinterest board for this story so I have some other stuff there that were kind of an amalgamation of references, once an other artist drew her and interpreted her pants as calf length from an old drawing of her and I really liked that so I incorporated it here as well! Other stuff I wanted to include is a sport bra like undergarment not like the little bandeu I drew her with in the past, nothing too structured just something to keep the girls in place while she's running or jumping. A head covering is important of course, she lives in a sunny desert climate like place after all! And the firm ankle coverage that gave me some problems with the ankle lenght pants, so I ended up giving her sort of spats, they're for some protection against small venomous snake or scorpion like animals! They also have an added bonus of reminding me a little bit of foreign french legion vibe which matches the desert aestethic so happy accidents! Her poncho looks a bit too much like Jyn Erso's on that one concept art that is in my pinterest board and overall her clothes are bit too dark for desert dwelling I think, so when I come back to her design these are things I'm looking to improve!

[snappedsky]

Fanatics 99.2

Squee goes up against four aliens in the first game of the competition.

*Links to previous and next chapters in reblog*

--

Greatest in the Galaxy Part 2

Planet Tourney in the Andromeda Galaxy was designed for games, contests, competitions, and tournaments of all kinds. The whole planet- its surface, underground, and even the sky- serves this purpose.

Much of the planet is split into sections; each section is built for different games, holds different stadiums, or has dormitories uniquely designed to remind guests of their home planets.

Grounds B is designed to look like a generic abandoned city, with hundreds of empty buildings, some derelict. Somewhere amidst these buildings sits a single red flag.

Somewhere else in the fake city, Squee appears beside his opponents- Mixa of Irk, Nimbel of Swif’el, Screwn of Techon-3, and Bikeps of Mus’ular. From the sky, they can hear announcer Mic.

“First player to find the flag wins the game! Ready!”

Squee flinches as the other players get into a ready position.

“Go!”

They all look at him, murder in their eyes. They swing at him simultaneously but he jumps over them, lands on Bikeps head, and leaps away into the shadows of the surrounding building.

“Get him!” Mixa barks.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Irken,” Bikeps snarls, “or it’ll be your head I crush.”

“Uh oh, what’s this? Seems the opposing players have silently decided to take out the new guy first! This is a common practice when newbies are in the game. Will Squee be able to survive?”

The four aliens race around the buildings, searching for Squee who has disappeared from their sight. But not from the sight of the cam-bots. One buzzes next to him as he hides next to a wall, panting worriedly.

“Why are they ganging up on me?” he whines, “why can’t they just kill each other? It would make my job a lot easier.” On Earth, his friends are watching him on Tak’s TV.

“Poor Squee,” Tenna remarks.

“He’ll be fine,” Johnny insists, “once he gets over his anxiety, nobody will be able to stop him.” “I think so too,” Maddie agrees, “it’s like when I sing in front of people. It’s nerve wracking at first, but then I get lost in the music.”

Back in the game, Squee flinches as he hears someone coming. He quickly jumps onto a windowsill and scurries like a squirrel all the way up to the roof just before Screwn comes around the corner.

“Not much is known about Earthanoids, but if Squee is anything to go by, their speed and agility could match Swifs.”

Squee crouches on the roof as he watches Screwn go by below. Not far he can see Nimbel also searching around.

“Fine,” he snarls, “they want me, they’ll have to find me first. And while they’re looking for me, I’ll look for the flag.” Silent as a ghost and almost as light, Squee leaps across to a neighbouring building.

Not far below, Mixa’s antennae twitch and she looks up. Spider legs extend out of her PAK and she scales the wall of the building.

“Hey, isn’t that cheating?” Pepito asks in the stadium.

“Technically no. Since Irkens cannot survive without our PAKs, they don’t count as physical enhancements,” Tak replies.

“Psh,” he scoffs.

Mixa crawls along the roofs with her spider legs, following the twitches of her antennae. She takes a sudden dive between the shadows of two buildings and stops, looking around suspiciously. Her antennae have gone still.

“Where did you go?” she mutters.

A cam-bot quietly follows Squee’s movements as he slinks through the shadows. Mixa senses him and spins, but he mimics her, keeping her back to him, and strikes like a snake.

He slips between her spider legs and grabs her mouth with one hand and both antennae with the other. She doesn’t have time to fight back as he squeezes, causing a paralyzing shock to shoot up her body.

“You’re too much of an issue,” he snarls and tugs hard. She gasps in pain before falling unconscious.

“Amazing! Squee of Earth has incapacitated Mixa of Irk!”

The stadium erupts into roars of outrage. Beneath it all, the Battalion cheers, as do their friends on Earth.

Squee gently lays Mixa’s body on the ground and gets ready to take off again when a chill shoots up his spine. He looks back and sees Bikeps come around the corner.

“Found you!” he cheers and charges, his heavy footfalls smashing the ground with each step. Squee flinches with surprise and barely ducks beneath the alien’s giant fist, making him punch the wall behind him.

“No use resisting, little one,” Bikeps says as he swings at him again and Squee leaps back. “You may be able to take down an Irken with their tiny bodies, but I have no weaknesses.”

“You kinda do,” Squee argues, “you don’t pay attention to your surroundings.” “Huh?” he grunts questionably and Squee points up. The wall Bikeps punched is crumbling, causing the building to come crashing down.

“Uh oh,” Bikeps whimpers as the rubble tumbles down onto him. Squee jumps back well out of the way and continues through the city.

“Incredible! Bikeps of Mus’ular is down while Squee remains unharmed!”

Squee races through the streets, checking each corner as he passes. He sees no sign of his remaining two opponents, but he skids to a stop as he spots a dot of red amidst the drab greys and browns.

“The flag!” he gasps and starts to run for it but stops when he hears a little patter-patter. He looks around the corner and sees Screwn charging his way.

“Stop right there, alien!” he barks in a high-pitched voice.

Squee watches as the knee-high alien runs up to him and pushes against his legs, grunting angrily. He cocks his eyebrow with bewilderment and picks up Screwn by the back of his body suit, like a kitten.

“Wow, you really got the disadvantage here, huh,” he remarks, “I mean, that Irken could use her PAK, but you can’t use anything?”

Screwn sighs heavily as he limply hangs from Squee’s grip. “It’s the Irken domination.”

“Right. Well, kudos for trying anyway.”

Squee hangs the little alien off of a screw sticking out of the wall like a picture frame before running off. He quickly approaches a kind of town square with the flag stuck in the middle. He starts to smile with relief when he sees, across the clearing, Nimbel also enter from a different road.

They both gasp as they spot each other, the flag an equal distance away.

Nimbel drops onto all six limbs and takes off at an amazing speed, almost a blur on the viewing screens.

“This could be it, folks! Across the galaxy, the speed of the Swifs is unmatched! Surely a bipedal creature like Squee doesn’t stand a chance!”

“Come on, Squee,” Johnny urges from Tak’s living room. “Show ‘em what you can do.”

Squee scowls. As his foot steps onto the ground, dust rises up around it. There’s a crackling like electricity before he suddenly picks up speed and zooms across the square, the ground cracking as his feet leave it.

“Amazing! Incredible! Who would’ve guessed Earthanoids possessed such speed! It’s neck-and-neck! Who will reach the flag first?”

Two blurs fly towards the flag. Everyone watches with bated breath, on the edge of their seats, as Squee and Nimbel reach out.

There’s a sudden flash of light and the camera feeds cut. On the stadium ground, the flag appears with Squee and Nimbel gripping either side of it. They crash into each other and crumple to the ground, still holding onto the flag.

“Woo, he did it,” Devi sighs with relief.

“I told you,” Johnny says, “Squee may not be competitive, but he loves to win.”

“Amazing! Incredible! Unbelievable! It’s a tie, between Squee of Earth and Nimbel of Swif’el! This awards both teams five points!”

The stadium erupts into excited cheers. Squee and Nimbel lift their heads, slightly dazed, and look at each other. They both flinch defensively and jump back onto their feet.

Squee glances around, finally noticing they’re back in the stadium. He stares with disbelief at the cheering crowd and the scoreboard hologram overhead, displaying Earth and Swif’el tied for first with five points.

“I...I won?” he questions.

“We tied,” Nimbel spits, “ridiculous. That I could be considered an equal with the likes of you.”

“Well, like it or not, we seem pretty equal from where I’m standing,” Squee smiles, pointing to the scoreboard.

“It won’t stay that way for long.”

“You’re right. Pretty soon, you’ll be in second.”

“No, I mean...ah, forget it.”

“Huh?” Squee questions and watches as she walks away, dejected. “Hm. Even I’m better at smack talk than that.”

He starts to walk away when pain shoots up his legs. Wincing, he grips his thighs and continues a little slower. When he returns to his team’s sky box, he’s met with cheers and hugs.

“That was amazing, Squee!” Pepito exclaims, peppering him with kisses.

“Not a bad way to start the games,” Dib remarks.

“I would prefer a solid win,” Zim says, “but I suppose a tie is good enough.”

“I’m happy to meet the bare minimum of standards,” Squee replies.

“Are you injured?” Shmoopy asks worriedly.

“I think I just pulled a muscle when I did that super speed.”

“Well, I should still look you over,” she insists and points to the table and chairs. “Please, have a seat.”

“Hey, dorks, get over here,” Gaz demands from the balcony. “They’re announcing the next round.” Everyone but Squee and Shmoopy quickly hurry out to watch as the hologram screen shows the players of the five teams on separate lists. A name from each team starts getting randomly selected.

“Now it’s time for today’s battle! And the players shall be...Tav of Irk, Olap of Swif’el, Wirez of Techon-3, Peccs of Mus’ular, and Gaz of Earth!”

“Gaz?” Dib gasps, horrified.

She smirks darkly. “Yes.”

[xandriagreat]

Meet the Sanders | Chapter 1

Prologue | Last chapter | Next chapter | Master post

Author’s note: This is for @stardustsides

Notice/warnings: personal space not used properly, accident, stealing

▪▪▪

Lily went to her school’s science fair with her project. She’s very excited as she entered the school's gym. 

Lily looks at the different projects that the other students have brought as she wheeled in her project to her table. 

Most had cardboard with the interesting facts of the product of their project, some had a science volcano, and some had small animals with them for their projects like ants, mice, snakes, and frogs. 

Lily got to her table and got her Memory Scanner on it. It was heavy but she was able to get it on. Her table was at the end of the gym, near the broom closet.

She had her project covered with a light weight blanket for a big reveal.

Before she lifted it up to check that everything was in place, someone pulled her into the broom closet. “Hey!” she exclaimed as the door closed and the light turned on. Lily turned around to see a boy around her age.

The boy had purple hair and was wearing black jeans, a black t-shirt, and a black jacket with purple patches and white stitches. There was a lighting bolt design that Lily wasn’t familiar with on the t-shirt.

Before Lily could ask anything, the boy quickly went too close to her personal space and asked, “Have you or have you not been faced by a tall person in a bowler hat?”

Lily was confused by the question. “What?”

“Hey, I’m the one asking the questions here.” the boy said, looking down at her.

“Um… ok..? Bye.” Lily said, starting to walk over to the door. She hoped that the judges hadn't gotten to her table yet. 

But the boy put a hand over the handle to stop her and said, “I didn’t want to do this but you forced my hand.” Then he quickly showed her something rectangular and yellow like a badge. He put it away as he continued, “Special Agent Virgil Sanders of the T. C. T. F.”

“The what?”

“Time Continuum Task Force. I’m here to protect you.”

Lily has never heard of that task force name before and didn’t have the time. “Well-” she started trying to reach the handle but Virgil grabbed her hand as he continued, “Now, tall person, bowler hat, approached you?”

“No…Why?” Lily asked, confused as she acted a bit interested.

Virgil shook his head and sighed, “I could lose my badge for this.” Lily looked at Virgil as he explained, “They’re a suspect in a robbery.”

“What did the person steal?” Lily asked, dropping the act and being more interested.

“A time machine.” Virgil answered.

“A what?” Lily asked, thinking that she either missed hearing him or that he was crazy.

“I tracked them down to this time and my informants say that they’re after you.”

“Me? Why me?”

“The boys back at HQ haven’t figured out a motive yet. And by ‘HQ’, I mean headquarters.” Virgil explained.

“I already know what ‘HQ’ means.” Lily said, glaring at him.

Virgil smiled a bit at her, like he was proud. “You’re pretty smart, that’ll keep you alive, for now.”

Lily’s eyes widened as those words were settled into her mind while Virgil opened the door. “Just worry about your little science gizmo and leave all the ‘prep’ to me.” Virgil said, turning off the light as they walked out. When he closed the door, he was about to say something but stopped when Lily glared at him and said, “If you’re going to explain ‘prep’, don’t because I already know what it is.”

“Alright, smarty-pants.” Virgil said and he quickly left. Lily glared at him before rolling her eyes and checked her Memory Scander to see if everything was ready. 

She heard a crashing sound and she turned around to see Virgil almost knocked a kid’s science project in a box, it looked like the solar system, but Virgil did knock over a box full of frogs. A boy, who was probably the owner of the frogs, grabbed Virgil and they went after the frogs.

‘Well, Virgil is different. How come I’ve never seen him before? He could be a transfer student.’ Lily thought before she went back to check the Memory Scanner. 

●

Everyone in the gym was excited for the different projects to see or setting up the projects that no one saw a tall person in a bowler hat behind the curtain of the stage or that the bowler hat floated up into the air and had robot spider legs when on the floor, crawling over to the Memory Scander when Lily wasn’t looking.

●

☆

Lily smiled at the judges when the three judges walked over to her table.

One of the judges was Mr. Robson, her homeroom teacher, the other was the gym coach, and the last one was a volunteer named Dorothy.

Before Lily presented her project, Mr. Robson pulled her to the side. She noticed that he had a worried look. “I know that look, Mr. Robson.” Lily said, looking up at Mr. Robson. 

“I’m just worried, Lily.” Mr. Robson said quietly. “Don’t get me wrong, your inventions are great but the last time, it blew up and we had to leave the school for saftey.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not going to be like last time.” Lily reassured her teacher, smiling softly. “It’s going to work.”

Mr. Robson hummed softly and went back to the judges. Lily went back to her table and got herself ready by putting on the headset.

She looked at everyone who was watching. Lily took in a breath and said, “Have you ever forgotten something that was important? Well, I say that there’s a way to get those memories back. I present the Memory Scander.” Lily took the light weight blanket off and everyone was in awe when the Memory Scanner was revealed. 

“So, Lily,” Mr. Robson cleared his throat, “how does the Memory Scanner work?”

“First, you put the desired period of time on this keypad,” Lily explained, showing the keypad in a metal lunch box. “Then a laser scans the cerebral cortex where memories are stored.” She lifts up one side of the headphone, showing the laser going into her ear before putting it back. “The retrieved memory is then displayed on this monitor.”

“I like that idea.” Dorothy said, impressed. 

Lily smiled as she continued, “Now I’m going back 12 years, 7 months, and 11 days.”

“Why that particular day?” the coach asked. Everyone looked surprised at the coach, who said, “What? Do you think I wasn’t paying attention?”

Lily’s smile faded as she forgot to prepare herself for that question. so she was just quiet for a moment before she got an answer, “Let’s just say that was a very important day in my life.”

The coach nodded. “Fair enough. Play ball.”

Lily smiled again as she turned the Memory Scanner on. “It’ll take a second to get the turbines going.” she told everyone as the Memory Scanner warmed up.

Everyone watched anticipatedly to see if it works. 

Lily smiled, excited to see her mom, for a moment when the machine started to work! 

“Lily, stop!” Lily heard Virgil yell out, making her look away from the monitor. 

Then it went south when one of the turbines flew out of the scanner and it hit one of the gym lights. The chaos grew bigger as everyone screamed and ran, bumping into projects, one of the volcano projects exploded, someone crashed into a table that had an ant farm case full of fire ants and it broke on the coach, who joined screaming and running all around, and the sprinklers to went off when smoke rose up.

Mr. Robson and Dorothy tried to calm everyone and get them out of the gym. 

Lily felt so bad that she ruined everything. “Mr. Robson! I’m so sorry!” she apologized to him. 

The look from Mr. Robson wasn’t angry but disappointed. “Not now, Lily… Not now.”

As Mr. Robson and Dorothy got mostly everyone calmed down and exited the gym, Lily ran out of the gym by the outside door, wanting to hide.

Virgil noticed her run. “Lily, wait!” he called out, running after her.

●

When the gym was empty of people, the tall person who hid behind the curtain of the stage came out and walked over to Lily’s table while the bowler hat with robotic legs got the turbine back on the Memory Scanner and put the screws that it removed before Lily presented. 

Then the bowler hat flew to the person and landed on their head. The person chuckled softly and gently rubbed the top of the bowler hat as if to pet it. “Come along now, Ol. Our future waits.” they said, putting the Memory Scanner in the wagon. Then they laughed as they took it away.

[binniesthighs]

coax the cold | reader x chan

Pairing: self insert, female reader x bang chan 

Genre: smut, lil bit of fluff 

Tags: softsub!chan, softdom!reader, virgin!chan, shyyyy!chan, lowkey awkward chan hehe, tinder hookup au, college au (very US college haha--or at least how I know it), guided sex, cowgirl, reader has nipple piercings sooo nipple play (my new kink) , hair pulling, use of petnames, praising, protected sex, fingering (f), someone’s impatient ;) 

Word count: 4.2k 

Recommended listening: bite by troye sivan 

*photocreds to OP! 

[02:05] 

you are messaging: chan 

me: i’m here by the bike locks? is this the right place? i don’t see a door anywhere? 

Buzzing above your head, a streetlight flickered from the erratic flying of moths to the addictive yellow glow. You were never really a squeamish person, but when it came to moths, there was only so much that you could take in the uncomfortable silence of the parking lot. 

A group of girls with their cropped shorts and bralettes came barreling out from a pair of doors farther down the building with music screeching from the phone speakers shoved in their tiny pockets. 

“You’ve got the addy right? You didn’t hear anything about it getting shut down? Becs was telling me that they were doing ratios so it looks like we can’t bring the guys--” 

You tapped on your phone screen to see if you had received a reply or if the little flame icon would flash while you watched the minutes tick by. 

You had a little shame about the position that you were in, and you started to care less and less after seeing this guy’s pictures. He was somewhat illusive from what you could tell. The way that he texted in all lowercase made him seem approachable but he still wasn’t one ask for pictures of your tits or send the odd drunk text asking for you to come over. 

You had send the message at this hour. It was likely that you were impatient from “playing the game” but he seemed intriguing enough. 

The Friday night was filled with energy from the other side of the street across from the apartment complex. His place was situated right on the edge of campus next to a couple run down houses with windows lit by multicolored string lights and creaking doors which let out vibrating trap songs every time someone opened them. You had left a house similar to that before coming here right when it was getting boring and the boys were getting a bit handsier than you would’ve liked. You were done making out with randoms in hallways who tasted like watery beer and bad decisions. 

“Um, hey!  Are you y/n?” The stranger’s voice called from a fire escape door. 

He was dressed simply, sort of like someone who didn’t care, or someone who hadn’t left their room since the morning. In this lighting, his hair seemed to be some kind of dark burgundy brown which was a bit different from his caramel blonde hair from the photos. You would’ve felt lied to on another occasion, but the simple trait wasn’t a game changer. 

“Uh-yeah, that's me.” You smiled bluntly, not really sure even what to say in a situation like this. 

Up close you saw what the pictures really didn’t give him justice: a faint press of dimples and stretching veins on his hands. You assumed that he was a bit smaller under the giant black hoodie that he wore, but he had that same kind of coziness that was just a little too dangerous for a hookup. 

“I live on the third floor.” He informed you while leading up the hollow sounding cement staircase. 

“Mm. Okay.” 

The stranger turned his head briefly to smile back at you, “I-Its nice to meet you.” 

“Nice to meet you too.” You nodded, even though he didn’t see. 

This young man’s room was nearly exactly as you had pictured it to be element by element. Like every other boy his age, he had a gaming set up with color changing LEDs on the side of his machine and a smaller TV that was hooked up to some console you didn’t care to know the name of. The floors were nearly clean and the bed made--almost like he had planned for it to be that way; you could see the dirty clothes peeping from under his bed. 

The banged up beige walls were decorated with posters of indie bands that you had heard of once or twice. He had somewhat of an organized open closet that held types of CDs and vinyl too--the room itself smelled a bit dusty like the protective covers of those albums that you associated with a record store. 

“You can...we can sit down if you’d like.” He rather awkwardly gestured to his full sized bed. You prayed that once you pulled the covers back later there would be no white stains. 

“Okay.” 

“I could-um, turn on some music maybe? If you would like?” 

“Sure!” You piped trying to sound as confident and in control as possible--it was clear he wasn’t. 

He fidgeted with his phone and a bluetooth speaker which startled him when he turned it on. Just like the posters on his walls, he picked some soft sounding acoustic song with a crooning folk singer that sounded like he was singing with the exclusive use of his head voice. 

The stranger sat next to you clasping his hands in front of him and eyes glued to the floor. 

“Sorry...this is my first time doing this.” 

“Doing...?” 

He smoothed back his dark locks, “You know...meeting up with someone like this after meeting through an app. Um...what do you study?” 

“Biochem with a graphic design minor. You?” 

You weren’t sure if this was a hook up or an interview. 

“Poli Sci Human Rights stuff and sound engineering on the side.” 

“Huh...thats...cool.” 

Both of you nodded your heads in the silence to which he cleared his throat loudly to feel the space. 

“C-can I get you anything? You thirsty or something? I can steal some of my roommate’s Smirnoff Ice--” 

“--No. I’m fine. Thank you though.” 

He smiled sweetly to hid the fact that he was rubbing his sweating hands against his pants. 

“But...how this usually starts off, you could lay down and maybe, I could get on top?” 

“Oh!” He squeaked, “Sure! I can do that.” 

The bed groaned out with the shuffling of bodies and your hookup sighed out with a shaky breath and squirming legs. “Like this?” 

Rather than saying more, you crawled carefully over to him to the tune of his quickening chest and widened eyes. The shier he got, the harder it was for you to keep it in--he was ridiculously cute and your mind could only run wilder thinking about how he would react to everything you were about to show him. Your hands crept to the hem of his hoodie where you teased cold thumbs to his torso. 

“I’m gonna take this off you, okay?” 

Chan nodded eagerly with hair fluffing once you pulled it over his head. 

“Take mine off?” You hushed into his ear to which he smacked dry lips to obey you. 

He took his time pulling it off you; he savored the way that your bare body looked in front of him with glossy eyes that shone with the soft pastel glow from his computer in the opposite corner of his room. His chest heaved with his excitement which only held even more shallow breaths once your top hit the floor. 

“I-I can touch you?” 

“You can touch me anywhere you want to, baby.” You followed his head back to the pillow where you parted his quivering lips with your own. You could feel his shock get caught in his throat, then snake out hotly from his mouth to yours. He kissed you carefully, but growing in greed once you ran the tip of your tongue over his bottom lip. His curious hands wrapped around your back where he rubbed lightly at your sides, then traversed to your chest. You sunk deeper onto him to the tune of the music skipping to the next song which sounded nearly like a chilled out pairing of twangy guitars. As far as you could tell, it sounded something like Grateful Dead. 

As your hips melded into his, Chan’s whole body jerked feeling the sudden contact of your pussy grind against him. As you had expected, he had hardened instantly, and his length bobbed and tented the thick fabric of his sweats. You kissed him deeper, exploring the corners of his mouth and the inside of his lower lip while tugged at the plush skin gently. 

You should have guessed, but this boy didn’t have a clue how to take a bra off, so you did the job for him, sure to give him a display at the same time just for the dramatic effect of your surprise. 

“H-holy shit.” Chan oggled your breasts from below. You were certain that he didn’t notice the way that he slicked his tongue slowly over his lip at the sight of you. 

“You can touch them too.” You purred back into his ear, and he eagerly brought thrilled hands to your nipples. 

“They’re really...um, pretty.” He said with fluttering eyes from your breasts to your eyes. What a gentleman he was being. 

You toyed with your delightfully hardened bud in your hand while he played with the other. You pulled lightly at the sliver stud piercing there to show him that he could do the same and wetted your fingertips with your tongue to bring the wet to your skin. He kneaded at your breast firmly at first, cupping it in his hand, then moved his attention to your sensitive skin aroused just from the softest touches. 

Your tiny moans was all the validation that he needed to squeeze harder and pull rougher. It was as if you could see his cute pent up fantasies unfolding right before you in his sparkling brown eyes. 

“Mm, that feels so good.” You coaxed him further, going to grind you ass harder into his own lap and indulging in the way that even in your shorts, your folds could part around the thick imprint of his dick. 

You collapsed over his face to align your nipples nearest his tongue which he gave no more thought. Chan kissed at them with trailing breathy moans of his own that melted into you and vibrated against the metal made one with your hardened buds. He sucked too with a flicking tongue that sent heat straight down to your clit. Each time his flattened tongue would return with the wet of his spit, you felt weaker and weaker for this boy becoming more tantalizing by the second. 

“Want to--want to take off even more?” The phrase barely escaped your lips. 

“Mmhm.” He agreed, then took to shimming off his pants quickly and watching you do the same, revealing your sky blue panties that always soaked in the way that you liked them to. 

Your show continued on, and you took two of our fingers to rub over your clit while facing him. He too had wetted a spot into his boxers that adorably bunched around the upper parts of his thighs. With your free hand, you slithered to his erection and traced the outline, leaving him on a teasing squeeze. 

“B-before we do anything else...I have to tell you something?” The young man hesitated, causing you to draw your hand back. 

“What is it?” 

“This is like my, first time, first time. You know?” 

“You’ve never--” 

“--I know. It’s...kinda embarassing...and the fact that it’s happening this way...” 

“You don’t want it to happen this way?” 

Chan stammered, but shook his head vehemently, “That's not it. I just don’t want you to be dissapointed...since I don’t really...know what I’m doing too well.” 

He cracked with a hopeful smile, and you couldn’t stand it any more. 

“Babyboy, you’ve got nothing to worry about, I don’t mind.” 

“You don’t?”

“No,” You scooched next to him to twist a couple of his deeply cherry red strands into your fingers, “In fact, the fact that you haven’t done this before...really turns me on. Got it?” 

Chan gulped, “S-so...what-what can I do for you? I’ll do anything?” 

You pressed a light kiss into his forehead with a hand trailing up his thigh and back to his dick which still throbbed with his excitement. 

“How about, you show me how you jerk off this cock of yours, angel? And I can show you how I do the same? For starters?” 

He licked his lips once more, hooking his hands under his waistband and freeing his cock pink, and even thicker than you had imagined. You slid yourself unto his arm to cuddle up close to him, one of your legs swung over his so he could see exactly how you played with your clit. 

He wrapped his hand around his dick with a tug which elicited a tiny “ah!” from his mouth. 

“That’s it...jerk your cute cock for me...just like that.” 

His eyes devoured the circles made by your hand between your legs--you strung together your slick between your fingers to him to see. The clear stringy cum shone on your fingers, making the other boy whimper out seeing how it coated them. 

“I want to touch you too...down there, so bad.” He pleaded after pumping faster at himself. 

“Oh? Pretty boy would like to feel what it’s like to touch my dripping cunt, hm? You know that watching you makes me like this...?” 

Chan gasped out at the thought, letting out an “mmhm.” that cracked in his throat. 

“C-can I?” 

The heat of your naked bodies intermingled and turned the air of his small room dense, and each of your senses became hyper aware in your own arousal: every hair that stood on end, every flinch of his muscles beside you, you could feel it all. 

“Of course you can.” 

Chan shifted, leaving his dripping cock to pulse on your thigh where he flipped on his side to dip his hand between your folds and against your swollen clit. 

“Rub in circles baby, or whatever feels right to you...you’ll know if it feels good for me.”

He nodded with hands trickling down to your pussy heated between your legs. 

There’s something different about him, it could be the fact that you know next to nothing about him, or how he makes you bothered. 

Slowly, his fingers dip between your folds slicked from your teasing--and the way that there mere sight of him teases you. Your back arches from the press of his fingers, and your bud throbs under each and every swipe of his fingers. 

“Feels good?” He whispers into your ear, tickling it. 

“Mm-yes.” With your free hand, you tangle your fingers into his hair to pull right at the roots. You bite a kiss into his lip while drawing him closer to you. His lips are plush and quivering like they can’t decide what to do with all the simulation at once. 

“Harder...you can press harder,” The words were airy on your tongue while your hips writhed. 

“Like this?” He circled harder, wider with his digits mixing with your cum. 

The room appeared to blur in your euphoria. Coupled with the gentle music playing there was a kind of peace to this boy and everything about his little space. The further he continued, the more you longed for him fully--to feel every inch of his length inside of you as you fucked him for the first time. 

Your hand grabbed at his hair even tighter: a symbol that he took as a good sign. He laughed out a little at your response. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He coos. Against your thigh, his dick bobs with a flared tip, begging for more attention. 

You moan out for him as you dig your heels into his bed, and watch the way that your nipples harden around the metal piercings just from his touch. 

“Just you wait baby, we haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.” Your kisses pull at his lower lip as you fill his mouth with more moans. “You don’t even know how fucking tight it is, how it feels when I pull you inside of me and how the friction feels when you’ll fuck me.” 

Chan shivers from your words with a gulp and lets his fingers fall down to your entrance where is curiosity gets the best of him. You wince feeling his fingers fill your pussy with the wonderful way that you desperately close around his digits. 

“Shit.”

“Are you ready?” You ask him permission before trailing a hand down his torso. 

“--Yes,” He nods quickly, “Please. God--I want to feel it. Show me.” 

You twitch from the lack of contact to your pussy when you swing your leg to straddle him. Your hips meet his, and he struggles for a moment over where to put his hands. In one motion you grind your dripping folds over his bare dick, slicking him up and down with the light grind of your hips. A broken gasp escapes from his lips which you catch with your own mouth in a kiss. His closed eyes flutter from the feeling of having you so close...but not completely yet. 

“Got a condom, angel?” You caress down his cheek and let your thumb linger over his bottom lip. 

Chan gives you a grunt in response before contorting his body to the side table where he fumbles for the plastic wrapper. His curtains dance a little with a breeze caught in them, likely from the window being open. The air smells a bit like water, and it’s cool and crisp in your lungs. It cools the surging heat that your body succumbs to. 

You move for him to roll the condom on, tracing the muscles of his chest. His skin is untouched, unmarked, and suddenly all you crave is to see him bruised and scraped in pink. You dig your nails into his chest seeing the way he jerks at himself just a bit more while looking up at you in awe. 

“H-how do we do this?” He asks. 

“Just...do as I say...’kay?” 

Your date nods, letting you take complete control over his body. You start at his neck with kisses that turn heavier and heavier then darker and darker. He busies his hands by cupping into your breasts and tweaking with the hardened buds. 

“Just lay still, I can put in the work pup, okay?” You reach for his erection further down his body, and he finds handles in your hips and ass. 

“I can do that.” He sighs out with a little groan feeling your hand squeeze at him. 

At first, you tease your entrance with his head, barely letting him feel anything besides your clit against his pink tip. His skin grows dewy in his anticipation, and he licks at his lips which dry from each breathy exhale he uses to steady himself. You take your cum to wet at his dick with your hand, and push harder at his sides with your thighs. 

“Tell me if you ever want me to stop, got it?” 

Chan hastily nods, digging deeper into your sides. 

“Fuck, just--fuck me already...I can’t...it’s really...hurts to wait--” 

“Getting demanding now are you?” You tap a light slap to his face. “You’re doing what I say, not the other way around.” 

“S-sorry...” He whines. 

You resume, sitting properly on his length: all the way down, all the way to your cervix which screams in ecstasy from feeling him fill you so deeply. 

“Fuck.” He groans, but his curse is intertwined with a beautiful giddy smile. “Its really tight. Oh god--” 

You lean over him to attach your lips with his once more--a tiny distraction from the way that you start to roll your hips over his length. Chan freely lets his moans tickle your lips, each of them more gruff than the last as he looses himself in you and your rhythm. He’s dizzied: lightheaded--even you can tell. The new sensation takes him over, and he’s left a mess for you: hips trembling while you work your pussy up and down his length and his fingers claw into your shoulder blades. 

Chan’s Adam’s apple bounces as he gulps dry, forming praises the best that he can. “Feels...amazing...” 

You sit back, allowing his full length to tease your g-spot as you fuck him rougher, indulging yourself to all the pleasure that he can give you when you let him in as deeply as possible. He notices the change, and supports your body up with hands running up and down your chest, and down your arms where he pulls at the skin with his short nails. 

“You like this?” You gasp between each roll of your hips. “How my cunt feels on your cock? How I can use you like this? Use your words Channie.” 

“Yes. Fuck yes. Yo-You look...mm--” 

You giggle a little at the light pink blush to his cheeks and the way that he stumbles over his words. 

“Think you can last a little longer, baby?” Your fingers creep to his throat where you tease at squeezing his neck.  

He pauses, loosing himself in it again before giving you a rushed answer: “I think? It’s just...really intense I think that I’m c-close already.” 

You permit him only a couple more seconds of you, then glide off him carefully to which he whines out in confusion. 

“Your turn to fuck me now. Come on, behind me.” 

Chan looks bewildered and breathless, but he does as he’s told and tosses aside stray pieces of clothing on the bed to get to you. You hoist up your hips for him after burying your face into the mattress. To guide him further, you fuck your fingers for him too at this angle, only stopping once you feel the pressure of his cock once more. He slides himself in agonizingly slow until he bottom’s out with a choked moan. 

“Fuck me baby boy. You know what do to.” 

Your date’s hand finds your hips once more which he firmly grasps, then begins screwing into your pussy already blazing with heat and your orgasm building from before. He finds his pace after a while and fills the room with the fleshy sound of skin on skin. Your own fingers find their own way back to your clit where you rub in tandem with his thrusts. 

“Oh,” He gasps quietly. 

Your nails bury into the comforter of the bed, and your teeth clench harder as he milks himself into you and grows in pace. 

“Fuck yes baby, fuck me just like that. You’re doing so good; fucking my pussy just like you should...” 

Your orgasm quickens hearing the praises come from the bottom of your heart and the way that he grunts out hearing them. For someone who’s never done this before, it’s unbelievable how good he is at it all. 

He shudders, and you feel yourself tighten around him further, sensing both of your release coming near. Your hookup doubles over your back, burning you with the heat from his body as he fucks into you with reckless thrusts. 

“Shit, I’m so, so close.” He admits though clenched teeth. 

“Me too baby, finish me off, cum inside until you’re throbbing and you can’t take any-anymore.” 

A switches flips within this once innocent man, and you feel the bed creak as he kneels on one leg, then lifts one to stamp upon the bed to better his angle. The new position directly sends your g-spot into flames, and you shake from limb to limb feeling your orgasm right on the brink. 

He growls upon his release, finishing it off with shallow breaths once he nearly collapses over your back to feel each drop of his cum release inside of your pussy. You rub your orgasm out until you see lightning behind your eyelids and it’s heightened by the way that he twitches with his cum against your deepest spot. 

“A-are you okay?” Your adorable date immediately asks once you gasp and writhe under him. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine...fuck,” You laugh out, “That felt unreal Channie.” 

He shakes once his softening dick leaves your hole, and you get a good look at this stranger: chest flushed and hair messed over his forehead. He falls down to his side on the bed still breathless and letting out happy little laughs. 

“I’m sorry if that was like, really fast. It just all felt...so good, and, I couldn’t really control it--” 

“Mm, don’t you worry.” You sweep down to kiss his gasping mouth. Silently, you thank whoever it was in the universe that let you meet this boy on this night, and whoever willed you to leave that party. 

“What do we do now?” Chan asks, still bare for you to take in wholly. You wanted to tell him, but couldn’t find the words. He was kind of beautiful. 

“Whatever we want. I could go, or I could stay. Really anything goes.” 

His chest is peppered with your purple love bites, and you wish then to give him even more if you have the chance--whenever that might be. 

Chan tilts his head, “Stay?” 

“Well, we still need to get to know eachother don’t we?” 

The handsome stranger grins, and lets his hand trace the side of your face. The cool of the room feels addictive against you, and it weaves around your neck and against the little hairs of your arms. 

“You’re right.” He nods, “There's only so much you can tell about a person from these kind of dating apps.” 

“That’s true.” Your hand discovers his collarbones, which you trace lightly. “It’s nothing like the real thing.” 

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses!

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @lunarskzzz  @yourdaddychan @bubblelixie @spnobsessedmemes  @lmhmins @eunaeiekim

[chainhead]

we're gonna live forever

ethan is finding it harder to cope. leon tries his best to help.

ethan/leon. nsft. a lot of whump and hurt/comfort in this one. an "if leon was there to haul ethan out of the village while chris took rose and they all escaped together" sort of deal. leon got assigned to monitor the winters for a few months, and ethan's struggling with himself.

Up until two hours ago, Ethan hadn't bathed for close to a week. He's tired, and sore, and his body aches with the pain of a thousand bruises that will never heal, and right now, he should be taking a nap. A dirt nap. He should be dead.

But instead, he's leaning over the blankets that are pooled in his lap, and he's kissing Leon fucking Kennedy, square on the lips.

He shouldn't be. Dead people don't kiss the living. Yet he's here… doing just that.

And Leon's been real timid about all this, but when he finally got to press his lips to Ethan's, the blonde figures he should've known that for secret undercover super spy agents like Leon Kennedy, shy isn't a word in their lexicon. For all his hesitancy, a little lip action quickly spiraled into something else entirely, and… and Ethan doesn't hate it.

He gasps when something warm and wet swipes past his lip and he trembles when it slides between his teeth; prodding at his gums and the roof of his mouth and Jesus, is he really getting this worked up over a kiss? Electricity is buzzing in his veins and he can't even remember what Leon wanted to ask, only the part where the older man sat on his bed with a bowl of (forgotten, now) soup and asked if he was okay.

The answer was no. It's not– it's never been okay. Fucking nothing is okay.

And Ethan thought maybe the nightmares would end—the screaming, tearing, ripping at his blankets in a frenzy to get up and desperately check on his daughter—but they haven't. They won't.

And thus, whether by his own design or perhaps pulled on by the strings of fate, Leon came into his room to shake him awake and offer a compassionate ear, just like he always did. And for once, in the three months Ethan’s been occupying Leon's guest bedroom and making good use of his Hulu subscription, he let himself open up.

Maybe it wasn't a smart idea. The last thing Ethan needs right now is more confusion and uncertainty, but the way Leon introduces him to this, it doesn't feel transparent.

The hands on his jaw are real. The taste of peppermint toothpaste is real. The slow, steady breaths that Leon takes in between kisses helps Ethan steady his own, and if Leon wasn't confident in his ability, then surely he wouldn't engage like this with someone he's assigned to monitor and protect, right?

Warm palms slip down Ethan's neck. They trail past his collarbone until they're below his ribcage, and they settle on his hips, firm and steady and real. Ethan startles at the touch, but Leon is quick to hush him, pulling away to whisper soft utterances of it's okay, you're okay, you're safe. 

It helps… in it's own strange, unprecedented way.

The blonde's chest heaves as he quietly fights to regain his composure, and Leon takes the brief moment of respite to let go of one hip so he can reach for Ethan's wrist and bring it closer to his face.

It takes Ethan a second to register which hand Leon grabbed. The small stab of discomfort tells him it's his bum hand before he can actually see it, and a part of Ethan reels in alarm, his eyes widening like saucers.

"Wait," he pants," Leon, that's—"

"I told you I'd take care of you, didn't I?" The agent asks gently, still cradling Ethan's hand close.

Ethan pauses for a moment, his brows furrowing. "I..."

"And that no matter what happened, I'd never judge you. I wouldn't think of you any differently. I wouldn't do anything intentionally to hurt you…" Leon glances up, blue eyes uncharacteristically soft. "This is just another part of you I'll accept without question. I don't care how it looks, or how you got it. It's a reminder of your strength. It makes you, you." When Ethan doesn't protest, Leon continues, "So let me."

The blonde inhales quietly.

"Please?" Leon pushes.

"... Okay."

What is most unexpected is how Leon smiles in triumph, but not in an overbearing, boyish kind of way. It's just a little quirk of the lips that indicates his approval, right before he presses them to the valley of Ethan's missing fingers in a fleeting, butterfly kiss.

The blonde's skin erupts in a raze of gooseflesh. He flusters, unsure of what to say, but Leon's quick to smooth things over.

"Every part of you is animated, Winters. You're human." Another kiss, this time above the knuckles. "You're breathing, eating, feeling."

Ethan swallows the lump that's quickly reforming in his throat. "I–It's like a dream. Everything tells me this isn't real."

"What can I do to help?" Leon mumbles against the back of his hand.

Ethan lets out a shaky breath. "I…" He licks his lips, tasting the trace of mint that still lingers.

Leon watches him patiently. Ethan feels his heartbeat thundering in his chest when he finally gathers the courage to ask, in an unsteady voice, "Can you make me feel alive again?"

*

The first finger is real. So is the second.

Ethan squirms on the sheets as Leon slowly works him open, making sure to use extra lubricant so the process is as painless as possible. Each plunge is precise (who could expect less from a government-trained Jedi?) and occasionally Leon brushes against something absolutely fucking wonderful, pulling embarrassing noises from the blonde's throat and forcing his cock to throb heavily against his stomach.

Dead people can't feel pleasure. Dead people can't moan, or beg for another finger. Not like Ethan, who's doing it so tentatively that he fears Leon can't hear him.

But he does. And he unfurls a third digit the first two, stretching Ethan open wider, forcing him to groan brokenly through his teeth.

"A little tight," Leon observes. When Ethan moves to cover his face with his arm, Leon uses his free hand to push it away. "You okay?"

"Th–the things you say…" Ethan mutters, keeping his gaze trained on the nightstand. From the corner of his eye, he can see Leon grin.

"I'm sorry. Should I stop?"

Ethan doesn't say anything.

The burn and stretch ground him, keeping him focused on the present. Leon never gives him a moment to get lost in his head, and that's something he appreciates immensely. Words of encouragement fill the empty space as well as the lewd squelch of Leon's fingers, until all too soon, they're being slid out without warning.

Ethan clenches around nothing. "Leon?"

"Shh." Leon leans over him, sitting himself between Ethan's thighs. His body is hot where it presses against him, and all the air gushes out of Ethan's lungs. "Nice and easy. If it hurts, you tell me. Okay?"

Ethan nods feverishly. He bites down on his tongue when he feels Leon line himself up, and draws taut like a bowstring when the first breach spread him wide, wider than he'd ever been before.

He wasn't going to tell Leon anything hurt to begin with, but the hiss he lets out is unintentional. It still makes the older man freeze, and Ethan takes note of the callused thumb rubbing soothing circles against his cheekbone.

"I'm fine," Ethan groans, sounding very much the opposite. "Just keep going."

Leon doesn't protest. He kisses Ethan's shoulder and carefully eases the rest of his length in, exhaling quietly once his groin presses flush to the skin of Ethan's ass. Once he's there he keeps still, patiently waiting for Ethan to adjust.

The feeling is less pain, more ache. There is an undercurrent of something similar to how a rug burn might feel, and although somewhat unpleasant, it makes Ethan vividly aware of the fact that, if he were dead, he wouldn't be able to feel anything at all. He wouldn't need to grit his teeth, or fist the sheets, or wait until his muscles stopped fluttering wildly around something foreign inside of him. This isn't how it feels to die. 

He's warm. Not as warm as Leon, nor the cock buried snug in his walls, but still warm enough to not need long sleeves.

Eventually, the pain begins to ebb and fade. Leon murmurs softly against his shoulder, asking if he's okay to move, and Ethan nods again.

They set a slow pace. Leon is meticulous in how much force he puts behind each thrust, ever aware of Ethan's comfort. He moves his face up until their lips catch and brush against the other's, not quite a kiss, yet still intimate and sweet. Leon uses one hand to support his weight while he maps out Ethan's body with the other; and Ethan shivers, taking note of the way fire erupts in the wake of Leon's fingertips.

About two minutes in, things begin blurring together. Ethan rocks back to match Leon's rhythm, and that's all it takes for Leon to loosen the tension in the wires—his hips undulating with enough strength behind them to elicit small, audible slaps of skin in skin on skin.

Ethan snakes a hand down to touch himself, only to get his knuckles smacked before he can get a single stroke in. Leon replaces the hand with his own, and the way he jerks him is so much faster than he'd initially been wanting.

The blonde writhes, his clammy skin clinging to the sheer bed sheets. Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes and he can feel it, he can feel the impending orgasm that surging up from his guts and teetering just on the cusp—

Above him Leon moans quietly, burying his nose in Ethan's neck. His thrusts are turning into quick, hard snaps, and his hold on Ethan's cock shifts; the pad of his thumb swiping firm over the leaking tip. One, two, three more times. The fourth has Ethan shaking, his thighs trembling around Leon's frame. And the fifth…

Paired with one last, deep thrust, Ethan comes with a wordless shout, his back arching up high off of the mattress. Sticky ropes of pearlescent liquid coat his stomach, his chest, and the tops of Leon's knuckles, and Ethan trembles through it all, feeling as though he's having an out of body fucking experience.

And when he finally comes around, it's to the sound of Leon whispering his name in his ear, soiled fingers digging hard into his hip. Wet warmth fills him, and it's only in the few seconds afterwards that Ethan realizes he never told Leon he could finish inside.

A small part of him hoped he would, so he doesn't comment on it.

"Jesus," Leon sighs after a moment, pushing himself up a little higher on his elbow. Ethan's impressed that, despite all of that, Leon doesn't just collapse on top of him… or even come close to it.

Instead, he's distracting Ethan with a slow, post-coital kiss while he carefully unsheathes himself, and then he's rolling over, taking all of his body heat with him.

Ethan blinks sluggishly, turning on his side to face him.

Silence blankets over them comfortably. Ethan's thoughts are running wild but his chest is heaving for breath, his fingertips are sizzling with leftover energy and he feels so free. The same way he felt before he died—before he even knew the Bakers' existed, or the mutant mind-controlling mold that took him asunder.

Another tear falls. Ethan moves his hand up to wipe it, but Leon's already there, catching it with his thumb. Ethan sniffs, meeting his gaze.

"What's going to happen to us?" He asks thickly.

Leon tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

"Us… you and I. Our… our relationship." Ethan hiccups on his words. "Our friendship."

A brief pause. And then, softly: "I thought I was helping you feel alive?"

The inflection of Leon's tone makes Ethan pause in confusion, his brows pinched. He desperately searches Leon's face but doesn't find the context he's looking for, so he says, "Y–you were."

"And did I?"

Ethan stills. He suddenly becomes more aware of himself, of the beat of his heart and the air in his lungs. The amalgamation of excitement and fear and longing that coincide in his stomach.

The realness of it. The realness of everything.

Of this. 

Himself. 

Leon.

Ethan shudders out a shaky breath. "I don't know," he whispers honestly. "I don't know."

The bed shifts and creaks beneath Leon's weight, and Ethan isn't aware of the arms wrapped around him or the warm chest pressed against his nose until it's too late; and for once, he doesn't feel like shying away from the touch. It feels grounding. Like a rock to help weather the storm… a solid constant Ethan can trust.

Slowly, Ethan embraces Leon back.

"I want you to know. I want to be there when you do know," Leon tells him.

He sobs, and a large, gentle hand comes up to comb through his hair.

"I'll do whatever it takes, Winters. Even if it takes forever, I'll show you how real you are to me."

[periminkle]

blazes of deceit

this fic is a part of the disney collab hosted by @btswritingcafe​!! please go check out all the other talented writers and their works 💕

+ summary. When the opportunity to finally venture past the stone walls you’ve grown up in presents itself, you jump at the chance to discover the origin of those mysterious lights—even if the trip comes with a harsh truth and a suspicious, yet undoubtedly attractive, tour guide.

+ pairing. jungkook x reader

+ genre. fluff, angst. tangled!au.

+ word count. 26.052

+ rating. 18+

+ warnings. threats against a baby’s life, unwarranted death, mom problems, trespassing, pan violence, hiding a (not dead) body, tying people up with hair, curse words, drinking, thievery, deadly chase, sword/pan fight, recklessly jumping from a great height, graphic descriptions of wounds and blood, general violence, dark family matters (it’s pretty twisted!), orchestrated infidelity.

+ author’s note. happy early birthday to golden baby jungkook!! this fic took me wAY too long to write but she’s finally here! HUGE thank you to my big brain frenemy @guklvr​ for beta reading and hyping me up by boosting my confidence level +2000 even tho she’s on vacation and should be relaxing LMAO i would’ve postponed this until next year if u didn’t push me so TY ILY LOADS CARL 💘 i also wanted to shoutout #1 jk ryder supporter @dewykth​ and wofe @yeojaa​ for encouraging me every step along the way, y’all are the best n ily both to pieces 💝💕

You are positively ravenous.

Flurries of people scurry past the towering bars of your crib, yet none spare a glance in your direction despite your boisterous wailing. Like moths to a flame, they’re all huddled in one corner, surrounding a panting woman that clutches her rotund abdomen in one hand while tightly clasping onto a bejewelled crown in the other.

“What are you waiting for?” she spits out, hardened orbs narrowed in on your pathetic form.

“Your Royal Majesty, it’s only been an hour since you have given birth, please reconsider—”

Her glower is redirected onto the younger woman’s trembling form. “Are you questioning your Queen? Shall we reconsider your life as well?”

“No,” she begs, her tone quivering with anguish, “please spare my ignorant self.”

Your facial muscles begin to cramp and the walls of your throat feel like sandpaper, which only serves to exacerbate your violent sobs. The insistent suckling on your thumb is doing nothing to quell your raging stomach.

Her lips peel back to reveal two rows of pearly white, dazzling teeth framed by a nasty snarl. “Somebody slit that brat’s throat!”

Another midwife adorned in the bloody rags of childbirth darts across the cramped space with a weeping bundle of rough canvas in her arms. As she scrambles to deliver the shuddering newborn into his counterfeit mother’s arms, the clumsy woman trips over thin air, flying across her enraged Queen’s lap. Without a second thought, her backside is pierced by a shiny steel sword, sullied in a crimson liquid when it reappears.

The introduction of another babe deters your cries for attention. Instead, you distract yourself with a dull glimmer that you catch in your peripheral. Your chubby fingers hopelessly extend toward the dingy stars dangling above your head, just out of reach, reflecting the bright orange tiger lily printed onto the high ceiling of your cage.

“Not a soul shall speak of today's treachery.”

You’re well aware that your short arms could never stretch the distance required to satiate your unending curiosity; but they stay aloft, searching for the reassuring warmth of your mother’s embrace.

“Our blood will remain on the throne.”

Screams of agony overwhelm your developing eardrums as your tiny hands come to cradle your head, willing the pain to end.

Every inch of your walls is covered with abstract paintings, doodles of twisting branches snaking around the edges, dainty birds in every colour under the sun, and a joyous little girl dancing in her own brilliant freedom. No matter where you look, bespeckled tiger lilies are buried within the intricate linework like easter eggs, waiting to be found.

Your favourite by far is the uncanny depiction of the image stashed deep inside the crevices of your memory, a sight your heart desires to view most from up close. The miniature illustration captures your longing gaze pinned on the multitudinous lights ascending from a foreign location, golden hair streaming down your back and flowing over the fireplace in your determination to capture its vast length.

You attempt to steel your nerves for the umpteenth time, but you can’t help your nervous pacing across the minuscule length of your room. The entire tower is spotless as a result of your mindless cleaning—floors scrubbed twice, nonexistent dust wiped away, and trinkets set at the perfect angle to encourage your mother to comply with your outrageous request.

Today is the day, after all. The day that you’ll finally convince the stubborn woman to bring you out to watch the masses of floating lanterns disappear into the night sky.

The pitter-patter of your bare feet scuttling against the concrete floors nearly drown out the melodic appellations from outside your window.

“—down your hair!”

You dash over to the aperture, hastily gathering the ends of your mane to fling down while fixing the bulk of it onto the hook above your head. When the figure enshrouded in a black cloak snatches up your tresses, looping it around to create a foothold and carefully wedges one leg inside, you haul them up through the makeshift pulley.

By the time both of their feet are safely planted on the ground next to yours, sweat is beginning to form by your temples and the perpetual ache in your arms flares from consistently being forced to heave another grown adult up the stretch of the colossal tower.

“Welcome home, Mother.” You pull the rest of your hair inside and turn to face the stunning woman who lowers her excessively long hood, the extra length of fabric intentionally stitched on to keep her identity obscure as she travels.

Your mother sweeps you up into her comforting embrace and you allow yourself to relax in her arms, resting your cheek on her chest while your digits tightly clasp on to one another around her middle. Her chin settles onto the crown of your head.

“You would think that lifting me up all these years would give you some more upper body strength,” she says, her disappointment practically tangible. Placing both manicured hands upon each of your shoulders with a light squeeze, she pushes you back to examine your body from head to toe. “But look at you! My poor, delicate, little flower.”

Your forehead creases from your raised brows as a tense smile completes your agitated countenance.

“Oh, darling, what’s wrong? Come, come with Mother.” The adamant woman latches onto your forearm, dragging you over to the rustic fireplace and pressing down on your shoulders. Ever the obedient child, you kneel down onto the thick rug below.

Your mother delicately takes a seat on the antique chair beside you, a weary sigh slipping past her lips before she starts sweeping a brush through your golden strands. As per tradition, you sing the incantation that’s essentially engraved in the back of your mind at this point.

“Flower, gleam and glow Let your power shine Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine,”

A gleaming shimmer races across your tresses at the verse and from the corner of your vision you watch the light creases marring your mother’s features fade in rapt attention. She hums along to the tune with a detached, distant look in her eyes.

“Heal what has been hurt Change the Fates' design Save what has been lost Bring back what once was mine,”

You allow your lids to slide closed, gathering all the courage you can muster for the following conversation.

“What once was mine.”

Once the last note fades and a deafening silence reigns, she gently urges, “Tell Mother everything.”

This is it, it’s now or never.

“Uh, well, as you know,” you mumble, clearing your throat, “my eighteenth birthday is tomorrow.”

“Mhm, and I’ve already gotten your present as well,” she hums, steadily working her way down your mass of hair.

You falter at the information she casually reveals, guilt eating away at your conscience for preparing to ruin her good mood. “Yes, I know you’re always thinking of me, but, uh, well—”

“You can tell me, darling.” You register your mother’s heavy palm stroking your head, coaxing the words to tumble out of your mouth.

So you lay it on her. “I was just wondering if you would take me to see the lanterns this year.”

“What was that?” she questions, rightfully so when the garbled words blurt out quicker than you can process.

Before you can second guess yourself, you stammer, “C-can we please go see the lanterns?”

The brush suddenly halts in its path, suspended within the waves and dips of your many strands. Although you can’t see her, you know your mother well enough to feel her stiffen up, peeved at the topic you’ve brought up many times before.

“Petal—”

You interrupt, desperate to plead your case, “Mother, please, I’ve been waiting for—”

“Zip it.” You instantly clamp up at her hissing.

Your mother takes her time to stand, stalking over to halt directly in front of your hunched form. Her daunting figure looms above you, fierce orbs evoking a filthy shame that sinks its claws into your spine, and you lower your stare to her ankles from its intense weight. “Enough. I don’t understand why you keep asking this idiotic question when you already know what my answer is going to be.”

Her spontaneous refusal dampens your spirit, but you press on. “I just, uh, thought that I could see them once for my birthday a-and then I’d never ask to leave the tower again.”  

With a scowl as cold as an executioner’s axe, her arms come to cross beneath her bust. “I’ve already told you time and time again that they’re to celebrate the healthy birth of the Prince, any special ‘connection’ you feel to these lights is simply misguided and naive.”

You scramble to gather the scraps of bravery she shredded in order to sputter out, “But it’s my b-birthday too. Even if it’s just a coincidence, I wanna see them with my own two eyes.”

“How many times do I have to explain to you how dangerous the world is outside these walls? Do you know how many people are jumping at the chance to use your magic for themselves?” She rolls her eyes, chiding at you as if you’re a petulant child who disobeyed their elders one too many times. “If your little heart wants some adventure, you can go downstairs and explore the living room, besides darling, you should be thankful that nothing has happened all these years.”

“How am I supposed to be thankful for anything when you keep coddling me like this!” you lash out, frustration bubbling over at her usual response and refusing to toe the line any longer. Any notion of gently swaying her judgement or prompting her to consider your point of view is thrown out the window.

But your mother is nothing if not resolute.

“What?” Her words turn to ice—syllables forming razor-sharp blades that figuratively line your throat, poised to strike the second you step out of place. “Do you want to repeat that?”

Your breaths quicken, deathly afraid of the repercussions that will follow if you decide to continue your rebellious act. It wouldn’t be the first time that she punished you for begging to leave the tower.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, head hanging low and voice laced with resignation, “I didn’t mean that. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Aw, my precious petal,” she coos, her mood drastically flipping one hundred and eighty degrees as the edges of her lips subtly point upwards at your obedience. “That’s why Mother is here, to guide you in the right direction. You know that I’m only looking out for you, right?”

“Of course, Mother.”

Evidently content with the outcome of the conversation, she turns back to continue brushing through your tresses.

By the time her ebony cloak rests upon her thin shoulders, hood draping over her face, your hair is already hanging by the hook above the window and she hops through the opening to lower herself to the ground below. You watch as her figure shrinks with the increasing distance, only turning back once to give a short wave before disappearing through the lush greenery.

And then you’re alone once again.

In the hours that pass after your mother’s departure, you become well acquainted with the five stages of grief. Of course, your requests to leave have been denied more times than you can count on both hands, but you foolishly believed that mentioning the eighteen years you spent cooped up in one place, fending off boredom, would hit a soft spot.

You forgot that your mother doesn’t have any of those.

Obviously, she anticipated your attempt to convince her by throwing yourself a pity party, as she deliberately mentioned purchasing a gift in advance. Out of all your celebrations, you couldn’t recall a single time where she prepared—much less remembered—your birthday.

Utterly absorbed within your final stage of acceptance, you lose yourself within your thoughts. That’s why the steady, rhythmic tapping on the cobblestone metres below makes you jump, mind wiped clean of everything except questioning the origin of the sound. Goosebumps manifest across the length of your arms, already slick with cold sweat.

Initially, you believe that your mother may have misplaced something, but your doubt accumulates when you don’t hear her usual jingle follow the rapping. You wonder if she is harbouring acrimony at your earlier outburst—even though she seemed quite pleased as she left.

Thus, like the loving daughter you are, you gather the ends of your hair, about to throw the lump over the aperture when you take notice of the stranger’s bulky frame and lack of disguise. Last time you checked, Mother certainly hadn’t chopped all her curls off either.

You can feel your heart thumping in your head, chest rising and falling expeditiously to compensate for the sudden rush of adrenaline surging through your veins. In your distress, her words come back to bite you, echoing within your mind that he must be after your magic.

Mother knows best, after all.

Discreetly glancing back down, you spot the man scaling the wall using two arrows, a feat which you’re sure he wouldn’t be capable of performing without those well-defined muscles, attractively outlined through his thin clothing. Realizing that you’re wasting time ogling at the intruder, you spin back to survey your room, scanning the area for any weapons you can use to defend yourself.

You disregard any prospect of overpowering him and decide to approach the confrontation by taking advantage of your ability to startle him. Before long, the sounds of the rigid arrowheads wedging into the spaces between the stones are no more than a couple of metres away, and you grab the nearest object in a blind panic.

All too soon, his large hands are gripping the window sill, and you scurry to press your body against the wall directly next to the opening. You grip the handle of metal tighter, struggling to keep your heavy breaths silent as you watch his fit form effortlessly raise himself up past the open window.

When he lands inside, you’re transfixed by the way his shirt hangs on his brawny body, the veins in his arms enlarged from the physical exertion of carrying his weight up the tower. Just for that moment, you let your eyes roam his lean figure in unadulterated fascination.

“Hah! Stupid guards, thinking they could catch me after—”

And then that moment ends.

A loud clang resounds throughout the cramped space as a result of the pan in your hand bashing into the back of his head. For a split second, you worry if the force behind your swing is enough to knock him out cold, but then he meets the floor headfirst. You wince for him.

With the substitute weapon in hand, you circle around his seemingly unconscious form up to his head, which is turned away from your prying stare. In order to decipher his level of cognizance, you crouch down and bow over him to get a better look at his face.

Long, dark locks that were perfectly mussed before his fall now cover nearly half his countenance, so you push them to the side to reveal his closed lids and strong brows. Following the curve of his cheekbones, you pass his cupid’s bow to gaze upon his thin lips, a tiny beauty mark laying directly underneath—an intimate detail that you feel uncomfortable knowing.

A faint blush colours your cheeks as you comprehend how utterly breathtaking the stranger is, drastically disparate to the stories your mother told you as a child, where men resembled ogres that lived under bridges, grotesque and unkempt.

He is nothing like that. Not at all.

He reminds you of the princes you read about in picture books—dashing and strong, willing to go to extreme lengths to find their Princess, their one true love. You know you’re taking it too far when you begin to fantasize about his personality purely based on his, admittedly, strikingly handsome appearance. With a vigorous shake of your head, you force yourself out of your reverie and get back to your task.

You stretch two fingers out to rest just beneath his nostrils, feeling the warm air that leaves his body at constant intervals, a good sign that he was not only alive but knocked out cold.

You prod at his shoulder, whispering, “Are you awake?”

No reaction.

With this confirmation, you take hold of one of his wrists with both hands and clench your jaw while leaning back, trying to use your body weight to help drag him. He proves to be much heavier than you initially believed, though you feel him moving inch by inch. Rather than another human being, you simply think of him as a heavy sack of potatoes for the sake of your conscience as you shuffle backwards, heading for the wardrobe on the other side of the room.

By the time you reach said armoire, you collapse on the ground next to him, gulping in as much air as you can. Now, there was simply the problem of shoving him inside. You turn your head to face the stranger, pouting at the prospect of having to lift his bulky self.

After much pushing and rearranging, the doors finally close behind him, although, as you predicted, stuffing him in there took much longer than you would like to admit. You aren’t sure how comfortable he is in the disfigured pretzel position you left him in, but his contentment is not at the top of your list of priorities right now.

Rubbing your palms together, you go to pick up the frying pan that lay discarded on the floor near the window when you take notice of the brown satchel that sat next to it. You have no use for any kind of travelling equipment, obviously, what with your whole life existing in this tall building, and your mother only carries a quaint, woven basket around. She is insistent on living as modestly as possible, and that includes whatever goodies she brings back from her adventures.

That rules out everyone but the stranger. The bag does look more masculine, anyway. Grabbing the strap, you raise the object in question up to have a closer inspection and find the leather to be heavier than expected. There are odd bumps protruding from its exterior, filling you with a tenuous curiosity.

Carefully, you lift the flap open to expose a heavily jewelled crown. Perplexity is written within the creases of your brows as you reach to grab the item within and drop the empty satchel. From your inexperienced eyes, the thing is as real as it gets, a shimmering gold decorated with the finest jewels in the kingdom. The different colours of each gem catch the light, reflecting the brilliant rays onto the walls of your room.

Your impromptu analysis concludes with an inexplicable pull towards the diadem, which you’re uncertain how to act upon until you involuntarily place the crown on your head. You turn to face the mirror leaning against the wall and it feels so right, as though two matching puzzle pieces have finally been brought together. The reflection staring back at you seems complete in ways you have never been before.

Yet, you can’t begin to fathom the reasoning behind all these strange epiphanies, unfamiliar with the tranquillity that quiets the constant buzzing in your head. Overwhelmed, you remove the crown and not a moment too soon, for a familiar, shrill shriek meets your ears.

“Petal!”

Your stomach lurches. Eyes darting to the wardrobe, you’re reminded of the man inside. You know if Mother saw him, she would definitely freak out, maybe even refuse to visit for the next week to drive you insane with solitude. But, then again, you could use him as an example to show that you could handle yourself out in that dangerous world she was always going on and on about.

“Let down your hair!”

You stuff the diadem back in the bag and stow it in an empty flower pot.

Giddy at the prospect of having a legitimate argument to reinforce your reasoning to leave the tower, you dash to the window sill and fling your hair over without a second glance outside. The rush of excitement blinds you from the sensitivity of your sore muscles as you haul her up.

“Petal,” your mother grits out, staggering inside due to your rushed actions, “what did I tell you about checking who’s calling before letting your hair down?”

“Hello, Mother!” you brush off her question, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. “I have something really important to show you!”

“Don’t change the subject.” She squints her eyes at you, lips pursed with frustration. “You're getting more and more reckless. One of these days, a crook will make their way up here and you’ll be foolish enough to invite them inside, maybe pour them a cup of tea while you’re at it?”

“I’m truly sorry.” You decide to humour her to prevent her temperament from flaring, throwing out a meaningless apology—one you’re used to blurting out left and right.

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” she says, as smug and haughty as always. Your mother removes her coat, handing it off to you. “But today’s your lucky day! Just as I was about to visit, I remembered to bring your present!”

Your heart warms at your mother’s unusual thoughtfulness, although you’re much too eager to prove your strength first. “Ah, thank you, Mother. But I really want to show you—”

“Something more important than your mother’s present?”

“Of course not! I just wanted to get it out of the way so that I could enjoy your present later.” She seems unconvinced, so you add, “Y’know how they always say to leave the best for last?”

The older woman heaves an exasperated sigh, shoving you out of the way as she heads for the armchair in the corner. She slumps her tired form on the rickety seat as it creaks its refusal, then waves her hand, gesticulating that you get on with whatever it is you have up your sleeves.

Perspiration gathers within your palms and you fight to ward off the minuscule smile that plays on your lips while you gradually make your way back to the wooden armoire, “So, you’re always going on about how weak and fragile I am…”

“Yes.” She rests her chin in her hand, scrutinizing every hair on your head as though the answers to your ridiculous behaviour are buried within the multitudinous strands. “And what of it?”

“Well, I just thought that I should show you,” you start as your back hits the old furniture and your fingertips graze its rough texture. “That I’m more than capable of handling myself when we go out to—”

“When we go out?” she interrupts, irritation hardening her sharp features as she fixes you with an enraged scowl. “And where do you suppose we’re going exactly?”

You hesitate as your earlier confidence slips and you scramble to correct your word choice before she completely blows you off. “Uh, I just meant that this will show you how strong I am, and, uh…”

An eerie silence occupies the room when you find yourself at a loss for words. You know that your blabbering will get you absolutely nowhere, so you tighten your grip on the handles of the wardrobe, counting on your actions to speak louder than your words ever could.

“How old are you turning again, Y/N? It was eighteen, was it not?”

You shrink under her abrupt question, choosing to play along to pacify the shreds of annoyance flickering in her orbs. “Yes, Mother.”

“And for how long are we going to play this game?” she asks, standing with her basket in tow. Your mother rounds closer to you and your gaze automatically flies to the floor.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“What’re you hiding this time? Did you find another mouse? A rat?” she mocks, resting one hand on her hip. “Ooh, did a raccoon find its way inside?” Once her face is a mere couple of inches from your nose, you allow your eyes to meet her own, dreadfully empty ones. The sight sends a chill down your spine.

You release your hold on the furniture, dejection seeping from your tone. “Two mice this time.”

Her boisterous cackle echoes off the stone walls and she clutches her stomach in an attempt to quell the onslaught of laughter. The gesture reminds you of the countless other times you tried to ‘prove yourself’ through similar methods when you were younger, catching rodents that occasionally found their way into the nooks and crannies of the tower.

The first time you caught a mouse, you’d been ecstatic, rushing to show it off to the only person you knew. Although at that age, rather than a ticket to freedom, you were simply seeking your mother’s approval and perhaps a few praises here and there. You wanted to prove that despite your lonely upbringing—with your mother lounging around the tower for only a few hours every other day—you could handle yourself. She wouldn’t have to worry.

Evidently, you were too young to understand your mother’s rash nature, and she immediately assumed the worst—that you had somehow managed to sneak outside and wanted to prove your calibre by hunting down a nearby animal. The harsh scolding you received that day still lingers as a scar on your wrist, a painful reminder to never cross your mother.

“The outside world is not a simple matter of ‘two mice’ darling. You should know better than to think I’ll ever be impressed by these foolish displays of strength.” She swoops you up into her arms and you automatically bring your hands to circle her lithe waist. “That’s why you’ll always need Mother to protect you.”

Your chin rests on her shoulder, stare unfocused as you dismally state, “Yes, Mother.”

“Now, onto more exciting matters.” A couple of light, successive pats strike your back and you’re released from her hold. She is quick to open her wooden basket and rummage through the contents, reaching inside for what you assume to be your birthday present. The vegetables in her hand don’t excite you, but you put on a fake grin for her anyway. “I’m making your favourite soup!”

She scurries away from your static form to head past the doorway, but you stop her in her tracks with a low voice. “I’m not really feeling up for soup today.”

“You know how far the journey is to get some of these vegetables, let alone how expensive each one is!” she exclaims, waving said produce in her hand as she spins to face you.

“I’m really sorry, Mother,” you mumble, flashing her your best puppy-dog eyes. “But I ran out of paint recently and I’m feeling kind of down about it.”

She tuts. “That’s a three-day journey, Petal.”

“I know, it’s just that when I can’t distract myself with painting, I get these horrible thoughts of leaving the tower.” Doing your best to reason with her, you shift your weight to the other foot and fiddle around with your fingernails, attempting to appear as innocent as possible. “And I think those paints are a much better idea than going out to see the lights.”

A few seconds pass before a groan escapes your mother’s lips. “You’re lucky Mother loves you dearly.”

You stumble into her torso, grateful that she is unintentionally following along with your plan—a tedious scheme that you were saving as a last resort. She strokes the crown of your head, allowing you to nuzzle your cheek into the comfort of your mother’s embrace before her immediate departure.

Goodbyes are exchanged with some more reprimands sprinkled into the conversation, then she scales down the building and is no longer in your line of sight. You rub the nape of your neck, inching towards the armoire as you ponder whether a trip to indulge in your greatest desires is worth it when weighed against the lifelong bond you have with your own blood.

While navigating through your moral dilemma, you twist open the knob and watch as the scruffy man’s body slumps down to the floor without the support of the door to hold him upright. You refrain from cringing at his reddened nose.

Prioritizing your safety first, you retrieve your trusty pan and manhandle his body onto a chair, the seat still warm from your mother’s presence. This time around, you won’t be able to attain the upper hand by catching him off guard, so you settle on tying him up.

The question is: with what? You have no reason to keep ropes casually lying around the tower and one glance at his bulging biceps assures you that sewing thread will not be enough either.

As you’re thinking about stuffing him back into the wardrobe until you come up with a better idea, the blond strands at the edge of your peripheral catch your eye. For the first time in your life, your excessively long hair proves to be of use.

When he is tightly restrained to the armchair, your tresses acting like a straitjacket around his torso and snaking around his legs, you step back to appreciate your work. Your eyes drift over his corded muscles and roam over his face once again.

Before you let yourself get lost in his model-like features, your free hand reaches out, palm outstretched, to slap him across the face.

You nurse the stinging pain ebbing atop your outermost layer of skin, cradling the appendage to your chest as you hiss out a low whine, although the sound is masked by the low timbre of a groan. Your body stiffens while you gawk at the stranger, watching him gather his surroundings, whipping his head back and forth before his chestnut orbs land on you.

Your grip on the handle of the pot tightens.

“Wha—”

“No! Uh, I mean, hush!” you exclaim, deepening your voice for a rather weak, intimidating effect. “I’m doing the talking here.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat before you can utter another word. His doe eyes bore into yours and you step back, instantly feeling threatened by the intensity of his gaze. He wriggles around in his restraints, testing his extremely limited range of motion.

A prolonged, slightly awkward, silence stretches in the air as you attempt to recall the interrogation questions you practiced while tying him up. Regrettably, you come up blank.

He rolls his eyes at your lack of speech, raising a single brow.

“Well?” he questions, seemingly accepting his lack of free movement and slouching comfortably against the back of the chair. “I thought you said you were gonna do the talking?”

You grit your teeth at his impertinence, shaking off the nerves of talking to another human being that was not your mother as you adorn a superficial, bold facade. Striving to exude the same persuading tone that all those mystery books depicted, you mimic the slow strides you’ve read detectives take around their suspects.

“How did you find me?” You round the corner to escape his unimpressed glare, circling around him.

In turn, he cranes his neck to peer over at you, bewilderment written in the slack of his jaw. “Find you? Who says I was looking for you?” He whistles lowly catching sight of your mane, “That’s some hair you got there. Is that what’ve you tied me up with?”

A scoff escapes your lips, unconvinced at his act.

“Oh yeah?” you challenge, marching back to the front of the chair to dramatically slam your hands down onto his bound wrists, effectively halting his faint wriggling. “Then why did you come all the way up here, huh?”

The dashingly handsome stranger’s tongue prods at his cheek, serving to rile you up further. Taking his sweet time, he inspects the space around him before his focus comes back to you, and he leans in, smirking devilishly. “Sure as hell wasn’t for you, Princess.”

At the odd nickname combined with the close proximity, a flush tints your cheeks and you take a few steps back. He chuckles at his small victory—a deep, melodic sound that sends your flustered state into a muddled craze of butterflies, threatening to burst from within. You purse your lips and narrow your eyes at the man, more so to collect yourself than to unnerve him.

“Got something in your eye?”

You tilt your head back and grumble, exasperated at his lack of cooperation followed by his audacity to tease you further. “For your information, my eyes are working perfectly fine.”

“Good for you. Now, if you’ll just untangle me and give me back my bag, I’ll be out of your hair. Literally.” He grins at his joke, which you don’t find quite as funny.

“Like I’ll believe that.” You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest. “I’ll ask you again. How exactly did you find me?”

“As I said, Princess,” he jeers, his impatience made visible by the bulging veins lining his neck, “why would anybody be after your poor ass? I mean, just looking at the place, doesn’t look like you’ve got much else other than a bunch of hidden property and a shitty old tower.”

“Shitty?” You repeat, accosted at the stranger’s portrayal of the place you grew up.

He takes another look around the place as if to confirm his accusations before curtly nodding his head.

You glower at his blunt words, taking personal offence for the many hours you spent decorating, cleaning and doting over the building. “Well, I didn’t know we were expecting a rude guest. Then again, guests are invited inside, aren’t they?”

“Listen, you seem like the ditzy type, so I’ll keep this short and sweet. I got into a bit of a scuffle with some scoundrels and before I knew it, I was outnumbered!” he recounts slowly and melodramatically as if he is presenting a bedtime story to a child. “Then I stumble through some vines and find this gigantic tower!

“And to my surprise, rather than hidden treasure, this place has some naive, pan-wielding maniac at the top,” he concludes with a sigh, soundlessly implying that you should pity the unfortunate situation he stumbled upon—the unfortunate bit caused by your interference. All you feel is a burning itch to sock him across the face again, although that wouldn’t be too helpful in discovering his real objective.

His whole story sounds like pure bologna to you, but you feed into his obvious lies with a hum of acknowledgement. “Must’ve been so hard for you.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he whines, a pout forming on his pink lips.

You flash a close-lipped smile and thrust the metal weapon centimetres from his nose with more force than intended, though it seems to do the job when you catch his eyes widen slightly before reverting to the same relaxed stare as before. His posture is evidently tenser than a few seconds ago, which builds your pliant determination.

“Either some truths are gonna come out of that smart mouth or you’re gonna take another nap,” You threaten, waving the pan back and forth.

“Okay, easy now.” The stranger bends his hands upwards by the wrists, waving his fingers down slowly, as though he were calming a raging bull. “There’s no violence needed in this okay? We can make a deal.”

The sound of his cooperation piques your interest, so you inquire, “What kind of deal?”

“First of all, can you lower that?” You comply with his request, although you keep the skillet in the air, ready to strike at a moment's notice if he tries anything funny. “Okay, Princess, how about you give me the satchel, let me go without any trouble and I won’t tell anyone about your little hideout here, hm?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m the one with the upper hand here.” If you two are to come to a compromise, you’re going to need more from the stranger than his word to keep quiet. “And I need you to take me to see the lanterns at the capital.”

A hacking cough morphs into a distorted chuckle in his throat. “Hm, you see, that would be a bit difficult considering the rocky relationship I have with the royals.”

You cock your head to the side, raising the metal menacingly.

His fists curl into balls as a strained grin stretches across his face. “But I guess we could make it work.”

Pleased with his compliance, you continue with your conditions, “You take me to see the lanterns tomorrow night, bring me back home in one piece and I’ll give your bag back. Then you can jump out of the window for all I care, just keep your mouth shut about this place.”

“Do I even have a choice in the matter?”

“Nope.” His lack of protest makes you giddy, and you allow yourself to credulously overestimate your influence over the man. It has to be that or your frightening frying pan, right?

“Then what’re we waiting for?”

A childlike wonder brightens your countenance as you speedily unravel your locks from around the stranger, whipping the bulk of it over the hook and out the window. With his newfound freedom, you catch him combing through miscellaneous trinkets and in fear of him identifying the location of his bag, you call out, “There’s no use, you could ransack the whole tower and never find your precious satchel. You’re better off fulfilling our agreement.”

Fitting your trusty skillet under your arm, you don’t spare him another glance and hope that your bluff is enough to deter his scouring. Thankfully, the clattering of objects ceases and he saunters past the vase with his dear bag inside. Your attention flits to the verdant scenery below.

You allow an exuberant screech to rip through your vocal cords while you effortlessly fly down, your body wrapped around your hair as though the strands have solidified into a firepole and land on the plush, vibrant grass with a bounce. The prickly sensation on your bare skin is not what you imagined the spindly plant to feel like, yet you revel in its oddities nonetheless.

Your companion follows along with less flair, steadily climbing down using the two arrows that were left between the stones. By the time he reaches the ground, you’re already feeling the consequences of sticking your bare feet in the mud by a river.

He rolls his eyes at your antics and darts off while you tread toward the water to wash off the muck between your toes. You swish your foot back and forth, watching the current run off with the dirt and avoiding the miniature fish that gather around you. Their bright orange bodies are stark against the rocks underneath, easy to spot due to the clear, crystalline stream that you’re splashing around in.

When one of them decides to start nipping at your ankles and the rest of his posse tag along, you wade deeper—searching for a grassy area to withdraw from their persistent suckling. As you’re scouring the landscape, enjoying the slight breeze blowing through your hair, you find yourself alone.

This doesn’t bother you at first, used to the notion of having only your own inner thoughts as company. You’re preoccupied with rinsing the brown stains that mark one section of your tresses and gather the clean, soaked mass into your arms before you realize that the tour guide you recruited has gone missing.

At first, you can’t believe he abandoned the precious crown that he appeared to cherish so greatly, but before you can think too deeply about it, a light smack meets the nape of your neck.

“Looking for me, Princess?”

“Stop calling me that,” you whip around, a glare directed at his triumphant smirk. “And where were you anyway? Not trying to run off already, are we?”

He raises his hands up as though he has been caught red-handed, although his digits are curled around what looks to be strips of tree bark and long strands of weeds. Just as you’re about to question him further, he crouches down and grabs one of your ankles, lifting your leg out of the water and closer to him. You yelp and shift your weight to rest on your other foot.

“What?” He secures a few layers of the rough wood to the sole of your foot, wrapping the flexible plants around the bark and expertly tying it at the top. “This is what I get for being considerate isn’t it?”

“Is considerate even part of your vocabulary?” you tease, the relief at his presence causing you to lower your guard.

He freezes halfway through fastening the second makeshift shoe onto your other foot when the orbs staring up at you light up with mischief. Changing position, he folds forwards then rocks back to stand up to his full height. “Ah, I see how it is. Then I would never do something so thoughtful, right?”

“I take it back! I take it back, just finish it up,” you beseech.

“That’s what I thought, Princess.” He bends over to complete the second knot then scampers off to the forest as soon as the job is complete.

As you test out the peculiar slippers—inwardly marvelling at the barrier they provide against the elements of nature—you vocalize your displeasure with the nickname he has taken to calling you, “I thought I told you not to call me that.”

His strides ease up from his hurried pace, shortening to compensate for your smaller steps. “Aw, does Princess dislike being reminded of who she is?”

“I’ve never heard of a Princess living outside of a castle before.”

He hums, tilting his head in wonder. “Is your tower not considered a castle?”

“Not when I’m the only one living there,” you mutter under your breath, although you’re not sure if he catches it or not based on his silence. Regardless, you change the subject before he has a chance to respond. “So are you gonna tell me your name or what?”

Sneaking a peek at his side profile, you catch the endearing crinkle that appears by his eyes when he grins. “What’s with the sudden interest? I mean, I understand the enthusiasm but—”

You strike his elbow with the bottom of the skillet and he whines like a kicked puppy.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I just thought we should be on a first-name basis if we’re going to be travelling all this way together.” You amuse yourself by twirling the skillet around in your grip, acting as though there’s a gigantic pancake that you professionally flip onto its other side. “I would prefer my name over ‘Princess.’”

“I kinda like the ring of it though.” He winks at you, but you’re too invested in your cooking charades to notice. “You can call me Geum.”

“Geum? Like ‘gold’? What kind of name is that?”

“Ooh, someone’s judgemental.” Snatching the pan, he brandishes it around like a deadly cutlass in a seasoned pirate’s hand, bounding around you. He ends his show with the tip aimed straight at your heart.

“Just saying. You’ve got to admit it’s a bit… unique.” You halfheartedly brush him off, fighting to keep your grin from showing. As a side note, you announce your name.

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

Before he can prance off, you pluck the skillet out of his grasp and tear through the dense bushes with your treasure. His war cry echoes throughout the expansive woodlands as he rushes after you, untangling your hair from lone branches as he goes.

To claim that your feet are about to fall off is a gross understatement.

You have been travelling alongside Geum for hours now without a single break. Despite the high spirits that you two kicked your trip off with, the elation from brushing against the silky plants, cooing at the wildlife that crossed your path, and inhaling the fresh scent of damp moss and wet tree trunks from yesterday’s showers wore off quickly.

You’re inclined to believe that your enthusiasm began to subside when Geum yanked you away from running your finger along one set of rich emerald leaves—narrowly avoiding what he explained to be poison ivy. Your curious hands have been cemented to your sides ever since that close encounter.

After your lively bickering dies down, rather than a peaceful, quiet walk, listening to the whispers of the wind and the pleasant chirping of the birds, the antsy man beside you puts you on edge. He can’t stop looking from side to side, trying to peer past the endless birches and elms that obscure your view.

Is Geum expecting someone?

Perhaps some parts of his story are true. Perhaps having a ruffian with other delinquents hunting him is not the best partner to accompany you on this journey—not that you have much of a choice in the matter, it’s either him or no one. You’re unsure which option is worse.

Any conversation you strike is met with teasing remarks, so you give up on prodding him for any substantial information. But with the sky darkening and the breeze turning brisk, you’re about to mention camping out somewhere when Geum says, “We should settle down for the night.”

“I never thought I would agree with something that came out of your mouth.”

“That’s why you’re wrong most of the time.” And there it was, another snotty retort that practically begs you to deck him with the pan you keep tucked in your underarm.

The quibble ignites a fire under your skin, the flames licking at your sides and providing some warmth amidst the chill in the air. “Most of the time? So you’re saying that you’re wrong sometimes?”

“Yeah, nobody can always be right.” He flashes a lazy smirk your way, adjusting the bundle of your locks in his arms. “Like when I said that your hair isn’t an inconvenience.”

You take a second to process his snarky words. With your mind occupied, stuck in a whirlwind of potential reprisals, you unintentionally head towards the distant outline of the castle when you approach a crossroad branching in two opposite directions.

Just as you’re about to let loose a nasty quip, his warm hand wraps itself around your wrist, dragging you away from the faraway mansion. You overheat at the source of the touch, thoughts going haywire.

“Hey, hey!” In hopes of snapping him out of his reverie, you raise your voice. “You can’t blow off our deal now, don’t you want your precious satchel back?”

When he offers no explanation for his cryptic actions, you attempt to pry off his fingers with your other hand—making sure not to trip over your own two feet while you’re at it. Your wriggling is all for nought because Geum’s iron grip is too durable to be outmatched by your fumbling digits.

“Geum, please just,” you plead, ceasing your struggle when the delicate skin in his grasp begins to sting from his strength, “let’s talk about this, okay?”

You’re so preoccupied with regaining your freedom that you don’t notice the dingy sign you two pass; a rubber duck with the words The Snuggly Duckling etched onto the wood. “Shut up and hurry.”

Your jaw drops at his insolent tone, astounded at his change in demeanour. There’s no playful spirit behind his words this time, only a sharp annoyance accompanied by his sudden haste that you feel all too strongly in your wrist. You stumble after him and duck your head through a small doorway, your mind caught up in formulating a coherent response that consists of sounds other than your outraged sputtering.

“Don’t tell me to—”

You’re cut off by the ruckus inside the establishment. Burly men surround the two of you, drinking, howling in laughter, practicing their aim with throwing knives—there’s even a large group of people fighting in one corner. The amount of blood streaked across the walls, their clothes, and pouring out of their open wounds is concerning. You can smell the metallic tang from the entrance.

When the hand around your wrist disappears, you find yourself yearning for the physical connection, serving as some kind of reassurance that he is not leaving you to the metaphorical, and sort of literal, wolves before you. In order not to lose Geum as he wades through the crowds, you latch on to the thin hem of his shirt. He pays you no mind and continues onward.

Skillfully slipping through the giants while you bumble behind him, you two arrive at a row of vacant barstools. You loosen your grip at the unexpectedly tranquil space, such a drastic contrast to the commotion in the background that it’s like you’ve been transported to another place altogether.

You’re brought back to reality from the loud grunt that booms throughout the joint, although you tune out again when you hear a punch being thrown, then a crack that you can only hope isn’t a bone. Or two.

“Uh, Geum?” you ask, although he pays your appellation no mind. His attention is focused on the intimidating, tattooed man behind the counter.

“Joon.” Your unofficial tour guide takes a seat. “A mead?”

Determined to stick close to the only familiar face in the building, you slide onto the seat next to Geum. The overwhelming scent of liquor hits you hard, causing you to crinkle your nose the exact moment that your narrowed eyes spot the bartender, Joon, awkwardly cough into his fist, trying to stifle his snickers for your sake.

“Just a water for her.”

While Joon confirms Geum’s order with a slight nod, you cast your head down to stare at your twiddling fingers. Your mind is still reeling from the abrupt change in scenery, unsure how to carry yourself in this new setting. It was no problem in the dense forest, with only Geum to judge you—but it isn’t like you’re trying to impress him anyway.

In here where hordes of broad men are gathered, drunk out of their minds with crimson staining their attire, you’re scared. Everything is too raucous, too rancid, too overwhelming. You’re uncertain whether the trip to the capital will play out as you’ve imagined and you turn towards Geum to tell him as much when—

“Was this from me?” You instinctively flinch at his tug on your elbow, although regret rushes down your back, clawing against your spine like ice-cold water when hurt flashes across his shadowed orbs. Before you can blink, it’s gone.

As a feeble apology, you offer a tightlipped smile. Referring back to his words, you examine your arm and grimace when you spot the blooming scarlet streaks encircling your wrist, taking the shape of Geum’s slender digits. “Oh, uh, don’t worry. It’ll fade.”

It’s not a lie since the marks will eventually fade. You hope it doesn’t turn black and blue before that though.

A clear glass is thrust your way, which you’re overjoyed to snatch from Joon’s hand, noting Geum’s copper liquor from the corner of your eye. Hours of travelling without any form of hydration definitely took its toll on you, evident by your severely chapped lips that you can’t help but swipe your tongue over every minute—not that the dried saliva is doing you any favours.

Before you have a chance to sip from heaven in liquid form, you’re halted by a gentle finger tracing the length of your forearm. Thankfully, you’re not as skittish this time around, remaining frozen until Geums pulls back; the pale, discoloured scar he was following having tapered off into your natural skin. “Where’s that one from?”

His strange inquiry confuses you with its unusually intrusive nature considering his inability to chat seriously five minutes ago. You pause for a second to debate on revealing the truth or constructing a comical narrative for the sake of avoiding a sombre turn to the light conversation. Despite your decision, your lips rebel, taking on a mind of their own. “A punishment.”

Bronze orbs snap up to yours, boring into the deepest parts of your soul and uncovering each of your secrets one by one as if they’re gems, buried within the layers of your lonely childhood. You’re transfixed. “Mother said it would remind me to never leave the tower.”

The condensation running down the side of the chilled cup meets the edge of your palm, sliding down your index finger and becoming a stark reminder of your parched mouth. You lift the glass to take a sip, but a taste renders your control inoperative as you guzzle down the rest, leaving not a single drop inside.

Your famished stomach makes itself known with a growl when your thirst is quenched. Attracting the attention of the bartender with a small wave, you ask, “Is there any chance you’ve got some food here?”

“We’ve got anything as long as you’ve got the coin for it, blondie.”

You shudder in alarm at the introduction of another patron in the bar. Leaning away from the repulsive drawl to your left, you shift over to position yourself as far away as possible. Seeing your discomfort, the stranger takes a few steps forward to invade your personal space once more and you recoil back with a jerk of your torso.

The abrupt motion messes with your centre of gravity, tipping you over the edge of the barstool. Just as you’re about to have an unpleasant meeting with the floor, a palm darts out to the small of your waist and steadies you. You follow the arm up to Geum’s clenched jaw.

“She’s not looking for anything that you guys can offer.”

Your throat tightens at your companion’s harsh answer, wary of how the other men will react. The burly man to your other side bursts out in obnoxious laughter and a glint of light reflecting off of his silver teeth catches your eye, which you recognize from earlier. He’s one of the goons that was involved in the fistfight near the entrance.

“As if you’re packing anything better.” He nudges his lackeys behind them and they chuckle along like they’re all in on one big joke.

“It’s not hard to top a baby carrot.”

Panicked at his provocation, you glimpse at the challenging smirk plastered across Geum’s lips. You aren’t sure why he’s trying to pick a fight or if there’s any logical reasoning behind his actions at all, but you tap on the arm still attached to your torso, conveying your opinion on his moronic pride with your widened eyes.

Of course, men will be men, and the little posse arranged behind the silver toothed boss riles their leader up, encouraging him with disgruntled yells and unintelligible speech to prove their dominance. With you in between the two blockheads, you’re sure that you’re not going to like how this plays out.

Dismissing your distress, Geum takes a sip of his drink. He seems unbothered by the commotion surrounding him and you envy his nonchalant demeanour.

“You got any bite behind your bark, pretty boy?” His lackeys change tactics, switching over to goading Geum on. You assume their greater numbers spark their courage, reassured that they could overpower one man. “Or are we just trying to impress this little miss right here?”

“I’m not sure if it’ll be very fair for you guys,” Geum says cockily, scrutinizing each member from head to toe then returning to his sweet mead. “I mean, just looking at you boys, doesn’t look too impressive if you ask me.”

If the atmosphere didn’t thicken with a fatal tension, you would have giggled at his smart mouth. But the other man’s nostrils flare in resentment, beginning to surge forward before he’s interrupted by a spindly boy who thrusts a paper below his nose. “Boss, you were right, it’s him.”

His unsightly features twist upwards in joy, displaying his horrendous set of chompers once more as he chuckles. That’s when you realize that a sinister smile can be much more frightening than any bellow of rage. “Looks like you’ve got quite the bounty on your head there, Geum.”

At the snarl of his name, your eyes dart to the wrinkled sheet in his hand which he graciously flips to face your direction. An uncanny depiction of Geum’s face is drawn, a sum containing many zeroes painted underneath his name. What appalls you the most is the red, bolded letters at the very top, distinctly spelling out wanted.

Geum is a wanted criminal.

While your mind is reeling, sight blurring and breath quickening from the influx of information, the man in question unabashedly finishes off the last of his alcoholic beverage and proceeds to slam the glass onto the counter. Through all of the clamour, you pick up Joon’s exasperated sigh in the background.

The door to the establishment flings open, hinges creaking as the wood bounces back from the sheer force of the blow. While everyone is distracted by the bustle, Geum stealthily hops off his seat, slipping an arm around your waist to soundlessly lead you to the other side of the counter. Although you’re reluctant to follow, you refrain from squabbling with him in order not to attract any unwanted attention.

“We’ve received a report that a well-known thief has been spotted in the premises—”

Geum kneels in front of the shelves lined with drinks of all shapes and colours, fiddling with something you can’t see from your position behind him. Following his lead, you crouch behind him, softly muttering in disbelief, “You really think they won’t find us hiding here?”

A click is heard as a few of the racks cave in on themselves, revealing a concealed passageway. Geum shakes his head towards the opening, silently directing you to enter first. You’re hesitant to accompany him any farther but you’re pushed forwards by Joon’s calf on your back and you understand that you don’t have much of a choice in the matter anymore.

If you’re caught now, you’ll be accused of being an accomplice to whatever crimes Geum committed.

You spare a thankful nod to Joon, stealing a glance at the guards blocking the entrance while you’re at it. Their white uniforms are decorated with accents of bright oranges and reds, a familiar flower fastened to the right side of their chest. One of them holds another copy of Geum’s wanted poster which you tear your gaze from, willing yourself to escape from this mess before thinking about anything else.

Geum shoves you through the opening, and you crawl through the underground passage as fast as you can in order to keep his pinching fingers away from your ankles. You two are far enough to safely whisper short phrases to one another, but he insists on being a nuisance as he urges you to pick up the pace.

It’s pitch black when the trapdoor shuts behind Geum, and you’re unable to make out your own hands in front of your face; with no other path in sight, you blindly head forward. As you continue, you pass torches burning with a bright fire that provide light, illuminating the stones around you and the shadows following you. You wonder how often this underground system is used to have fire running at all times.

Eventually, the tunnel’s height expands enough for the two of you to comfortably tread through on your feet. If you weren’t tired enough from walking for hours on end, the brutal jog which Geum sets is more than enough to tire you out within mere minutes.

“Geum,” you heave, unable to catch your breath with your chest fruitlessly rising and falling, never passing enough air for you to gather your senses. He’s too far to catch, effortlessly sprinting ahead, yet you still uselessly reach out to capture his attention. “Geum.”

You push yourself to the limit, another few minutes passing by before your powerless body can no longer handle the stress of the strenuous activity, and you slow down, coming to a full stop. One hand on the rocky wall steadies your dizzying sight as you hunch over, throat burning and stomach aching. Even though you try to remain standing, your legs involuntarily give out and you end up on the floor.

As you try to regain your breath, hands grasp your shoulders and gently shake you back to reality. Geum’s intense gaze is only centimetres away, torso bent to level with you. “You can do this, come on. We have to lose them.”

“I,” you huff, “I can’t… It’s… too much.”

Geum’s arms return to his sides, his brows furrowing as you watch the gears whirring in his head through your blurry vision. When he spins around to face the exit, you cry out in a hoarse voice, believing that he’s leaving your pathetic, crumpled form to fend for yourself—but instead of running off, he crouches to the ground with his backside to you. “Get on.”

In spite of your resolute will to arise from your folded position, your legs can’t seem to extend outwards in order to climb onto his back, which you convey by tapping his shoulder and pitifully shaking your head. Geum’s lips pry apart to respond, but his words are drowned out by the pounding footsteps that echo throughout the tunnel walls. He curses under his breath as he turns and scoops your fetal form into his arms.

All you can register is his natural woody scent enveloped in the sweaty musk that drenches his frame, your body clutched tightly to his torso as he races to the end of the tunnel. You grip his thin shirt in one fist, unfamiliar with the warmth fluttering in your chest, so you brush it off as another side effect from the arduous sprinting.

A bright light can be seen at the very end, but your eyes are locked on the well-defined jaw of the man carrying you as if you were as light as a feather, running as if your lives depended on it—which they kind of do.

You couldn’t differentiate the pounding of Geum’s shoes from the mob of guards pursuing you two. As you slowly recover from your exhausted state, the guilt of becoming a burden settles into the creases of your face, worrying lines etching onto your features from thinking about your impending fate.

Your thoughts wander to the reasoning behind this violent chase. By the fancier uniforms they sport, you suspect their position to be rather high, perhaps palace guards or ones belonging to the royal family. Reminded of the wanted poster clutched within one of their hands, the image stirs unease within the depths of your stomach that’s already stinging from the massive amounts of cardio you’ve done today.

Before you can connect any dots, you’re out in the wilderness again, although instead of the sun’s blazing rays on your face, the moon’s tender beams spill over your surroundings. The sort of serenity that accompanies the stillness of the later hours are interrupted by your rapidly beating heart, which is amplified by the pulse felt on your left side.

After a few more strides, Geum comes to a sudden halt.

“What’s wrong?” You tilt your neck to look at his face in curiosity. Although he doesn’t appear fatigued, his cheeks only slightly flushed from exertion and a few sweat droplets racing down his temples, you ask anyway, “Are you tired?”

The grip under your legs lower you to the ground and you stand in front of Geum, beginning to worry about losing your advantage over your pursuers. He doesn’t provide a verbal response to your questions, simply shaking his head and causing the tips of his hair to sway back and forth with the motion. The strands cover his eyes when he stops, but he doesn’t bother to brush them aside.

Geum’s shoulders slouch, heavy from the weight of defeat. You’re unnerved at his strange actions, turning to look ahead at the obstacle that’s forcing him to give up all hope.

You two are standing at the edge of a cliff.

Your knees buckle at the length of the drop, which seems never ending from your viewpoint. The tenebrous shadows of the night obscure the bottom, painting the jagged walls with uncertainty at any chance for survival. Your heart constricts as the despondency emanating off of Geum slithers its way into your rapidly diminishing resolution.

“When they get here,” he announces, bravery shining through his firm tone, “I need you to run as fast as you can. I’ll distract them, just focus on getting back to the bar. Tell Joon to take you somewhere safe and trust no one but him.”

You’re baffled at his complete change in attitude as well as his idiotic plan. There’s no trace of humour in his piercing orbs though, simply an obstinate determination that implores you to obey his orders. But you aren’t about to abandon the first friend you’ve ever made. “Are you insane? What do you think you can do against trained soldiers?”

“There’s no other choice.” He nudges your torso to position yourself behind him, both your backs to the cliff, watching the guards get closer and closer. Dread weighs ponderously on your limbs, the adrenaline pumping in your veins with every footstep marching to surround you two. You’re cornered.

The soldier closest to Geum unsheathes his sword and steadily approaches. You slip the rusty pan into his hand and he inconspicuously reaches back to pat your thigh, reminding you of his reckless scheme.

Seeing your defensive stance, the guard rushes forward, thrusting his sword forward to slice through layers of skin. Instead, the clang of metal against metal resounds throughout the empty cliff and your apprehension increases tenfold with your front row seat to Geum’s doomed duel, fending off a glinting sword with your rickety skillet.

Although he’s fighting well considering his enormous handicap, you spot more soldiers creeping their way into the skirmish, unable to stand and watch one of their own be bested in battle. Overall, the odds weren’t looking too great for your pan-wielding knight.

You have to do something. With Geum’s plan off the table, you can’t think of anything other than taking your chances with the cliff. You gather all your faith in the landscape, Geum, and yourself while taking a deep breath. Waiting for an opening within the clash, you cautiously inch towards Geum and when one particularly hard blow jolts both men back a few steps, you snatch up the opportunity.

Before another guard can take his ally’s place, you rush over to snake an arm around Geum’s lithe waist, tugging his back to meet your chest. During this process, he nearly elbows you in the face, writhing around in your tight hold until he recognizes your delicate hands on his stomach.

With the enemy frozen in confusion at your ostensibly desultory actions, you take advantage of their shock to stumble backwards, proving harder than necessary due to Geum’s long legs tangling with your own as you head towards the edge. You’re nearly there when one of the guards pick up on your plan to escape, jumping into action with his razor-sharp sword and waving it in a deadly arc that nearly slices both of your heads off clean.

Thankfully, you lose your footing on a slippery rock and tip over.

While airborne, any air is momentarily robbed from the heavy drop in your gut and a terrified shriek rips past your mouth as you lose your tight grip on Geum, utterly absorbed in your fear. The distance between you two grows, but because of his quick reflexes, Geum is able to fist a clump of your clothes in his hands and pull you into his chest with one hand resting on the nape of your neck.

You don’t have enough time to react to the new position before both your bodies are enveloped in gelid water. All of your nerves fire off, enraged at the sudden change in temperature. A violent shiver overtakes your limbs in a weak attempt to warm yourself up.

Although Geum’s palm on your neck withdraws to wade your bodies back up to surface, the grip around your middle only tightens.

The stream parts as you two float back up to meet the chilly air, greedily filling your lungs as you unravel from one another in order to paddle your way to shore. The current sweeps you along, aiding your furious efforts to reach the ground again.

Geum arrives at the muddy grass before you, swiftly lifting himself out and turning to fish for your soaked form. White puffs of your breath escape your mouths because of the low temperature, yet they dissipate as quickly as they’re formed.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” You close your eyes and nod. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

The fire crackles alongside the chirping crickets, forming a peculiar orchestra with the breeze blowing through the rustling leaves. You extend your frigid digits as close to the flames as you dare, desperate for its warmth, yet recoiling from the sting of its heat all the same.

“Might as well stick your whole hand in there while you’re at it.” Geum emerges from the tenebrous thickets of the forest, making his way into the dull glow of the bonfire with a bundle of skinny twigs in his arms.

You’re drained from the day’s events, but you flash him a smile brimming with gratitude, appreciative that he’s intent on keeping the fire alive despite his inevitably numb appendages. You insisted on swapping turns, allowing his body to warm up a bit while you scavenged for wood, although he dismissed your offer multiple times, claiming that moving around was much more effective for him than any flames.

You’d have to disagree with him there. The burning fire feels incredible heating up your skin from the outside in.  

“If you take a second to come and enjoy the warmth, then maybe you wouldn’t be so moody,” You jest, rotating the fish skewers that Geum expertly caught in the river with a sharpened branch. By the slightly burnt edges, you suppose it’s ready. “C’mon, let’s eat before you head off again.”

He grunts his affirmation, depositing his findings on top of the ever-growing pile of wood and taking a seat on a fallen log located a couple of feet away from you. You allow the meat to cool down before separating the fish from the stick it’s impaled on and passing it to him.

“Is your hair dry yet?” He’s too preoccupied with forcibly ripping the fish in half to avoid scaling it, so he doesn’t catch your affectionate, lingering gaze.

You hum, grabbing a lock of your wet strands. “Not quite.”

He places his meal next to him on the log and leans over to take the bulk of your tresses in his grasp. You watch as he lays the blonde strands near the fire, quietly giggling at his strange logic.

“You think the heat is going to make it dry faster?” The appearance of his wide grin elicits the return of the bizarre tightening in your chest, a crushing pain that makes it difficult to breathe. You haven’t had a bite of the fish but nausea swirls in your stomach as your hands turn clammy and you rip your eyes away from Geum in hopes of collecting yourself.

Seeing your doubt towards his surely infallible rationale, his brows scrunch together and he pauses his movements in his perplexity, a distant look swirling in his eyes. He should be completely unaware of the turmoil raging within you, yet all your previous worries dissipate with the smoke of the fire as his face becomes increasingly wrinkled, flashing an expression more ludicrous than the last.

After you beg and plead with him to stop, cheeks aching from smiles and belly throbbing from laughter, he breaks out into his own set of snickers. More than satisfied, Geum grabs his fish again and begins to nibble on the meat inside. “You never considered getting a trim?” he asks between bites.

A few seconds pass as you calm yourself down from your hysterical state. “Never allowed to,” you answer, short and vague to keep the pleasant atmosphere.

“Allowed to?” His voice is laced with his astonishment. “Who’s telling you what to do at your age?”

Fidgeting with your own skewer, you ponder over an answer that’s precise enough to satisfy his curiosity, yet obscure enough to conceal your identity at the same time. Your eyes dart from side to side, following the light of the fire as it illuminates a wet, crimson stain on the sleeve of Geum’s jacket.

“What’s that?” you question, scuttling over to his log and sitting down next to him. To get a better look, you grab his elbow and pull it towards you.

“Nothing. Don’t change the subject.” He tries to shrug off both your concern and your hand that’s clutching onto his arm, which only makes you tighten your grip. At the increase in pressure, a low groan slips past his lips and you instantly release your hold at the sound.

“Does it hurt?” The memory of the guard wildly slashing his sword in the air comes to mind and you realize that although the blow didn’t cost either of your lives, his upper arm must have borne the brunt of the force instead.

“It’s fine.” He attempts to brush you off again, but you’re as clingy as a leech and refuse to budge from his side.

You latch on to the lapel of his jacket and tug. “Take it off.”

Despite your solemnity, his low chuckle sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. “Already asking me to strip? I’m not that easy, Princess. How about you take me on a date first and I’ll think about your offer?”

“You know what I mean,” you grumble, exasperated that he persists on maintaining his incessant teasing while injured.

When he finishes cleaning off one half of his meal, about to reach for the other, you move to stand in front of him. You dismiss the wild pounding of your heart to focus on slipping his jacket off of his opposite arm.

He puts forth no effort to stop you, although he’s definitely not helping much with his limp, bulky appendages that are a lot heavier than expected. Slowly but surely, you tenderly thread his injured arm out of his sleeve with careful hands.

The white, short-sleeved shirt he’s sporting underneath makes it easy to spot the splotches of crimson dyeing the hem of his sleeve through the dim, orange light. You approach his laceration delicately, treating him like a frightened animal. He snorts at your earnest actions.

Lifting the fabric covering the entirety of the gash, you gasp softly at the depth of the wound, grimacing as though it’s your own limb that’s been hurt. “You shouldn’t be moving around with this, you’re not letting it heal.”

“I’ll endure any pain to keep you close,” he whispers, sweet honey dripping from his words as he loops his other arm around your waist, effectively pulling you in between his open legs.

His chin is a mere few centimetres from your belly button, gazing up at you with a flirtatious wink as he perches his hand onto your lower back. You hold your breath, worried that he can hear the utter chaos erupting within your chest due to the close proximity.

Flustered, you push at his broad shoulders, desperate for some room to breathe. Geum flinches at your touch and you instantly regret your thoughtless behaviour. Your concern at the severity of his wound multiplies tenfold, feeding into a disquiet that nestles into every cell in your body. “I’m serious, it doesn’t look good.”

One hand falls into his lap while the other comes up to ruffle his damp locks. “Don’t get shy now, Princess.”

Taking in the defeated slouch to his back, the distant glaze that darkens his bronze orbs, you think about your hair. You think about how much younger your mother appears after she detangles each strand. You think about all the scars you’ve avoided throughout the years by singing a simple tune.

This man saved your life, and it’s time for you to repay the favour. You consider waiting until he’s asleep to heal his arm, plagued by the distress of being mistaken as a witch. Mother warned you about those kinds of people, who are ready to ruin your life in order to improve their own—anything ranging from taking advantage of your unworldly qualities to selling you for a pretty penny.

Mother always knows best. Right?

You peer into his expressionless eyes that stare holes into the dancing flames, the other uneaten half of the fish still laying untouched. From the limited time you’ve spent together, you shouldn’t feel this distraught at his pain, as though a chunk of your heart is bleeding out with him and leaving you in a puddle of your own misery.

But one look at Geum’s laceration and even a child could tell that the relentless stream would end his life before long. No matter how well he can conceal his shallow, rapid breathing, you begin to make sense of his sweaty, pallid countenance that shreds any remaining skepticism you hold against him—dismissing the wariness brought about by those wanted posters.

“Geum.”

His eyelids shut close at your grave tone. “I know. It’s fine.”

At your hesitant tone, he sluggishly spares you a placid, tame smile. You hate it.

The Geum you’ve come to know is exuberant, taking all his hardships in stride with a sly smirk to boot. He’s brilliant, craftier than any artist, and resourceful even in the face of despondency. He’s compassionate, extending his own neck to save yours, always sympathetic to your plight.

This Geum is hollow, a shell of the person you knew.

The crushed downturn of his doe eyes doesn’t belong to his captivating features. You yearn to watch that classic, mischievous glint sparkle in his irises as he taunts you endlessly, testing how high your pulse can spark when he invades your personal space yet again.

You take a seat next to him. “No, uh,” you stammer, “I got a solution. You just can’t scream or freak out or anything, okay? Most importantly, you can’t tell anyone. Not a single soul.”

Before he can react to your cryptic warnings, you separate a lock of your hair, wrapping it around his wounded bicep. He raises a single brow at your strange antics but provides no further opposition. You’re pleased with the amount of trust he’s placed in you.

You close your eyes, and then you sing.

“Flower, gleam and glow Let your power shine,”

Starting from your roots, a golden glimmer races across the tresses of your hair. Bewildered, Geum recoils in his state of shock but remains rooted in his spot nonetheless.

“Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine,”

He follows the scintillating shimmer in your strands until he reaches the portion wrapped around his bicep. You absentmindedly wonder if he can feel his flesh reconstructing, cells dividing at a rapid rate to close the smooth gash.

“Heal what has been hurt Change the Fates' design Save what has been lost Bring back what once was mine,”

Your lids slide open to stare at his wide eyes, his jaw hanging ever so slightly. You’re glad to see that his previously pale complexion has given way to his natural, lively undertone.

“What once was mine.”

When the last notes fade out, eventually overpowered by the lone hoot of an owl, you gingerly untangle your hair from the shell-shocked man. Geum slaps his other hand over the healed skin, his head rapidly darting between examining his arm and making absurd facial expressions that convey his amazement. From his naturally cool composure, you treasure this rare moment of awe.

“Wha—”

Your stressed squeak halts him in his speech. “Please don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out.” He looks like he’s trying to convince himself more so than you when he continues, “Not freaking out. What’s there to freak out about? I mean, magical healing hair? Completely normal.”

Your grin is filled with mirth at his nervous tone, and you lift his prodding digits from the site of the wound. Or at least where it used to be. “You feel okay?”

With all of your attention directed towards analyzing his healthy appendage, ensuring that your magic had not screwed up somewhere along the process, you miss Geum’s tender gaze roaming over every inch of your countenance. “Yeah, I guess I’m more than okay now.”

“I promise I’m not some kind of witch or anything like that. Just, uh, was just born with it,” you try to explain despite being in the dark about many of the nitty-gritty details yourself.

“Born with magical hair?”

You giggle at the absurdity of his question, although the validity remains true, it’s rather peculiar to hear it out loud. “Some of us are born with more talent than others. But that’s also why I can’t cut it,” you smile sheepishly, deciding to answer his earlier question now that your secret is out in the open.

“It turns brown and loses its magic.” You gather all your strands into one fist, pulling the mass to the side to expose the short, chestnut coloured strands underneath. You feel vulnerable and exposed with your neck out on display, sharing the fragility of your powers with a man you’ve known for less than twenty-four hours.

But it’s Geum, and he doesn’t feel like a stranger to you. “An overbearing mother is also part of the reason, but that’s a story for another time. Carrying it around can be heavy and the tangles can be brutal, but I guess it has its perks.”

He hums, stretching his torso to throw some twigs into the fire in hopes of enlarging the dwindling flames. “Yeah, I, uh…”

You stay silent, neither dismissing nor pressuring him into voicing his thoughts.

“My name isn’t actually Geum.”

A teasing smirk lifts the corner of your lips as you lean closer and nudge his arm. “You don’t say?”

He scoffs at your playful demeanour and pushes you back with one finger on your forehead. When your upper body is tilted away from him and your head is facing the starry night sky, he retracts his digit and speaks so softly that the noise is almost carried away by the wind. “It’s Jungkook.”

“Jungkook,” you test it out, matching the syllables to the face. It’s a bit strange after getting accustomed to associating him with the name ‘Geum,’ but in a way, it complements him better.

“Yeah.” He pauses and you shift your body to study him, memorizing the slopes and angles of his side profile. His orbs reflect the flickering fire, engulfing the newly added branches in its blaze. “I just thought somebody should know.”

“Is Geum your alias... for when you’re being a criminal?” Although you’re hesitant to delve into the subject, especially right after he’s begun to unveil his true identity, your curiosity outweighs reason and you can’t contain yourself. You can’t say that you’ve never questioned the diadem hidden in his satchel.

Crowns don’t belong to convicts who run from justice.

You wait for his answer with bated breath, unintentionally trapping your lower lip between your teeth in anticipation. Please, Jungkook.

“If you’re trying to ask what I did,” he hisses, knuckles turning white from his clenched fists, “Yeah, I stole it. Those assholes don’t deserve their riches.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenches, his anger radiating off him in waves. You wish you could eat your previous words because of how furious he’s become, but you’re committed to finishing the job. “Are you talking about the King and Queen?” Your brows pinch together in your discomfort. “Was that their crown?”

“This is your first time out of that tower, right?” You confirm his inquiry with a quick nod of your head. “How much do you know about the kingdom?”

“Jungkook—”

He tuts, fixing you with a strict glare. “Answer the question.”

“Well…” While recalling all the knowledge you picked up from your mother and the few historical books within your collection, you fiddle with a strand of your hair and organize your thoughts. “The castle is located in the middle of the capital, said to loom over the entire kingdom with its height. After it was rebuilt to accommodate more space for the Prince, everyone, from poets to milliners, cried over the beauty carved within those walls.”

He expels a deep sigh, causing you to question the legitimacy written in those pages you recited. “I asked about the kingdom, not the castle.”

His question leaves you dumbfounded. The information you collected over the years is limited to everything inside that grandiose, opulent building. There was nothing about the land, animals or even the common folk.

A gust blows the smoke of your little bonfire towards you, and you blink rapidly to avoid any soot from lodging itself into your eyes. Jungkook plucks a large leaf from one of the plants nearby, lazily fanning the fumes away. “That cozy castle and the royal family sitting on top of it all couldn’t care less about their people. They rake their luxuries from our hard work when even one jewel off that crown could feed hundreds.”

You process the cold truth in silence, a shiver overtaking your limbs in spite of the heat in front of you. “Is that why you stole it?”

“I don’t care if they want to plaster my face all over the kingdom and put a bounty on my head, I’m not going to stand around and watch people die from their greedy hands,” he states, proud and resolute.

You’re torn between the anguish nipping at your heels and the relief washing over your head. Living sheltered in that tower, you had no clue about the perils outside your own stone walls, is this what Mother was trying to protect you from?

However, discovering the true nature behind Jungkook’s crimes restores your faith in him, and your shoulders relax as you crane your neck to peer at the stars again. With your curiosity quenched, you move on to another question. “So, how many people get to call you Jungkook?”

He follows your example, leaning back and revelling in the breathtaking sight. “Nobody knows my real name, everyone calls me Geum.”

Your jaw drops a fraction from the admittance, feeling rather privileged that he chose to share it with you. “Your family calls you that too?”

“Don’t have any,” he brushes off your sympathetic gaze with a shrug.

“Why the name Geum?”

You catch his tiny, forlorn smile in your peripheral. “I grew up hearing all about the royal family’s massive parties, overflowing with family, friends—people. They were never lonely. And since they were parading their money around, I thought that was it, that was the secret.”

The dejected tone in his voice clogs your airways and makes it difficult to breathe, stunning your motionless form into remaining as still as a statue, the magnitude of his sorrow sweeping over you in fatal waves.

“And I hoped that maybe naming myself ‘gold’ might give me some luck with that.” With his shoulders downcast, his eyes flicker over to you, gauging your reaction.

You desperately wish you could turn back time to console the young boy whose heart was too big to fit inside his tiny body. Although he’s grown into it now, you strive to ease his suffering by even the slightest fraction. “I think ‘Jungkook’ is even better for making friends.”

The edges of his lips flip upwards as he navigates his face to halt directly right in front of your own, pressing one hand to the other side of your farthest thigh and caging you in. “Would you be my friend, Princess?”

All your blood rushes to your head, warming your cheeks. In a futile attempt to preserve any of your remaining dignity, you shrink back to maintain some distance. But his smirk grows at the sight of your shy response to his advances, his orbs flitting down to your pink lips before returning to your eyes. He looks absolutely ecstatic over your flustered state.

His hot breath fans over your lips and you gather any rational sense you have left inside your muddled brain to push him back, missing the split second his confident facade cracks and a sliver of insecurity shines through. It’s instantly replaced by a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“No matter what you decide to call yourself, I’ll always be your friend.”

Seconds seem like hours as the two of you stare at each other, seeking to uncover the words left unsaid. Jungkook’s palms press against his knees, pushing off of them to come to a standing position and effectively ending your little moment. “I’m gonna go get some more wood.”

You nod, staring at his retreating backside that ventures into the adumbral forest once more. Even though the perpetrator of all these complex emotions is no longer within sight, you feel unsettled from the mere thought of him, yet your heart yearns for him all the same.

“Oh, Petal, I thought he would never leave!” A distinctly high-pitched cry rings out in the empty space, a voice which you didn’t expect to hear until at least tomorrow night.

Your head whips to the side to confirm your suspicions. “Mother?” Her dark figure emerges from the shadows and your heart drops to your stomach. You fumble for the right words, at a loss from her unexpected appearance. “How did you—”

“The better question is how could you, Petal?” she corrects, continuing to step into the light provided by the fire. The once comforting flames turn harsh, sharp pops bursting forth from the aggressive combustion. She lowers her hood to reveal the disappointment etched into her youthful features—and without fail, the sting of upsetting her burns through your conscience. “Really, how could you betray your own mother like this?”

You stand, determined to explain yourself, “Mother, he’s different from the monsters you told me about. If you get to know him, he’s sweet and caring and kind an-and he isn’t after my magic!”

“And that’s where you’re wrong, my naive, little Petal.” She tilts her chin up slightly, peering down at you. “Everyone is the same out here, all looking after themselves.”

You approach her within a few strides. “Mother, please listen to me, he’s different! Even though he puts on a tough front at times, he’s really considerate on the inside.” You fiddle with the tips of your fingers as you whisper the next part, “And I, uh, I think he might like me.”

The reaction you least expect is her startling outburst of laughter, powerful enough to fold her in half, and you wait for her giggles to quiet down before warily stepping forward. Your mother is acting awfully strange. “You think he likes you? And what makes you think that?”

You blanch at her ruthless words, wincing as though they assumed a physical form and punched you repeatedly in the gut.

Her maniacal snickers abruptly cease and a frown mars her lovely face once again, her expression one you recognized from previous reprimands, whether it was shattering a vase or begging to go outside. Your chin falls down to meet your chest, unable to muster up your faux bravery for any longer.

“I’m asking what gave you the idea that he would like some insolent, unsightly brat like you?”

You can’t open your mouth to respond, frozen in fear.

“Hm, what’s with the silence? You seemed so certain earlier, Petal. This is why you never should have left, look at this pitiful romance you’ve created,” she mocks, rounding your nervous form like a predator playing with their prey. “Let’s put him to the test then, shall we?”

Your head snaps up at her odd suggestion, eyes widening at the satchel she uncovers from behind her slim form. “You found it?”

She tosses the bag to you and you outstretch your arms—only to catch it a second too late. The bag drops to the floor and the flap flips open. You race to collect the sparkling crown that tumbles out, hastily shoving the diadem back inside before Jungkook wanders back, even turning towards the fire to ensure his continued absence.

“Why so scared?” your mother questions smugly, “I thought you said that he’s different from the rest of them?”

“He is!” you exclaim, rushing to defend him.

“Then give it to him, let’s see if he stays once he has the crown back in his hands. But don’t come crying back to Mother when he runs for the hills,” she snarls, lifting her hood over her short curls and withdrawing into the woods.

Your mind reels from your mother’s visit, but your concern lies with where to stash the leather satchel in your grasp. Dead leaves crunch under approaching footsteps and you examine your body, contemplating the best area for your idea.

Hiking the hem of your dress up to your stomach, you loop the strap of the bag through your left foot, twisting and repeating until it’s coiled around your ankle and the pouch snugly rests against your skin. You shimmy the satchel until the middle of your thigh where it refuses to go any higher.

Satisfied, you release your dress, smoothing the fabric down and confirming that nothing is suspiciously sticking out. You violently shake your leg back and forth to ensure there would be no future problems and sure enough, the straps tenaciously cling onto your thigh throughout all your testing.

“Hey, look what I found! He’ll definitely save us some travelling time tomorrow, but I don’t think he likes me much.”

Jungkook appears from the area your mother disappeared with an overwhelming pile of lumber in his arms. You stroll over to lessen the load, but he brushes you off and bypasses you to drop it beside the fire.

A white horse tromps along after him, trying to nip at the crown of his head while he shoos it away with a waving hand. The comical sight distracts you from the dreary thoughts of your mother, although the stiff strap wrapped around your leg forbids you from forgetting about it.

When you snap out of your reverie, Jungkook is cocking his head to the side at your unusually spacey behaviour.

You spare him a weak smile and shake your head.

Rather than sore feet, the next day your entire crotch is painfully numb from riding Maximus, the quirky horse who holds an obnoxious grudge against Jungkook for reasons unknown to you. While Max allows you to rub his cheeks, scratch his neck and run your fingers through his mane, he huffs if Jungkook so much as breathes too loudly.

Oddly enough, the stallion follows Jungkook around like a lost puppy despite his cold attitude. What is with males and their inability to show their appreciation for one another?

Jungkook insisted on being in front and taking hold of the reins even though Max refused to let him mount his back at first. After some caresses and loving words with the sweet animal, Max permitted you to hop on—which Jungkook was not pleased with. It was a nice change of pace to watch the ordinarily suave man lose his cool over a horse’s favouritism.

In the end, the only way Jungkook was allowed on was by sitting behind you, latching onto you for stability. The animosity growing between the two males adds to your amusement, so you remain unbothered by the hostile glares you can feel Jungkook throwing over your shoulder and the aggressive puffs of air that blow through Max’s nostrils every once in a while.

“Tell me how you found Max again?” Skepticism leaks into your tone, courtesy of Jungkook’s thieving habits.

You could practically feel his eyes roll back into his head as his arms tighten around your waist. His built torso is glued to your back, which repeatedly distracts you from the path ahead. “I told you that I was collecting some twigs off of the ground when this guy appeared out of nowhere! I was scared shitless.”

“You mean to say that someone accidentally lost their horse in the middle of the woods?” You glance sideways to peek at his chin, lodged into the crook of your neck. His face is merely a couple of millimetres from your own.

When he insisted on resting his head there, you had thoroughly embarrassed yourself with a flaming face, resembling a ripe tomato ready for the picking, coupled with your inability to enunciate any word properly. But after hours of his head smooshed against the side of your face or leaning against your upper back, you finally relax into his hold, finding comfort and safety in the appendages coiled tightly around you.

“Sounds plausible, doesn’t it?”

You scoff at the impish grin stretching across his cheeks at his own horrible excuse.

The castle comes into view in the ensuing half-hour, the imposing building no longer obstructed by the towering trees of the forest. Your spirits are dampened slightly by the cruel secrets Jungkook revealed yesterday night, although your giddiness at the prospect of living out your dreams makes you vibrate in excitement. You remind yourself that you’re here for the magical lights, not the castle.

The faint pounding against your back picks up speed for a reason drastically different to your own. He is essentially walking right into his own imprisonment—his wanted posters more than likely plastered across every flat surface inside the marketplace with soldiers littered around the premises. You gather the sturdy reins into one hand, freeing the other to hold Jungkook’s conjoined digits over your stomach.

Completely engrossed in Jungkook’s dilemma, neither of you notice Max racing into town until a screech pierces your ears. You apologize profusely for the spilled legumes that begin rolling away from the young woman, and you whip Max into trodding off before she curses you out.

Once you’re satisfied with the amount of space between yourselves and the unlucky woman, you tie Max’s reins to a nearby fence and race to join the festivities carrying on all around you. Spotting Jungkook’s unsure form lagging behind, you dart back to tug on his wrist, flashing him an encouraging smile before lugging him from one stall to another.

You don’t get far before you experience a sharp pain on your scalp. With the large amounts of people bustling around the tiny square, your hair is a tripping hazard that you try to quickly bunch up into your arms. Your hair is way too long to carry by yourself, so you turn to ask Jungkook for help, though he’s nowhere to be found.

Your mind races to the worst-case scenario. The guards must have caught sight of him, capturing him off guard while you were none the wiser and now he’s going to be hanged for his crimes all because you were too stupid to—

A couple of little girls with flowers decorating their braids physically yank you out of your trance, their tiny hands gathering your multitudinous strands and dragging you off to the side. You’re about to protest against their actions, more concerned over Jungkook’s whereabouts than anything, but after catching a glance of said man playfully waving at you from a few feet away, you allow yourself to be whisked away.

The three girls deftly move from left to right, taking locks of your hair with them as they knot it all into one humongous five strand braid. When you stand up to your full height, you’re amazed to see that none of your hair touches the ground. Considering the hefty weight that pulls at the back of your head, you know this solution can’t last too long.

They scatter various fresh flowers all over, the scent of the blossoms wafting around your figure. As you’re appreciating their handiwork, an arm wraps itself around the curve of your lower back, drawing you into a herculean chest while you blow air kisses filled with your gratitude to the snickering girls.

Jungkook maneuvers you into a narrow alleyway, and you get a chance to admire his glittering irises from up close.

“Guards?”

He only grins.

You’re certain to keep an eye out for any wandering soldiers from that point on, with you pulling Jungkook behind crowds or him dragging you into the gaps between small buildings. Despite the situation being rather stressful with your lives at stake, your escapade is thrilling nonetheless and you enjoy being pressed up against his lean frame, carelessly giggling to yourselves.

Although neither of you carries any silver, window shopping proves to be equally as amusing—browsing through homemade accessories, toys and masks that you play around with, flashing ridiculous faces at one another.

The delicious smell of baked goods drifts through the streets and prompts your mouths to fill with saliva. You appreciate the artistry behind their beautifully decorated exteriors, adorned with colourful frosting and sprinkles. One booth catches your attention and you latch onto Jungkook’s hand to drag him along.

Rows and rows of shiny green bottles are positioned in perfect rows on a table inside the booth and plushies hang from the sides, acting as bait to any passerby. You tug on the hem of Jungkook’s dark vest, gesticulating towards the game with awe.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few silver coins that glint in the sunlight. Your eyes widen into saucers at his mischievous grin and you smack his arm, chiding him for his wandering hands as he assures you that he found them on the ground. When he goes as far as to insist that he saved them from being trampled on, you can’t help your tinkling laughter from escaping.

Perhaps it’s karma that prevents your rings from landing on top of any bottle, but the exhilaration of watching the rings soar in midair with a flick of your wrist as Jungkook’s chants fill your ears is priceless. Certainly more precious than any stuffed animal.

You two amble about the streets again, side by side. Long fingers intertwine with your own and your heart flips in your chest, suppressing the raging flush that threatens to colour your cheeks whenever Jungkook is involved. You look around your surroundings, trying to conceal the cheeky grin on your face, resembling that of a toddler with their favourite candy.

Before long, your travelling gaze takes notice of the people hunched over on the ground, concentrated on the stones below them. With a closer look, you discover the sketches littered across the stone pathways—some spanning the entire street and some smaller than your palm.

You bolt over to join them with Jungkook in tow. This whole hand-holding business is proving to be more useful than you thought.

There are pieces of different coloured chalk dispersed throughout the streets, and you pick up an orange one, urging Jungkook to do the same. He searches around for a bit until he decides on a white coloured chalk.

By the time you’re finalizing the tiny drawing you sketched onto the uneven stones, the stub in your hand is half the size of your pinky. Your joints ache from kneeling for so long, but you’re more than satisfied with the bright tiger lily staring back at you.

You stand up, brushing off of any stray rocks that have embedded themselves onto the bare skin of your legs and nudge Jungkook’s arm with your foot. He grumbles under his breath that you ruined the white blob he claims to be a bunny, but you jest that it was doomed the moment he picked up the chalk.

The retort silences him and you stretch your hand out to help him stand, grinning sheepishly at the pout on his pink lips. He accepts your peace offering, although rather than using your aid to get up, he yanks you downwards and your unstable body lands right into his lap. You squeak at his retaliation and wriggle violently in his hold as he curls himself around you, his chin resting onto your shoulder and arms wrapping around your torso to quell your futile efforts of escape.

“You like the nation’s flower?” He questions, nuzzling his face into your upper back.

“Nation’s flower?”

He hums his confirmation and you feel the pleasant vibrations on your neck before he’s nodding towards the purple pennants that dangle off of thin strings, stretching between buildings. Now that you’re actively inspecting the marketplace for the flower, you notice the continuous motif of the orange lily sprouting everywhere from decorations to paintings.

Jungkook seems to have abandoned all hope on his own masterpiece, for he lifts you up by your underarms and leads you away.

As you venture through the rest of the market, grazing through the various stalls, you examine all the knick-knacks depicting the famous tiger lily. It soothes you slightly, recognizing the flower decorating your walls back at the tower.

Lost in your trance, you don’t catch Jungkook slinking away, disappearing into the crowds.

As you turn the corner to browse the next stall’s wares, a massive stained glass window depicting a family of three catches your eye. The man appears stern with his furrowed brows and deep-set frown, and the woman’s forced smile fits awkwardly onto her face. She’s holding a tight bundle of canvas, a tiny face peeking through the layers of fabric in her arms.

Rays of the setting sun pierce through the coloured, translucent material and surround the art piece with an ethereal glow. You’re transfixed by the woman, reminded of your own mother’s delicate features.

You shake off the unpleasant feeling of your last encounter with her and analyze the three squares dedicated to the child’s crumpled face. The only noticeable detail you can make out is his chubby cheeks.

“Interested in the Prince?” A warm breath whispers into your ear, “Am I not good enough for you anymore, Princess?”

You spin around to face Jungkook, barely able to contain your delight as you examine the playful glint in his eyes. “Bold of you to assume there was ever a point where you were good enough for me.”

He scoffs, hands automatically coming to loop around your middle. “I know you’re not suggesting that I’m anything less than stellar company.”

You hum aloud, feigning contemplation by rubbing at your chin and a wide grin breaks his irked performance. He tries to hide his little slip by burrowing his face into the crook of your neck.

His soft cheeks on your bare skin along with his large hands squeezing at your sides elicit all your muffled giggles to burst past your lips. Pure, unadulterated glee bounces around your stomach.

Some of the lilies lodged within your golden strands fall loose and flutter onto the ground with the movement. You intercept one that drops from near your temple, plucking it out of the air and slotting the stem just above Jungkook’s ear.

He pulls away from subjecting your clavicle with his tiny nips in order to rest his forehead against yours. Your head is cradled by one of his palms and you watch as his heated gaze roams down to your lips. Entranced by his overwhelming presence, your eyelids slide shut as he leans forward slightly, tilting his head to the side before a meaty hand encloses around the circumference of your upper arm, yanking you away from him.

Panic seizes your muscles. Your heart threatens to shatter your rib cage with its fierce pounding. The soldiers. You extend your other arm to reach out for Jungkook—the same alarm piercing your flesh is reflected in his blazing orbs. Before he has the chance to rush after you, a dainty woman clothed in a primrose dress sweeps him away as well.

Barely a whole day has passed since you began running away from the soldiers, yet you’re more than certain that the soldier’s attire solely consisted of their royal uniforms, which did not include any flowy, pink garments. You whip back to your own abductor; a stout, jolly man with a cheshire grin stretching from one ear to the other.

He releases you in the middle of a swarming mass of people, moving their bodies left and right to the beat being pounded out on tabors and the sweet melody spilling from a nearby flute.

The man spins you around, encouraging you to let loose and sway your hips to the upbeat song as you’re handed off from one partner to the next. Somewhere within the chaos, you spot Jungkook’s longing stare and you subconsciously inch closer to his side.

The second that you two are within reach of one another, you dart into his arms. Just as you’re about to slip into his comforting embrace, a scrawny boy takes your place while an older woman wraps her arms around your shoulders. She wastes no time before guiding you into a dip, her palms supporting your back.

Upside down, Jungkook’s annoyed countenance is an amusing sight that you gleefully chortle at. Knowing that he is similarly distraught at the prospect of being unable to dance together soothes your aching desire and you savour the thrilling experience of moving as one part of a greater whole.

You prance and twirl your heart out as if it’s your last time. And you’re sure that it will be.

Eventually, both of you are able to slither your way out of the dancing crowds, and the cheers die down the farther you get from the main square. The sun is rapidly falling past the horizon and the capital is shrouded in the deepening twilight. You assumed that he would lead you to see the lanterns about now, but you’re clueless as to why you two are heading away from the castle.

“Jungkook?”

He turns back to you with a breathtaking smile resting on his lips, the dwindling light casting an otherworldly radiance around him. Reaching for your hand, he intertwines your fingers with his own as he leans down to softly bump his forehead against yours. “You’ll see.”

Jungkook directs you towards the moat that surrounds the marketplace, ushering you into one of the many gondolas lined up against the dock. You narrow your eyes at him and he attempts to reassure you with a simple, “We’ll bring it back.”

This man will truly corrupt all your morals.

But you’re so entranced in his spell that you follow along without more than a tiny squeeze at your interlaced digits. You release his hands before he jumps into the boat, the wood swaying back and forth under his weight, worrying you instead of the unbothered man a few feet away. As you take a sharp inhale, about to follow in his footsteps, Jungkook grips the sides of your hips and lifts you into the gondola with him.

You fix him with a reproachful glare at his unexpected actions yet the silent scolding doesn’t last long, for you’re hopeless to the sight of his elation, sticking to him like a second skin. Powerless against his charms, you sit on the thin wooden seat on the other side of the boat and watch him grab an oar, dipping it into the water and propelling you two forward.

You want to admire the unobstructed view of the sparkling night sky, but nothing can beat the galaxies hidden within Jungkook’s eyes, thus you try to seem as inconspicuous as possible in ogling him from your peripheral. However, your futile efforts are rather pointless considering your position, facing the handsome thief rowing the boat at the other end.

You think the title is fitting since he’s stolen your heart without a problem as well.

Once he deems your spot satisfactory, Jungkook strolls over to your side, taking a seat on the bench across from you. His legs slot in between the spaces of your own.

“Now that I think about it, it’s the Prince’s eighteenth birthday too,” he states. “He must be pretty excited, taking over the throne and everything.”

You perk up at the news. “He’s succeeding the King?”

“Mm,” he affirms, wetting his lips with a swipe of his tongue. “King announced an early retirement or something because they’d already found the Prince’s betrothed. His coronation is today.”

You nod your understanding, thinking about the responsibilities bearing down on the poor boy. “It’s kind of weird to think about, y’know, being the same age and even sharing the same birthday but leading completely different lives. He’s about to get married, lead a country and me...” you falter, pausing to string your thoughts into a coherent sentence. “Well, this is my entire dream. Seeing these lights is everything to me.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” he asks, shrugging his shoulders. “You’re living your own life, on your own journey. Comparing yourself to others does nothing but rob yourself of your own happiness.”

You hum with a teasing lilt to your tone. “Suddenly the boy who named himself ‘gold’ in the hopes of attracting some friends is giving me advice?”

He breaks out into a chuckle, doubling over and laying his forehead on your shoulder. His hands reach out for the locks of hair resting on your lap, plucking one of the flowers swimming in your strands. Like Hansel and his bread crumbs, many of the blossoms that fell off throughout your time in the marketplace left tracks of your whereabouts. Only a few flowers remain with you.

With the delicate daisy between his thumb and index finger, he rolls the pads of his fingers against each other, spinning the white petals so fast that they blur together into a splotchy circle surrounding the yellow centre. Once he becomes bored with the flower, he lifts his head and stretches his arm out with a classic smirk that heightens his flirtatious nature. “For you, my lady.”

You huff at the offering. “You act as if it wasn’t already mine in the first place.” Despite your sharp words, you gingerly pluck the stem out of his grasp, fingers brushing against his own. When you raise the daisy up to your nose, the invigorating floral scent startles your senses once more.

With not much else to occupy your time, you decide that now is a better time than ever to dislodge the wilting buds from your tresses. You face the side of the gondola overlooking the water, grabbing onto the ledge and leaning forward.

You muster all the grace you have within your bones to place the ivory daisy onto the water’s surface. The flower drifts along the calm current, painting the atmosphere with a tranquil serenity.

Despite your best efforts to suppress them, your clumsy tendencies shine through when you tip your torso over a smidge too far, losing your balance and diving headfirst for the water. Jungkook is quick to latch on to your wrist, steadying you before you accidentally throw yourself overboard.

You’re sheepish in both your apology and thanks. To avoid any further mishaps, one of his hands remain on your lower back and the other collects the remaining blossoms in your tresses, handing them off to you.

A slow rhythm develops between you two and your raging thoughts come to a standstill, a red light halting the traffic within your mind. In front of you, a garden of assorted blossoms assembles, floating gently towards the ornate castle. One sprout catches your eye.

A tiger lily.

Directly below its long petals, a flash of bright red catches your eye in the reflection of the water. Jungkook’s deep voice cleaves through the soft sloshing of the water. “The lanterns.”

“It’s…” You struggle to piece together proper words to describe the sight before you. One lantern lightens the dark sky, drifting alone in the expansive space before a bunch of others race to join the first. Their warm, yellow glow overpowers that of the moon, painting the landscape in an orange tint that seems to welcome you into its embrace.

“Beautiful.”

You’re too distracted by the enchanting sight before you to notice his eyes trained on your profile, and so you soundlessly agree with a nod of your head. It’s as if time has ceased in its endless ticking, halting in its tracks for another world to open where only you and Jungkook exist.

You don’t mind the idea as much as you think you would.

“I have a surprise.”

You turn over to face him, head tilting in curiosity. He carries a paper lantern in his open palms and your brows furrow at his attentive, considerate behaviour. “Jungkook?”

“We should join in on all the fun, right?” A genuine smile illuminates his soft features instead of the usual smirks he casually throws your way. Oddly enough, despite your inability to operate in front of his flirty personality, you adore both sides equally.

“Kook, wait.”

He perks up at the nickname, reminding you of a dog with its tail violently wagging back and forth—you can’t help but be enamoured by him. You raise the hem of your dress up to the middle of your left thigh and he sputters, looking away. “Hey, hey! I know I’m pretty irresistible but this boat is not the place to—”

“No, you idiot.” You snicker at his unexpected timidity, shimmying the coiled strap down your leg and covering your decency once again with the fabric. “I have something for you too.”

He peeks at you, ensuring that you’re sufficiently clothed before turning to face you. A cold sweat settles over the outer layer of your skin as you watch his brows raise at his satchel in your hands. Keeping the lantern in one hand, and his steady gaze focused on your eyes, he gently pushes the bag down to the floor of the boat, the metal of the crown banging against the wood.

“All I need is you,” he whispers the words into the empty space of the night, the syllables getting lost somewhere within the mellow breeze blowing by. Your heart constricts at the reassurance that this time, Mother is wrong. You fight back the tears gathering at your waterline and grab the other edge of the lantern after he lights the candle inside.

“Ready?” he asks.

You nod and the two of you slowly lift your arms to release the lantern with the masses drifting above you. After a bit, you lose sight of your paper lantern and you glance back at Jungkook to ask whether he was able to keep track of its location, but your voice gets stuck in your throat when you become captivated with the childlike wonder buried within his orbs, roaming over the sky and examining every single lantern at once.

His scouring eventually leads him back to you. He catches you staring, but neither of you care enough to break the moment. His eyes soften and you two shuffle forward on your seats, being pulled toward one another like magnets. Your legs entangle with his in the cramped area and you lean forward until your lips are millimetres from one another.

From this close, you have a perfect view of your reflection within his brilliant irises, the shallow scar that runs along his cheek, the cute birthmark right under his mouth. His eyes are locked on your mouth and you take that as the go-ahead signal to close the gap and slot your lips against his soft ones.

With your evident lack of experience, Jungkook takes control immediately, a hand flying to the back of your head, threading through your hair to keep you in place as he sucks at your lower lip. His tongue swipes at the closed seam that blocks him from your mouth, and you instantly open up to clash tongues, although you shrink back soon after, letting him explore your hot cavern.

You sneak a peek at him every time you two separate for air, confirming that this is indeed reality and not some product of your wild imagination. He invades all your senses and keeps you locked to him like an addict desperate for their fix, his other palm searing through your clothing with its heat and burning a hole through the thin fabric of your dress.

When you finally pull away, you feel feverish and dizzy as a raging blush colours your cheeks. You can’t find it in yourself to look directly into his eyes, but he reaches for your chin and forces you to study the haze of passion in his gaze.

Every part of your body is lit aflame from his touch. Hooked on the feeling of his plush lips pressing against yours with your tongues swirling in tandem with one another, you’re about to lean in for more when his eyes dart off to the side and he abruptly jerks away as if you burned him with your embrace.

His startling jolt snaps you out of your dazed state. With your head out of the clouds, you notice that the lanterns have already moved onto the next town over, taking their warmth with them. The fire within you, kindled by Jungkook, dwindles with the uncertainty of your future together.

Without so much as another word, Jungkook snatches the oar from the bottom of the boat and jumps back to his position at the front of the gondola. He urgently paddles the two of you back to land and you fumble for words. “Jungkook, I—”

“It’s not you.” His statement is reassuring in writing, although his tone is detached, distant in a way that crushes the passages to your lungs. Lost in your dejection, you’re powerless to prod him for any more information than that.

Before the boat can hit the edge of the dock, Jungkook springs out with his leather satchel tucked under his arm, pausing to mutter, “I just—I have to take care of something. Please believe me when I say I’ll be back.” His anguish leaks into his voice and you will yourself to nod, a forced smile on your lips. “Wait for me.”

He dashes off with your heart in his hands. You steady your shaky breath and place your faith in him, the man you have come to trust with your life.

You spend the next half hour struggling to get out of the gondola, craving the flat land to ground yourself. By the time you manage to clamber out, there are a couple of discoloured blotches on the length of your dress that put your many failed attempts on full display. You fan one of the bigger spots to help it dry faster, but the fabric becomes chilly with the extra wind and a shiver slips down your spine from its icy temperature.

Languid footsteps approach your frigid frame and you brighten up, forgetting about the cold. “Took you long enough. Y’know, for a second there I was worried you’d actually lef—”

You pick up more than one pair of feet advancing on you and your eyes widen at the lanky, redheaded twins that stop in front of your path. Cursing your quivering limbs, you cringe at the tremor in your voice when you ask, “What did you do to him?”

They simultaneously snort at your question and the one on the left replies, “Sorry about this, lass, but you’re gonna have to come with us.”

The blood drains from your face and you repeat, louder, “What did you do to him?”

“Aw, don’t get all riled up now. But don’t worry your pretty little head, we’re going to take you right to him.” They corner you back to the dock and you scramble to locate a weapon to defend yourself with. At your wit’s end, you prepare to jump into the murky waters.

However, before you get the chance to move another muscle, an intense pain blooms at the back of your skull, wrapping around to your temples accompanied by a flash of light exploding behind your eyes. Then everything goes black.

Your head pounds as a dull ache nestles itself deep within your bones. Your vision is nothing but a blurry, indecipherable mess of colours, so you opt to keep your eyes closed instead. You’re kneeling on cold tiles that rub your knees raw when you subtly shift into a more comfortable position, discovering the existence of the shackles around your wrists and ankles.

“—nd the girl. We expect you to keep your end of the deal.” The rugged tone that speaks is one that you recognize from before your blackout—one of the redheads.

“Yes, yes, all the charges laid against you have been cleared,” a high-pitched voice meets your ears and you subconsciously grimace, physically recoiling from the sound. Thankfully, your sharp motions go unnoticed. “You’re free to go.”

“What?” You hear shuffling nearby, the rustling of clothes getting farther away from you. The distinct, metallic sheen of a couple of swords being unsheathed follow and the footsteps come to a sudden stop. “You promised us gold.”

The woman scoffs, “Now why would I give you crooked-nosed knaves anything more than a death sentence?”

Many polished boots clamber against the ground with such force that the vibrations can be felt through the flesh of your folded calves. The grunts and garbled screams that ensue are silenced within seconds and two hefty weights hit the floor with a limp, lifeless thud.

“A pleasure working with you boys.”

There’s more shuffling, then something is dragged past your crumpled form. The throbbing across your cranium worsens and you’re incapable of fending off the blissful oblivion of desolation any longer, thus you surrender to the darkness once more.

The next time you open your eyes a harsh light coats your surroundings and the blocks of colour are clearer, sharp enough to decipher the intricate detailing painted on the tiles beneath your knees. Someone chokes on a wet cough, and your eyelids snap shut once more. Your nose crinkles in disgust as well.

“Her tiny skull should have been rolling through these halls eighteen years ago.” The woman’s wretched tone fills your ears, words full of deadly poison.

You remain chained, kneeling against the ground with your head lowered. A numbing sensation lingers no matter how much you fidget in place, bearing down your limbs with the weight of your useless nerves that refuse to fire off.

Another, deeper, voice responds, “Tone it down. Her magic is powerful, the advantage we hold over the other kingdoms is colossal with this kind of sorcery on our side. If she falls, the whole empire will fall with her.”

Sorcery? Although you can count the number of people you met on one hand, you’ve studied heaps of books and drilled your mother with enough questions to know that your magic is unique and rare—a product of alchemy that occurs merely once every millennium.

“I see no point in keeping her around when we cannot access her magic at our will, she is as good as worthless to us. That halfwit of a sister was incapable of locking this churl in a tower for long enough, and look at her now, running around, wreaking havoc with a criminal.”

Your mind swirls with the sudden barrage of information, unsure as to why these two strangers hold deep insights into your life, as well as the knowledge about your unusual hair.

“There is nothing to worry about, Jimin is on the throne. We will simply send her away once again,” the gruff voice states, exasperation clear in his tone.

A deafening thud reverberates throughout the spacious room. Helpless to the dreadful fear swimming in your veins, your body shudders in response to the noise.

The woman shrieks, clearly at her wits’ end, “I want her dead! Guillotine, hang, drown, burn, I could care less. She poses a threat to Jimin’s throne with her existence, and we have gone through too much to have our plans foiled by this knave. We were merciful enough in having my imbecilic sister continue to meet with Jimin throughout the years.”

There’s a long, drawn-out sigh before the man answers, “Have some heart, darling, that is her son you speak of.”

“In the eyes of the people, he is my son and the King,” she seethes. Her enmity is strangely familiar, yet you fail to identify the woman through her voice. “Quit acting as if I am the only sinner here and remember how much we both sacrificed for our blood to inherit the King’s throne.”

“It is not your blood though, is it, dear wife?”

The tension within the room is thick, palpable in the dense air in the way that makes breathing difficult. “You must have enjoyed sleeping with my sister more than I believed. Do you want to call her back here? Play a good husband and wife for the counterfeit King?”

You couldn’t keep the tremours from breaking out over your body as your breaths quicken and an abundance of liquid races to your eyes. It was all beginning to come together, but you wait for the two to confirm your suspicions.

The man chuckles with hollow intent. “Do you fail to recall your own words, pleading with me to follow this foolish scheme of yours? I would have much rather preferred a foreigner rule the kingdom alongside our daughter.”

“Funny, that’s not what you said eighteen years ago.”

You let out a choked sob, unable to repress the sounds of anguish that tears at your skin to brutal shreds. Enraged rivulets stream down your cheeks, and you lift your torso to stare at your legitimate parents. They turn to you, the man distraught and the woman with pure disgust.

“How—” you stammer through your heavy wails, “how could you?”

“So the Princess found out.” Your biological mother raises from her royal seat, storming over the short distance to your trembling form. “Fine, we can strike an agreement.”

She reaches behind your head to grab a handful of your hair, yanking your head up to peer up at the exquisitely decorated ceiling. When you yelp in pain, she crouches down to your level, baring her pearly white teeth as she threatens, “Leave. Be a good little girl and go hole yourself back up in that tower. Don’t worry, Mommy will come get you if we ever need that magic of yours, hm?”

You desperately wriggle around to loosen her hold, but she only grips your strands tighter, pulling downwards to introduce more pain to your scalp. “That thief will stay right here to ensure you keep up your end of the deal, alright?”

At the mention of Jungkook, your heart stutters and your expression morphs to that of despair, momentarily forgetting about the strain to the sensitive skin of your head. “Where is he?”

She smirks and snaps her fingers. The door to the throne room is pulled open with a loud clack, and Jungkook’s weak, bloody form stumbles through the grand entrance, hanging upright with the help of two sturdy guards.

“Kook,” you achingly howl.

“Mopping all his blood off the floor would be terribly tiresome for the maids.” She jerks your head down to bear witness to the sneer stretching across her lips. “It’s all up to you, really.”

“Let me heal him!” you agonize, sobs ripping through your chest, burning through every tissue to the outermost layer of your skin. “Pl-please, please let me heal him. I’ll leave, I won’t say a word, I’ll do anything you want—I’m b-begging you, please.”

The wicked smirk playing on her lips grows wider at your pleading. She shoves your head away, the momentum of the push throwing your whole torso over to the side, bringing about a harsh meeting with the floor. With Jungkook occupying every crevice of your mind, there’s no space to register the pain pulsing through your groggy body.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

You scramble to your hands and knees, disregarding the scrapes and bruises littering your limbs. Despite your tunnel vision directed towards reaching Jungkook, your movements are sluggish from the extended period of time spent kneeling in one position.

The guards supporting him release their hold on his arms, and you scramble to catch his limp frame in your arms, but your depleted muscles can only manage to soften his fall with your body. You detangle yourself from him and hurriedly begin wrapping your hair around his torso.

Your jaw trembles at his damp locks, sodden with sweat and stuck to the side of his head dripping in crimson. The vicious colour oozes out of the deep gashes you locate across his back, peeking through the tears in his shirt and stains the bloody spit drooling from the corners of his cracked lips. Great purple welts fill the rest of his exposed skin, completing the heart-wrenching picture before you.

You pick up the weak croak of your name, and you hiccup from your fierce laments at his red-rimmed eyes. “Guess I was right all along, Princess.”

Your mother’s cruel words follow the nasty glower she shoots his way. “Shut up or we’ll end your pitiful life now, you filthy criminal.”

“Jungkook, I’m here,” you reassure him, beginning to wrap your excess strands around his arms before he stops you with a stained hand. “Jungkook let me—”

“Stop,” he mutters, gripping his side in pain.  

“No! I can’t—I can’t let you die.” You grit your teeth, disobeying his words and going to wrap your tresses around his broken body once more.

“If you go back there,” he coughs, an alarming amount of blood spurting out, “then you’ll—”

“It’s fine, everything will be alright, okay?” You press your palm over his hand and the icy bite that greets you hardens your resolve. “We’ll figure it out.”

You take a deep breath, readying yourself to sing the incantation engraved into the back of your mind when Jungkook’s fingers graze your cheek. You unconsciously lean into his touch, examining every crimson stain marring his delicate features.

His doe eyes soften at your orbs roaming his face and when your gaze settles on his thin lips, he snatches the chance to land a peck against your mouth. The fleeting kiss fills you with greed, and your eyes flutter shut despite your rationale as you dip towards him for another.

You halt, gasping at the gut-wrenching sound of your tresses being severed from the base of your neck, the noise snapping you back to reality. Your eyes widen at Jungkook’s relieved countenance as his torso reclines to the ground, the sharp dagger in his hand rattling onto the tiles beside him. When you reach back to assess the damage, your hand grips onto the short strands that reach no further than your shoulder.

You glance back at the heaps of dead, brown hair sprawled across the palace floor and your mind wipes clean of any coherent thought. Instead, your chest caves in on itself, breathing made impossible because of your collapsed airways and you choke out, “Jungkook, what did you—”

“What an absolute halfwit, does he think he did anyone a favour with that little stunt of his? Without your hair, we have no need for either of you.” Your biological mother laughs, the notes turning ominously maniacal towards the end. “Kill them.”

Guards immediately surround you two, and in a weak attempt to protect him from their pointed swords, you cradle Jungkook’s powerless form to your chest. You prepare yourself to bear the end of their piercing blades.

“What do you roaches think you’re doing?” she seethes, blazing orbs flashing with white-hot fury. “I said, kill them!”

The gigantic doors burst open again, but this time, a lean man strides forward. His blond strands are neatly styled away from his forehead and the regal red robe hanging upon his shoulders elegantly sway after him. The soldiers part ways to make room for the intimidating man and one of his retainers at the door announces, “The King is here!”

You struggle to even out your frantic breaths, thankful for the distraction that grants you a break to rack your brain for a method to escape the dreadful situation you two have found yourselves in. Debating whether you should fight back, sneak away or plead for forgiveness, your eyes dart wildly around the room. A woman donned in a black cloak lingers slightly behind the King, gazing at you with a murderous glare that sends pin needles into the thin lining of your stomach.

“That’s enough,” the King states.

“Jimin.” The former Queen races up to him but is stopped by the retainers that encircle the King.  “What business do you have here? There are more important matters for you to attend to.” Her eyes narrow at the sight of the woman behind him.

“No, I think this has gone on long enough.” He sweeps his gaze over to the two of you, Jungkook barely clinging onto life, nestled within your protective embrace. The woman latches onto his bicep, her head vigorously shaking back and forth, yet you’re uncertain whether her disagreement will relieve your anguish or worsen it.

Despite her insistence, his head nods in your direction and the woman that raised you begrudgingly marches up to you, barely acknowledging your presence in favour of pressing her palms against Jungkook’s open lacerations. He winces at the pressure and just as you’re about to tell her off, you discern the thick gauze that rests between her hand and Jungkook’s side, the sterile white shade expeditiously being replaced by a bloody crimson.

“What are you talking about, dear?” the former Queen asks, a hard edge to her tone. “These two are hedge-born lowlives, simply not worth your time.”

He crinkles his nose in disgust, flicking his hand towards the former King and Queen. “Lock them up in the dungeons.”

Both their eyes widen comically, jaws dropping to the floor. However, you can’t find joy within their despair when Jungkook’s survival is still up in the air.

The woman sputters, recklessly thrashing her body to escape the soldiers’ grip. The man simply lowers his head, seemingly having accepted his fate as he follows the guards without another word.

“Did you forget who put you in that throne, Park Jimin?” the woman screeches, the blood vessels lining her neck about to implode. “How dare you disrespect your pare—”

“How could I ever forget your treacherous actions?” he spits out, disgust lacing his voice, “How could I ever forget how many lives you’ve ruined, dear aunt.”

“We did it all for you!”

“You did it for yourselves,” he hisses. Relief trickles through the tips of your fingers, spreading across your body like wildfire from the King’s aid. “Get them out of my sight.”

“You worthless—” Her shrieks echo throughout the halls, though you’ve long lost focus in their conversation after watching the two wretched souls being punished and put in their rightful place.

Your aunt passes some thick bandages from inside the bell sleeve of her cloak. You gratefully accept the offering, pressing it against his lower back—wishing that it’s not too late, that Jungkook has not lost too much blood yet. The passive stare that your aunt fixes you with crams your head with doubt and you begin to panic, bringing one of your hands up to cradle his face.

Although you’re convinced that you wailed through an entire year’s worth of sobs, the tears sliding down your face refuse to stop, dripping down and landing onto the dirtied skin of Jungkook’s cheek. You press your forehead against his, hoping against hope that some magic remains within your body, that the tiniest bit will reveal itself like a bag trick and heal his wounds.

But your magical hair was extraordinary enough, and this is no fairytale.

“Get those two to the physician’s,” the King orders.

Guards scramble to action, ripping you apart from Jungkook as you unsuccessfully attempt to resist being separated again. You’re absolutely spent from the tiring events of the past couple of days and your weary legs give out as the soldiers lift your drained form into a standing position.

Jungkook is moved onto a sturdy sheet, then carried away past the double doors and out of sight. Your flimsy arms wrap around the shoulders of two guards as they assist you in following Jungkook to the physician, passing the King on your way.

His plush lips stretch into a sympathetic, tight-lipped smile, but the adrenaline from earlier wears off and the sting of your own wounds drains you of your manners, uncaring that you’re facing the King. Thankfully, he dismisses your discourtesy instead of beheading you, and you’re hauled away from the gracious man.

On the way, you’re close enough to overhear what he mutters under his breath. A garbled scream rips through your throat in protest, and you shoot the King the deadliest glare you can muster. He releases a deep sigh at your childish antics, waving as you turn the corner.

“Poor guy doesn’t look like he’s going to make it.”

You spend the next few, rather tedious, days in a luxurious bed, being fretted over by everyone from the maids to the chefs. It was difficult to indulge in the extravagance that the castle had to offer when you were anxiously awaiting news regarding Jungkook, which they refused to disclose until your own condition improved.

After all the pampering, you were permitted access past the confines of the expansive room you were forced to recover in. Your injuries were minor in comparison to Jungkook, thus you were granted freedom much earlier than him.

Not like he was capable of stepping outside of his room anyway.

Although his body is repairing his torn flesh incrementally, he shows no signs of consciousness—not the twitch of a finger, the flutter of an eyelash, nothing. Doubt claws a bit higher up your torso each day, waiting for the moment that the disquiet slithers up your esophagus and suffocates you.

Despite the crushing news of his coma-like state, you work diligently to ensure that neither you nor Jungkook becomes a burden to the castle by picking up various duties. Jimin continuously waves off your attempts to help, but you’re restless and desperate for a distraction from wondering about Jungkook’s condition all the time.

Jimin banned you from performing some of the maid’s tasks once, then sorely regretted it when he had to tend to your nervous breakdown in the afternoon. Since then he has kept his comments on your excessive working habits to himself.

Today you’re in Jungkook’s room, dusting off the spotless shelves that house the many herbs being grounded into powders and rubbed as a salve onto his injuries daily. You organize the rolled bandages for the second time in the past hour and mop every inch of the floor.

You can’t devote yourself to lingering by the unconscious man’s side for too long, otherwise your mind gradually begins to spiral into every possible worst-case scenario and you simply can’t handle the reality of a future without him. It sounds overly dramatic—many of the maids you have grown close to over the months claimed as much when you brought up your journey together.

But they didn’t hear his melodic laughter that followed his teasing smirks when he said something flirtatious, effectively making your heart skip a beat. They didn’t feel his hand always reaching out to make contact with you in some way, craving your touch to ground him to reality. They didn’t see his eyes softening when he gazed at you as though you were holding his entire world in your eyes.

They didn’t know Jungkook the way you did.

You strain the mop of its excess dirtied water before stowing the tool away in the storage room. When you return, a draft filters in through the open window and you race over to close it, worried that Jungkook may catch a bothersome cold that will delay his healing process.

You take a seat on the lavish mattress adjacent from his thighs as you stare out the window in front of you. The air remains stale in spite of the fresh breeze that blew into the room seconds prior, and the dull atmosphere persists due to the lifeless man inhabiting its space.

You’re uncertain how many more times you can handle walking into this room with his weak body lying motionless on these pristine sheets, but you will endure it all without complaint for him. A knock at the door catches your attention, and you twist around to meet Jimin’s friendly beam. “How is he?”

“Same as he always is,” you state, allowing yourself to take in Jungkook’s sunken cheeks and pale face. “Unresponsive.”

“You wanna join me in the gardens for some fresh air?” At your unsure raise of a brow, he convinces you with, “You’ve been cooped up in the castle the whole day.”

The both of you head out to view the lush scenery outside, seated amongst the blooming tulips, although your eyes are drawn to the lilies that border the lilac cosmos. You trace the familiar shape of the orange flower with your pupils, reminiscing on the doodles decorating your room’s walls back at the tower. That seems like forever ago now.

Other than his lack of consciousness, Jungkook’s condition remains relatively stable and yet you still find it burdensome to stray too far from his side. The staff is under orders to instantly notify you should he arise while you’re away, but that doesn’t ease the disquiet that rouses whenever you leave the castle walls.

You’re convinced that the second you wander off, he will wake up without you there; a thought too unbearable to consider. You crave to lose yourself within his molten ember orbs once more, exploring the undiscovered galaxies in his gaze.

“These past few months must seem unfathomable,” he starts, pressing his lips together to ponder over his next words before continuing. “I don’t know how my mom treated you in the tower but, knowing her, I’m guessing it wasn’t too great.”

His casual mention of the affectionate term you pleaded to call your mother for ages—the topic she despised almost as much as you begging to venture outside the tower—stung the slightest bit. From her actions, it was evident that she never cared for you as much as her own, biological son, but it was difficult to dismiss the joyful memories you shared with her, no matter how few and far between they were.

“She started visiting me a few years back, explaining all their horrendous crimes and insisting that she was the only one I could trust. She told me about you, too. Your mother ordered her to lock you away in that tower and ensure that nobody ever found out the truth in exchange for my seat on the throne. ”

Your head lowers at the information, brows furrowing as you contemplate your true relationship with the woman that raised you from birth.

“When my mom caught word of you travelling with the thief, she returned the crown in hopes that Jungkook would run for the hills, and you would be left to come back with her. Her goal was to overtake the kingdom from your mother.” His eyes gloss over with a distant sheen and you sympathize with him; the boy was used as a tool, just like you.

“It’s reassuring in a way.” His strange admittance prompts you to glance up at him, confusion swirling within your orbs. “At least we’re both suffering from our family’s despicable actions.”

Our family.

His optimistic viewpoint hits you like a wave crashing against the shore, sharing his vast fortitude and washing away a fraction of the sombre agony tormenting your heart. Although Jimin’s life was no doubt disparate from your own, you two are connected through the blood running through your veins. Even if those same bonds brought you to a tragic meeting with your own wicked parents, at least you could rely on one person within your family.

The edges of your lips curl into a tiny smile aimed at the blond man across from you, your own short, chestnut coloured hair providing a stark contrast. “I’m glad I can rely on you, Jimin.”

He readjusts his weight on the green, iron chair and leans forward to rest his elbows on the metal table between the two of you. “I think this is the first time you’ve called me by my name without me having to remind you.”

You quietly giggle at the memories flooding your mind, from the hostile attitude you first approached him with, then the days he comforted you over Jungkook’s motionless form, to Jimin demanding that you call him by his first name. You consider yourself extremely lucky to have someone as gracious and compassionate as Jimin to be your half-brother.

“I know we’ve already gone over this,” he starts with a serious edge to his tone, “but this is your last chance.”

You rip your gaze away from the plants to lay a couple of light pats to his hand. Despite the lack of context, the topic is familiar to you, as he has gone over this with you many times. “No, I don’t want the throne. You trained for this position your whole life, so I’m entrusting the kingdom to your capable hands. All I ask is for you to fulfill my request.”

Jimin releases a heavy sigh. “If you really want him free of all his crimes, there’s no way you two can live within the capital.”

“That’s fine with me.” You shrug your shoulders, unconcerned about the prospect of having to leave the busy city. “I don’t think I could live somewhere like this anyway.”

You don’t expand on your reasoning, and he doesn’t question you further, simply sparing you a solemn, understanding gaze. Supposedly, you aren’t supposed to pick favourites within your family, but Jimin is definitely golden in your eyes.

“Deeply sorry to intrude, Your Royal Majesty, but your betrothed is at the door and wishes to meet with you.” A guard inches his way towards your table with his head bowed, hands respectfully gathered behind his back.

Jimin looks to you with an apology on his tongue, but you wave him off before any explanations can spill from his plump lips. “Go get your girl.”

A bright smile enlightens his features as he springs up from his seat, dusting off his uniform before bounding after the guard. When he quirks his head back, you demonstrate your encouragement through a thumbs-up that you wave from side to side until he is satisfied, facing forward with a gleeful snicker.

You inhale the outdoor air, about to head inside yourself to rearrange Jungkook’s bandages again when your eyes wander back to the tiger lilies that caught your eye earlier. Within a few strides, you reach the vibrant buds, stretching your hand out to pluck a few stems. The sweet smell invades your senses.

With a tiny bouquet in hand, you make your way back inside, the metaphorical load on your shoulders a bit lighter than it was before. You expertly maneuver your way through the halls towards Jungkook’s room with the dwindling hope that today will be the day that his honey orbs reflect the sun’s light filtering in the window, filled with the mischief and tenderness that you remember.

When you’re met with his unmoving form instead, another sliver of that faith shatters into tiny shards.

You shake it off and head back to the windowsill, where an empty flower vase rests. The lilies within your grasp are carefully inserted inside and you place the bouquet back onto the tiny platform. Their floral scent wafts throughout the space as you take your place beside his legs.

As part of your usual routine, you use this time to relax. Just for a moment, you give yourself the room to breathe, giving your brain free rein to feel the emotions raging within you and fantasize about your future with Jungkook. You imagine yourself in a tiny cottage, craving a quaint place to live after the immense tower you were raised in.

The two of you would settle down there, adopting a pet to keep you company before you inevitably brought a few children into the world. Their genders didn’t matter, as long as you could raise them with Jungkook, forming a tight-knit family that shared all the love the both of you lacked growing up.

A warm hand wraps around your wrist. Your head snaps to follow the direction of his arm, curving into his broad shoulders, and past his sharp jaw with your heart in your throat. Tears gather at your waterline, spilling over onto your cheeks as you hiccup from the sudden sobs that overtake your body.

The doe eyes that stare back at you carry your whole world in their weight.

+ epilogue.

Tiny footsteps scuttle around the wooden floors, screaming in delight from being chased by a much larger, yet still very childlike, man. “Betchya can’t catch me, daddy!”

Your husband playfully roars at the taunt, speeding up his strides to snatch the little girl up into his arms. She shrieks at the hand that comes up to tickle her little torso.

“Okay, okay, enough playing you two,” you command, calming the baby boy in your arms that becomes far too excited from the chaotic energy erupting within your cottage. “It’s dinnertime!”

“Dinnertime!” your oldest repeats, violently wriggling around in her father’s grip to force him in lowering her back to the ground so that she can run to her spot at the table. She looks from side to side, doe eyes flitting back to you with a pout on her lips. “But where’s Pascal, Mommy?”

You pass the baby to Jungkook, freeing your hands in order to bring the steaming hot food from the stove to the table. The beige chameleon fades back into his natural emerald colour once you grab him by his scaly torso, dropping him into your daughter’s awaiting hands.

Her squeaky voice chides, “You can’t hide from Mommy.”

A boisterous, yet melodic neigh notifies you of Max’s presence in your backyard, and you shamble past the wooden door to hand the carrots you prepared for him. He snorts in delight as he lowers his head to the floor and begins chomping away. At the sight of his dirtied mane, you take a mental note to give him a thorough wash and brush later on.

Before you head inside, you catch sight of a blond man making his way towards you. “Jimin!”

His eyes reduce to two crescents from the wide grin that occupies his face. He swapped out his imposing robe for a commoner’s shirt and slacks, and they strangely suit his lithe form better than his bulky uniform.

“And where’s our lovely Queen?” You tease, elbowing him when he reaches out to ruffle the top of your head.

“Taking care of things that I don’t want to do.” You two snicker, ecstatic to see one another, and you step aside to let him coddle your children. The slight breeze in the air gingerly kisses your face, rustling the leaves on the trees surrounding your tiny house, and you close your lids to relish in the tranquillity of nature.

A pair of familiar arms curl around the shape of your waist and a smile creeps onto your lips as you open your eyes to examine Jungkook’s face, inches away from your own. He brushes your brown strands over your shoulder, leaning in for a quick peck as a loud chorus of disgust is vocalized behind you.

Both of you break out into giggles at your daughter’s behaviour and turn to face your family waiting for you inside. With your hand tangled with his, you walk to a brighter future together.

[imagine-loki]

Omega Mine

TITLE: Omega Mine

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 32/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Loosely based on: Imagine Loki discovers the Avengers have an omega who has healing powers living with them. He’s an Alpha and he wants her, badly. 

RATING: M  

NOTES/WARNINGS:  Also on AO3 click here

Worries filled your dreams as you slept in Loki’s arms.  Had it been too soon to profess your love? The relationship was so new, but at the same time… You were mated and claimed, bound together for eternity.  You were soulmates and mated.  So surely it was ok.  Especially since he’d said it back.

The worries eventually faded and let you get some proper sleep, leaving you to wake when the sun hit your eyes.  You didn’t have an official day to return back to your duties.  The team understood that you couldn’t work while you were in heat and that it varied on how long that actually lasted.  Usually, it was about a week, but it could vary by a couple of days.  

You groaned softly as you woke, blinking your eyes against the sun.  Loki kissed your forehead.  “Good morning, Elskling,” he greeted you.  His voice was husky with sleep, warm, carefree, relaxed.  It was a side of him that not many ever got to see.  

You couldn’t help the smile that appeared in response to your mate.  You leaned up and kissed his cheek.  “Good morning, mate,” you purred softly. Your purr was answered by the rumbling Alpha growl-purr in Loki’s chest. The sound had an instant calming effect, especially coming from your Alpha. There was magic in the mating bond, moreso since you and Loki both had magic of your own. 

“How are you feeling?” Loki asked you gently as he carded his fingers through your hair.  

“Much better,” you replied, looking up into his emerald eyes.  He was so peaceful and relaxed.   He only ever seemed to be like that with you.  Or when he was talking about his mother.  Even Thor had him strained.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he replied and kept petting your hair.  “Is there anything you need?” He doted on you and loved you, even if your official relationship was new.  

You considered his question and Loki idly pet your hair while you did.  “I think first on the agenda is a shower,” you finally replied.  “Then breakfast,”

“I can agree with that.” You were glad that he wasn’t offended by your first request.  He’d taken wonderful care of you while you’d been in heat, including helping you bathe and eat.  But nothing would beat a hot shower and getting rid of the last of the feel and scent of heat from your body.  Also brushing your teeth was high on your list of priorities.  “Your guest room has a shower, correct?” Loki asked, though he knew your apartment’s layout as well as you did by now. He was more asking if he was allowed to use that shower.  Omegas could be weird about their spaces and sharing and he didn’t want to upset you.  

You nodded “Of course you can use it,” you answered his unasked question.  “But you don’t have any clean clothes up here,”

Loki chuckled.  “Don’t worry, I can summon some clean clothes,” he reassured you.  

You beamed and gave him a soft kiss.  “Sounds like a plan,” you told him.  You climbed carefully out of bed, stretching as you were sore from your week of heat.  That was to be expected.  You’d had quite a lot of sex with Loki through that week.  

You headed into your own bathroom, Loki watching you the entire time you were in his line of sight.  He gave you your privacy, though, and didn’t insist on showering with you when he understood that you needed some time to yourself to get yourself back in order.  You took a scalding hot bath, scrubbing your skin with your scented soap, scrubbing your hair with scented shampoo.  You got the last scent of heat from your body, the scent of sex and desire.  

Though Loki’s psychic scent would always remain entwined with yours, now that you’d been mated.

When you were clean, you stepped out of the shower and finally got a good look at the snake tattoo on your neck where the mating mark had healed. The mark had healed into what appeared to be a tattoo, that’s just how the magic worked.  The intertwined snakes were in black ink with green and gold highlights.  It looked absolutely perfect.  It was known as Loki’s symbol for a reason and no one would mistake it for anything else.  

You dried off and dressed in comfortable clothes, including the very necessary fuzzy socks.  You needed to be comfortable and cozy after the week you’d had.  You made your way back to the bedroom and smiled at what you found.  Loki had used magic to air out the room and clean the sheets and blankets on your bed.  He was sitting on the bed, dressed in clean clothes as well of a pair of soft black pants and a green tunic, reading a book while he waited for you to return. He looked so comfortable and like he was home.

It warmed your heart that he felt like he was home with you.

You sat on the bed next to him.  “Feeling better?” He asked as he set his book aside to pay attention to you.

You nodded “Much,” you told him warmly.  Your fingers went up to the collar around your neck.  It was a thought you’d had in the shower and you had to bring it up to Loki now. 

“What is it?” Loki asked you gently when he saw your concerned expression.  

“Well… I’m not sure how things are done on Asgard…” you hedged as you tried to figure out how to explain.  

Loki moved to cup your cheek, forcing you to look up at him.  “Whatever it is, it’ll be alright.  We’ll meld both of our cultures,” he reassured you.  He’d told you as much before, but now you had to hash out the details. You nodded again, leaning into his touch. “So what is it that’s bothering you?” He asked gently.

“The collar,” you said softly, keeping your eyes closed as you leaned into his touch.  “All Omegas on Midgard have to wear them,” you reminded him.  You’d told him that before.  “They’re all this same silver until an Omega is claimed.  Then their Alpha usually changes it, personalizes it to them somehow,” you explained.

“Hmm,” Loki made a soft noise to let you know he was listening.  “And you would like for me to personalize yours?” He asked.  You opened your eyes again and looked up at him. He didn’t agree with Omega collars, but he understood that it was law on Earth.  

“We need to decorate it somehow,” you replied.  

Loki leaned forward and kissed your forehead.  “I think I have just the thing,” he said.  He placed his hands on the collar and your felt his magic surround it.  A minute later he pulled back and summoned a small mirror so you could see what he’d done.

The collar was gold and silver now and looser.  It looked more necklace-like than it had before.  You lit up when you realized what the design was.  It was a snake biting its own tail.  The snake had emeralds for eyes.  

“It’s perfect!” You told Loki.  It appeased his need for the collar not to look like a collar and your need to follow the law.  Plus it was snake themed for Loki.  

“Just like you, Elskling,” he purred and pulled you into a kiss.

[marjiandco]

Camp Broken Glass

The supply depot, as most of Garlemald, has seen better days. There were thick piles of snow on the buildings and ground, the barest hint of metal beneath. Thancred and the scouts did their best to clean out what they could, with the frugal warmth of torches dotted about where the soldiers would be able to set up. Behind her, caravans held their supplies, now meager in comparison to the amount of Garlean troops they now had in their care. They were able to save about 50 of the soldiers, the rest either lost to battle wounds or the elements.

Raiku walks past her, a Gridanian soldier on his back. The kid had a nasty cut across his face, and Marji hoped the conjurer’s would be able to sew it away. He looks up at the buildings, readjusting the kid for a moment.

“You think the Imperials were afraid their buildings would get up and walk away?”

Marji tilts her head and he nods to the foundation of one of the structures. Looking closer, she saw the base of the building. It reminds her of a claw foot tub, only the talons dug deep into the ground. Webs of metal crosses the stone body in long rectangles; even the windows were guarded by metal designs. The metal roof contains spikes rising into the air, perhaps to keep some sort of cloudkin from descending on them.

“They look like cages to me.” She said.

“Probably to keep themselves safe than to contain someone.” Raiku shivers. “C’mon, I gotta put this radiator down before my shoulders break.”

Inside one of the buildings, even Marji’s distrust of the place ekes out of her. There are no war machina, or boxes of weapons to fuel garlean conquest, but wooden tables and homely knick knacks along the wall. Curtains were drawn, and stoves still had some blackened pots, the ceruleum long run out from the original homeowners tempering.

“In here,” A conjurer waves the pair over. As they past, Marji’s ears lay flat against her hair. Behind the conjurer were height markings, etched into the wooden doorframe, with child drawn pictures of two girls, one mwith long hair, and one with a ponytail.

As Raiku put the soldier down on one of the healing cots, the feeling of a snake squeezing his mind hit him sharply. He flinches and quickly excuses himself to get back out into the cold. He breathes in, focusing on the chill that fell into his lungs and through his body, how the icy wind weaves through his hair. He grounds himself in the moment before glaring at the ground.

Do you have to do that every time you have something ominous to say?

I’m being called away from you by that tower. The infernal lure is already hooked into me, and if you go any closer we’ll be as much a thrall as those pitiful humes.

Raiku takes a quick look around, making sure no one notices him talking to himself. One of the camps guards glances in his direction, and he marches through the snow in between two of the buildings.

They’re called hyurs here, and I let you stay with me because you said you could make me stronger, to be comparable to her. If you’re going to get in the way I’ll-

Raiku groans and clutches his chest, holding himself up by leaning against the cold metal of one of the buildings. He pants as the voidsent curls its ethereal fingers around his heart, squeezing intermittently.

Don’t presume to bark at me, host. I only spoke to give you warning of what would happen because I like you, not for you to incessantly make false threats.

“You’re-gods-you said you’re too weak to survive on your own.” Raiku says through grit teeth.

Fine! Raiku thinks, hitting a fist against the wall. The voidsent slowly lets go of him, and he inhales the cold in shallow breaths until his heart rate returns to normal.

We’re both posturing, whatever. Thal’s Balls you’re so sensitive. Is there anything I can do to keep the call at bay?

The voidsent ghosts out of him, his image phantom as fire smoke. It’s lips curling to reveal rows of sharp, jagged teeth. There are plenty of ways to get me sustenance here.

Raiku waves a hand through the creature, the tendrils of him clinging through Rai’s fingers. He realizes the voidsent is trying to con him into indulging more on aether, as if there isn’t plenty around and the waves that came off the fallen.

Oh fuck off.

The voidsent laughs in his head. Almost had you there.

“Hey.”

Raiku jolts, taken aback at the sudden new voice. Marji steps in front of him, concern on her face as she looks between his eyes.

“You doing alright?”

Raiku stands on his feet, dusting the snow out of his hair. “You know, being possessed and all.”

“What about what Drusilla said, about your avatar?”

Raiku scoffs, “Yeah I’m still working on that binding part, Marj. I’m not too keen on letting it enshroud me when I can’t get him to leave. Me. Alone.” He smacks his forehead on each word.

“Maybe you could practice out here? There are plenty of beasts roaming about it seems. I saw a ludicrously large bear in the distance, or maybe it was just a boulder in snow drift.” She shrugs, trying to keep things light.

He looks down at her, the sensation still unnatural. Her eyes were downcast, and the purple beneath her eyes signs of sleepless bouts. In fact, all over she looks rather worse for wear, as if she’s taken a beating recently out of sight. Again, he worries for her. Always worrying.

“When’s the last time you slept?”

She looks up as she thinks, and he rolls his eyes.

“Thal’s balls Marji if you have to think about it its been too long. Go find a cot with the conjurer’s for gods sake.”

“It’s not that! It’s this place, its this camp.” She waves behind her. “Ever since coming back from the first my legs been fine. The scar’s still there and I haven’t lost sensation, but I can still feel it. That tower hangs over like a guillotine and I’m waiting for my turn. For the Executioner to call.” Her mouth hangs open, and swallows her next words. And I don’t know if I’m hoping he’ll call.

Flashes of Raiku’s first meeting with Zenos envelope him, of the gash in his stomach and nearly losing his eye. The demon who fixates on his friend so much that all else is fog. He remembers Zenos asking him what Marji saw in their companionship before cutting his own throat. He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. He puts a hand on her shoulder, realizing she was getting thinner.

“Why don’t we go get some stew, huh? We’ve been helping set up so much you must be hungry, I know I am and could use the company.”

She places a hand over his. “Fine, but we’re eating and talking. If I’m talking about my feelings we’re going to talk about your problem too.”

Raiku rolls his eyes as they made their way to the canteen “I have absolutely no idea what your talking about. It’s super normal to have voices in your head. By the way, how’s Ardbert doing?”

Marji knocks into him roughly as he laughs.

[solarune]

silver and gold

pairing: kim taehyung x fem!reader

genre: smut, literally just some good ol’ pwp, billionaire au, established relationship

warnings: choking, both soft and hard dom tae hehehe, dirty talk, praise kink, oral (m + f receiving), unprotected sex (always use a condom, kids!!!), spit play, creampie, cumplay, fingering, multiple orgasms, slight degradation, orgasm denial, daddy kink, he slaps oc’s ass once (1), taehyung’s overuse of pet names

word count: 4,690

a/n: this is my first time writing smut so i’m sorry if it’s not that good lol, i’m trying :/ idk how often i’ll be posting this kind of stuff bc this took me a long time to write but i do want to practice more so we’ll see. inspired by a convo i had with @gamerguk​ during a very late summer night

The second you entered Seokjin’s mansion for the charity gala, Taehyung knew he was done for. After being friends with you for 5 years, dating you for 2 years, and being only weeks away from when he plans on proposing, you would think that Taehyung would be used to having his breath taken away every time he sees you. But no.

He had been talking to Jimin about their fathers going golfing together this upcoming weekend when he felt something at the back of his brain urging him to look around. He’s convinced that he has a sixth sense when it comes to knowing when you’re near at this point, because the second he turns his head, there you are, being greeted by the host himself. Jimin’s words now fall on deaf ears as Taehyung stares at you; he starts from your exposed shoulders and follows the curves of your body that are accentuated by the floor-length Elie Saab dress you’re wearing, his eyes linger on the slight bit of skin that’s exposed by the slit in the dress before going back up to note the gold rings on your hands and matching gold earrings. Taehyung already knows this but damn, he really is in love with you.

And just like Taehyung, you also developed a sixth sense over the years, somehow knowing where Taehyung is at all times. Seokjin hands you a glass of champagne and you take a sip as you nod at his words, laughing at one of his classic dad jokes before glancing around the room while he talks. Your eyes meet Taehyung’s and you smile at him, your eyebrows raising at the glittering floral pattern wrapping around his Alexander McQueen suit jacket that makes him the center of attention even at the edge of the room. You then excuse yourself from Seokjin, pointing him in the direction of Kim Namjoon, another mutual friend of yours, who had just entered to distract him. You finish the pale gold liquid in your glass before making your way over to Taehyung, ignoring the stares you can feel on your figure because you only ever have eyes for one man.

“There you are, my love,” Taehyung says as you close the distance between the two of you, carelessly interrupting the conversation that him and Jimin were in the middle of just to greet you. “I was just beginning to wonder if Hoseok had gotten lost on the way here.” He snakes an arm around your waist, a hand dripping in silver resting delicately on your hip to pull you closer.

You laugh at that, thinking back to not even 30 minutes ago when the driver in question had taken a random turn to get out of traffic and did indeed end up getting the two of you lost. “Ah, no,” you shake your head as you grab another glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “An appointment with a patient kept me at the hospital longer than I expected so we ran into traffic on the way here. It takes more than a few minutes for me to look this good, you know.” You wink at Jimin at your last statement, clinking glasses when he smirks at you.

Taehyung licks his lips with a hum as he gives you another once-over, his pants already beginning to feel a bit too tight at the thought of taking you home. It may have taken you hours to get ready but it would only take him a few seconds to ruin all of your hard work.

Taehyung’s hands leave fire in their wake as he tugs you closer to him, his fingers pressing harshly into your thighs as he pushes aside the fabric of your dress to caress the swell of your ass. The cool temperature of the silver rings on his fingers have a stark contrast to how hot his hands feel, causing goosebumps to rise along your skin as his lips brush against yours. When you look up into his eyes, they’re as dark as the suit on his body, and when he opens his mouth to speak, his voice is as low as the neckline of your dress.

“You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?” he rasps, nails lightly scratching at the skin of your ass before squeezing. “Wearing something like this knowing full well that we had to stay at Seokjin’s damn gala for the whole 4 hours.” His left hand reaches up to tug at your hair and angle your head for him to lick into your mouth and make you moan. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” he accuses rather than asks. You bite down on your lower lip to prevent a smirk from appearing on your face, shrugging your shoulders in response as you fiddle with one of the buttons on his white shirt. Taehyung opens his mouth to question your silence but is interrupted when the elevator dings, the doors opening seconds later to reveal your spacious penthouse.

Taehyung loosens his tie as he gently pushes you towards the bedroom, confusion evident on your face as you tighten your grip on his hand. “Go wait for me in the bedroom, love, I’ll be there in a bit.” You comply with his words, your whole body tingling with excitement at the possibilities of what your boyfriend has in store for the night. “And take off the dress.” You turn to look at Taehyung and are met with his signature mischievous smirk. “Wouldn’t want Mr. Saab’s assistant to give us another lecture on how to properly handle designer dresses, now do we?”

You enter the room and take a seat on the edge of the bed after stripping, thighs coming together as you wait nervously. You can hear glass clinking from the kitchen and wonder what Taehyung’s doing—and why it’s taking so damn long. But you know better than to leave your spot and check on him; last time you did that, he edged you for so long that you gave him the silent treatment after. Fidgeting in your spot on the bed, your hands subconsciously begin to creep toward your thighs but are stopped when you hear Taehyung’s footsteps making their way toward you. You sit up straighter and place your hands in your lap, your heart rate picking up once more just as he enters the room.

He holds a glass in one hand, amber liquid swirling around as he brings it up to his lips to finish before placing it on the vanity. Slowly, Taehyung approaches you and you feel your entire body freeze when he tilts your head up by placing his thumb and forefinger on your chin. “You’re gonna be good for me tonight, right pretty girl?” he murmurs, his eyes following his thumb that strokes your bottom lip. “You’re gonna take what I give you?”

“Y-Yes,” you whisper, clearing your throat when he raises an eyebrow at you. “Yes, I’ll be good.”

Taehyung hums thoughtfully as he retracts his hand, removing his suit jacket and placing it on a chair in the corner of the room before going back over to you. His eyes rake over your figure and you’re just beginning to feel shy the longer he stares at you when suddenly, Taehyung’s lips are on yours and you let out a moan when you feel his hand wrap lightly around your neck. Your thighs rub against each other at the sensation of his rings against your skin, his tongue pushing past your lips to lick at the roof of your mouth before he pulls away once more, only a strand of saliva connecting your lips together. “Lie down for me, love.” 

You scramble to push yourself towards the head of the bed, barely having enough time to get settled before he’s clambering over you to lick at your neck. A gasp escapes your lips as he sucks and bites at the skin, body thrumming with excitement each time he runs his tongue over a new mark. His fingers toy with the waistband of your panties as he mouths at your collarbone, snapping the undergarment against your skin when he pulls away. “Bet you’re fucking soaked right now, aren’t you?” he teases you with a smirk as his fingers slide down to feel you through your panties. The both of you groan when he rubs your clit over the soaked-through fabric, your hands fisting into the sheets as he does so. A whine of protest threatens to escape your lips when you feel him stop but is immediately replaced with a soft gasp as he pushes your panties to the side to tease your entrance. 

“You want it?” he asks you, teasing you even more by dipping his finger in ever so slightly. “You want my fingers in you, stretching you out to get you ready for my cock? Or what about my mouth, hm? Sucking at your clit before I fuck you with my tongue? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Taehyung feels pride bloom in his chest as he watches your face contort in pleasure, your eyes rolling into the back of your head with a whimper as your only answer to him. “C’mon, honey, use your words. Gotta say something or else I’ll stop.”

“Yes,” you breathe out as your brain struggles to form a coherent thought, anything to get Taehyung to keep touching you. “Want your fingers and your mouth on my pussy, please.”

“That’s my girl,” Taehyung praises you, his hands leaving you despite his previous words making your eyes shoot open. “Need you to prove to me that you’re gonna be good though. Only good girls get to be touched.” You push yourself up onto your elbows as you look at him, your mind still a bit foggy from his hands being on you. He looks at the floor and then back at you, nodding in your direction. “You know what to do.”

With that, you scramble off the bed, wincing from how hard your knees hit the wooden floor but you’re too eager to please. Taehyung chuckles as he watches you because he can also tell how eager you are, the sound of his belt buckle coming undone making your mouth water and making his cock impossibly harder. “Look at you, so ready to have my cock in your mouth,” he coos as his hand comes up to pet your hair, biting down on his lower lip when you look up at him through your lashes. Your hands shake slightly as you reach up to unbutton his pants, stifling a moan at the sight of his covered hard-on. Taehyung begins to unbutton his shirt as he watches you lean forward to mouth at his dick, his breath catching in his throat when you run your tongue along it through the fabric. He pushes your hair away from your face as you do so, his eyes hooded as he watches, and you smile up at him innocently, knowing that he’s only doing that as a way to tell you to get on with it. 

You remove his boxers in one swift motion, your tongue darting out to lick at your lips when his dick is finally revealed to you. Taehyung’s eyes widen ever so slightly when you reach down to gather your wetness on your palm, groaning when you grip his dick and mix it with his pre-cum to spread around and get him wet. You drag your tongue along the underside from base to tip, eyes closing when your mouth finally closes over the head. Taehyung’s nails scratch at your scalp and his rings tangle with your hair as he grips it tightly, and you can’t help but hum at the feeling, the vibrations from the sound causing him to let out his own moan. You slowly start to take more of him into your mouth, his breathing stuttering as you do so, and you can feel your desire dripping down your thighs by the time he hits the back of your throat. Breathing deeply through your nose to control your gag reflex, you open your eyes to look up at him and let out a moan at the fucked out expression on his face, your hands coming up to grip his thighs as you begin bobbing your head. 

“Oh fuck,” Taehyung whispers, teeth biting down on his lower lip at the way you hollow your cheeks each time you come back up. He feels like he’s in heaven each time you take him deep enough to hit the back of your throat, and he grunts when you release him with a pop to take a breath. “Good girl. Always take my cock so well, hm?” he praises you, and your eyes flutter shut when you feel him stroking your hair. You’re about to take him back into your mouth when you feel his grip on your hair tighten to prevent you from moving forward, and you look up at him in confusion. “Gonna cum if you keep going, sweetheart, don’t want that to happen.” He pulls you up so you’re standing in front of him, his hand reaching up to wrap around your throat as he brings his face close to yours. “The only place my cum is going is in this sweet pussy of yours, isn’t that right? That’s where you want it?” 

He brings his other hand down to cup your heat, and you release a shuttered breath when you feel him purposefully dig the heel of his palm into your clit. “Ngh- want your cum in me,” you moan out as your hips buck up into his hand, his rings slightly cool against your skin. “Please, Tae, need you to fill me up.”

Taehyung pushes you towards the bed and you lay back, biting back a smile when his hands come up to unclasp your bra and throw it off to the side. His mouth latches onto one of your nipples, his tongue swirling around the sensitive area, and you can’t help but fist your fingers through his hair, your rings getting caught in the long strands and causing him to groan. You release your grip when you feel him begin to trail down your body, his kisses warm against your skin as he makes his way down. He slowly removes your panties, chuckling at the way you quickly kick them away from you, and takes a moment to admire the way you glisten even in the low light. 

“Is this for me?” he asks you, head tilting to the side teasingly as he looks up at you. He places his hands on your inner thighs to keep them apart when you begin to squirm under his gaze, removing one to circle a finger around your core as he hums thoughtfully. “Hm… Yeah, I think this is all for me.” Taehyung brings a digit up and pops it into his mouth, never breaking eye contact with you as he tastes you on himself. “My pretty baby, always so sweet,” he mumbles as he leaves kisses on your inner thigh, teeth biting down on his lower lip while he smirks because he’s so close to where you want him and he knows you’re getting impatient.

“Taehyung,” you whine as your hands fist at the sheets while you squirm underneath him. You’re itching to touch him, to get your hands in his hair again so you can get his damn mouth on you, but you know that if you do that, you’ll be in a whole lot of trouble. You roll your hips slightly, as a reminder of what you’re waiting for, and he chuckles, nuzzling his nose into the soft skin of your thigh.

“Sorry honey, you know I like how you get when I’m teasing you,” Taehyung apologizes while wrapping his arm around your leg so that he can rub circles into your clit with his thumb. His words completely contrast his personality from just a few minutes ago, making you stop your squirming to stare at him. “Love seeing you get all needy for me, baby. Because you know that I’m the only one that can make you feel this good.” He brings himself closer and flattens his tongue against your heat, licking a fat stripe from your entrance up to your clit. 

Your grip on the bed sheets tighten once more, hips bucking up as he continues his tongue’s motions against your core. Your legs shake as they threaten to close over his head, the only thing stopping them being Taehyung’s hands prying them apart. A strangled moan leaves your lips when he dips his tongue into your entrance, and when you finally open your eyes to look at Taehyung, he’s already looking at you and you can’t help but gasp from how fucked out he looks. He starts to rub faster circles on your clit and you whine, the noise making Taehyung groan and rut into the bed to get some sort of friction. Seeing him getting all worked up just from eating you out causes you to clench around his tongue, and both he and you know that you’re getting close to your first orgasm of the night.

“C’mon honey, cum in my mouth,” Taehyung encourages you as he laps at your heat. “Mmm- wanna taste you so fucking bad. Can feel you clenching around my tongue- ughhh- just let go for me, yeah?”

“Taehyung- oh fuck,” you gasp when he starts to suck at your clit. “Nghh- baby, feels s-so- shitfuckfuck feels so good.” You’re barely able to string together a coherent sentence from the amount of pleasure coursing through your veins and your stomach tightens as the first waves of your orgasm begin to wash over you. “Hhhh Tae I’m cumming, I-”

Tae smirks against your pussy as you writhe underneath him, wave after wave of pleasure coming as he tongue-fucks you through your orgasm. He places one last kiss on your inner thigh before sliding his hands up your body to hover over you. “How was that, baby, hm?” he hums, nosing along your cheek as he waits for you to calm down. “Felt good?”

“Fuckin’ amazing,” you answer, your words slightly slurred from just how blissed out you are. You feel like you’re drunk off of him, each touch and kiss leaving you with a buzz in your veins. Taehyung pulls his face back enough to look at you, a small smirk present as he looks at your hooded eyes. You bite down on your bottom lip as you lift up a hand to run through his hair, Taehyung’s eyes closing as he leans into your touch. Your fingers slip through the silky locks before settling on the side of his neck, thumb coming up to stroke his jaw. Taehyung lets out a soft sigh of content as you touch him, and your eyes are following your hand as you place it over his neck and give it a light squeeze. His eyes flash open and stare directly into yours and you can’t help but giggle as he glares at you in warning. “Want your cock now, Taehyungie,” you smile brightly at him as you bat your eyelashes.

Taehyung chuckles at that, his own hand coming up to wrap around your throat as he cocks an eyebrow at you and squeezes his hand just enough to make your breathing stutter. “I don’t know if you deserve my cock yet,” he teases you, and your eyes become wide at his words. “Wearing that dress tonight just to tease me, demanding my cock and thinking you’ll get it just like that. You’ve been acting like a slut all night, haven’t you, honey. I give you one orgasm and this is how you’re going to act?”

You shiver at the insult and let out a soft gasp when his hand tightens around your throat just a little bit more. “I’ll fuck your little pussy with my fingers as long as you don’t cum,” he says while his hand slides down your body once more. “If you can behave, then I’ll reward you.” Before you can even open your mouth, Taehyung is sliding a finger in and begins pumping it in and out of you, chuckling when he sees just how tightly you clutch at the sheets. “You’ve wanted something in this greedy pussy of yours all night long, huh?” he asks you, not expecting an answer because he already knows it. 

Not like you could answer anyways, especially when he slipped a second finger in and started fucking you faster. You could feel a second orgasm coming, your stomach tightening faster by the second, only for Taehyung to rip it away from you when he suddenly removes his fingers. The speed at which you pick your head up to glare at him almost gives you whiplash, and Taehyung only smiles at you widely, stroking your sides softly to bring you down from your impending pleasure. He continues this twice more and by the end of your third ruined orgasm, you’re on the verge of tears, your legs shaking around his torso as Taehyung just stares down at you smugly. “Why are you crying?” he mocks you. “I thought you were going to take what I give you. I’m giving you my fingers, isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I want more,” you cry, your shaking hands coming up to grip at his biceps desperately. “I need more, please.”

“Beg for it then,” Taehyung says as he begins to rub at your clit. Your body shivers at both his words and the stimulation. “Beg for more and maybe I’ll give it to you.”

“I want you, Taehyung, I need you. I want you to stuff my tight pussy with your cock, want to feel you fill me up with your cum.” His fingers pick up speed and your whole body begins to shake. You’re babbling at this point, your brain working on overdrive to try to string together the perfect combination of words that will get Taehyung to finally fuck you as your toes begin to curl from his touch. “Want you to fuck me hard- fuckyes- want you to make me cum so bad. Please daddy, I just wanna cum.” You open your mouth to let out a long moan but his touch is gone before you can do so, causing tears to brim in your eyes once again. “Fuck me, daddy, please,” you whimper, a single tear slipping down your cheek.

You hear the sheets rustle and you’re about to beg more when you feel the head of Taehyung’s cock pushing into your entrance, causing you to open your eyes. You’re met with Taehyung’s heavy gaze, pupils blown wide as he pushes into you. “God, you’re such a fucking slut,” he groans as he slides in. “Who knew my baby was so fucking dirty. Calling me daddy and then crying and begging for me to fuck you. You’re so damn wet, you need my cock in your cunt that badly?”

When Taehyung is fully inside you, he only gives you a few seconds to adjust before he starts fucking you hard. He adjusts your legs so that your knees are close to your chest, hitting a deeper angle, and you let out the loudest moan that even pornstars would blush when he pulls out and slams back into you. “Such a slut for my cock, you’re only satisfied when I stuff this fucking cunt full.” He reaches down and pinches your nipples, your orgasm hitting you when he doesn’t pull his cock out and instead grinds into you. 

“FuckfuckfuckI’mcummingI’mcum-” You’re breathing rapidly as wave after wave of pleasure hits you, your orgasm so intense that your vision goes white. When you come to, Taehyung is fucking you a bit slower, gaze still dark but a hint of concern showing in his face and in the way he softly strokes your hair to calm you down. Your eyes feel heavy but you force yourself to meet Taehyung’s gaze, smiling up at him tiredly as he begins fucking into you faster. 

“Do I fuck you that good, baby?” he pants while he drills into you. “My cock is that good that I’m able to make you cum in seconds?” He pulls out to reposition you, the grip he has on you bordering manhandling as he turns you over and slaps your ass. “Hands and knees, honey.”

Before you even have the chance to prepare yourself, Taehyung is shoving himself back into you once more. He angles himself so that he’s hitting your g-spot with each thrust, and you let out a cry when his hand wraps around your throat to pull you up, your back pressed against his chest as he pistons into you. You’re speechless at this point, every part of your body drowning in just how good Taehyung fucks you. “Look at you, you’re practically drooling,” Taehyung says lowly in your ear, turning your face to the side so that you look at him. He brings his thumb up to your bottom lip and grins when you immediately open your mouth for him. “So obedient,” he says, still in awe after all these years at just how good you are for him. Your eyes follow him as he leans closer to you, slick gushing down your thighs immediately when you watch him pucker his lips and spit directly in your mouth. You allow it to slide down your tongue before swallowing, opening your mouth to show him with a grin. 

“My pretty girl,” he mumbles as he presses kisses along the side of your neck, hand moving down to rub circles into your clit. “Now give me one more, baby, just one more.”

“Tae,” you whine, pussy clenching around his dick despite what you’re about to say. “I c-can’t. Not another one.”

He growls and then shoves you back down, his hand around the back of your neck as he shoves your face into the mattress. Taehyung begins pounding into you, a smirk on his face when you let out a scream. “The way you’re clenching around me right now says otherwise. Now be a good girl and cum for daddy.” You feel your body go limp as he fucks you good, your back curving and ass meeting his every thrust as you just take what he’s giving you. 

You both reach your highs at the same time, your whole body shaking from the pleasure as Taehyung drapes his body over yours and paints your insides white. You feel his breath on your neck as he nuzzles his face into you and you let out a breathy chuckle while your hand comes up to pet his hair. It’s only then that you realize what you said to him in your time of desperation, and you have to stop yourself from pushing Taehyung off of you because “Oh my god, I really just called you ‘daddy’.”

Your boyfriend chuckles as he pulls out, the bed slightly bouncing as he rolls over and lands beside you. Your cheeks are blazing, both from the sex and from the embarrassment, as Taehyung pulls you to him and you can’t help but relish in his warmth. He presses a kiss to your forehead as he says, “Honestly, it’s a good thing I didn’t know you had a daddy kink in the beginning. Otherwise I would’ve fallen in love with you and proposed way too soon and then scare you away.”

You smack his chest as he grins down at you, his fingers running up and down your bare back comfortingly. “I was yours from day 1, Tae, you couldn’t get rid of me that easily,” you tease him, your eyes drifting closed as he continues drawing shapes on your skin.

Taehyung’s mind wanders to the black velvet box hidden in the back of the tallest shelf in the kitchen, and he sure as hell hopes that you have no intention of leaving because he sure as hell has no intention of letting you go any time soon.

[4point7]

THWACK - A Negan One Shot

Summary: a load of words slung haphazardly together to create a modern masterpiece. Written for @negans-lucille-tblr​ 6K Roll The Dice Challenge using the prompt “ I'm a slave to your games. I'm just a sucker for pain “.

Characters: Negan x Reader (ft. Floral Wallpaper)

Rating: 18+ but maybe less than 98

Warnings: All the warnings. Don’t read this if you get offended by anything typically Negan. Floral Wallpaper.

Word Count: 1,963 

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The sound of the clock echos through your mind. It suffocates your thoughts as it reminds you of the monotonous grind of time. Every "tick" amplified through the dark. The space between each one extending for eternity as the silence between them crashes through you like unrelenting waves on a crumbling cliff face, slowly beating away at your resilience. The rest of the community sleeps blissfully as you lay there, your consciousness unwavering.

Tick.

You roll on to your side and open your eyes, staring blankly at the wall. The floral wallpaper, once pristine, now peels away slightly at the seems, unveiling the illusion of perfection, breaking the once perfect pattern.

The luxuries of the past have long been abandoned. What's the point in keeping the inside looking nice any more? Compared to the horror that lies in the world beyond the mildew covered window of The Sanctuary, the room you're in, even in this state, IS luxury these days. You only need to see a couple of Walkers have their heads smashed in to be cleansed of material desires and become satisfied with basic needs being met.

Another tick of the clock calls an end to the time you're willing to designate to falling asleep. You sit up and swing your legs over the side of the bed, exposing them to the chill of the air that your bed sheets were protecting you from.

You feel the layer of dust and dirt on the soles of your feet as they connect with the cold floor. You reach to grab your clothes from the chair next to the bed and pull them on, taking the time to dust the debris from your feet before donning your boots.

You open the door, trying to muffle it's creak by pulling it softly and slowly away from the latch before stepping out into the hallway. You would rather not wake anyone. People would get suspicious if they saw someone walking The Sanctuary grounds in the early hours of the morning.

You make your way along the corridor to the door that leads outside and gently push it open. The cool breeze from outside washes over you, almost through you, as it breaks into the corridor. You take a deep breath, feeling the air fill your lungs, calming you, if just for a moment.

The door comes to a stop with a soft thud, fully revealing the early morning landscape. The trees and buildings in the distance consumed by a mist that spills onto the roads towards you.

As you step out, gravel crunching underfoot, a glint catches your eye. You follow it to its origin, finally laying your eyes on the steel barb wire coiled tightly around a baseball bat, like a snake wrapped tightly around a branch. It's doing no harm where it is but anger it and it will bite! Lucille, resting by the man himself, Negan.

You wonder if you can back away, sink back into the darkness of the doorway but it's too late, even though he isn't facing you, you know he knows you're there.

He stands, leaning on a barrier, his folded arms resting along it supporting the weight of his upper body, leather jacket taught across is broad back. Lucille stands propped against the barrier beside him, perfectly inanimate yet still so menacing. It's like the bat had a presence all of it's own, bringing fear to many while being nothing more than a prop to the horrors of it's master.

You have wanted to be this close to Negan for such a long time but now, in his presence, you freeze. Just standing there taking him in, feeling your heart thump harder in your chest, adrenaline surging through you.

"You just gonna stand there pissin' your pants or are you gonna join me?" His deep voice startles you for a moment, you weren't expecting him to speak. You walk over and lean on the barrier next to him, staring out into the mist.

You sense him turn to look at you but you don't dare look back. Not yet.

"So... who are you?" He says in a gentle deep drawl.

"I am Negan", you respond, now turning your head to look him, traces of a smirk lining your lips.

He chuckles and looks back to the landscape. "Holy shit balls, we got ourselves a joker!"

You don't take your eyes from him, taking in his profile. It's not until you're up-close like this that you can see his imperfections, the lines starting to creep across his skin, breaking the perfect appearance, reminding you of that floral wallpaper.

"What the fuck are you doing awake at this time, Comedian?"

"Can't sleep", you respond.

"Huh. No fuckin' shit!" He pauses for a beat and you say nothing. "Me either."

"Why?" You pry and he lets out a sigh.

"Could you fuckin' sleep if you had to do the shit that I do? Smashin' dead fuckers' heads don't make my prick hard, Joker! Smashin' livin' fuckers', even less so but some fuck's got to protect and lead this community. They haunt me. Every one of the cunts marchin', around my fuckin' thoughts like they're on parade. That's why."

It's an honesty you weren't expecting from him. You had always been sold this fearless, unfazed persona yet here before you stood a man troubled by the actions of his past. Almost broken. For a moment you let yourself pity him.

"Does nothing ever help distract your mind? Help you sleep?" You ask.

"Fuckin' my wives! At least, it used to. But knowing their just fuckin' me out of fear has started to take the shine off the pussy, if you know what I mean? Shit! I wanna slip my cock down the throat of a fucker who wants it, not just because they feel obliged. Then I might have the release I need". His hand slips down and gently caresses the handle of Lucille as if unconsciously.

You're so close to getting what you have wanted for a long time and you know you can get it if you play your cards right.

"WANT ME TO GIVE THE OLD CODGER A DAVID BLOWIE?", you exclaim.

"Oooh err, yes please, if that's okay with you, like? If you like don't mind and stuff and that?" He says back in a melancholy tone not far from how a school boy might ask for his ball back when he kicked it into his neighbours garden.

"You want to?"

"WANT TO? I'D FUCKING LOVE TO!" you whisper. "GIMME THAT WONDER WURST!"

You drop to your knees. Ouch! You think. You should have gotten down gently. Why the fuck you decided to drop so hard no one fucking knows.

You undo his pants revealing his big, flaccid whopper. "It's flaccid." You say. "Yes" he replies.

You stick out your tongue and touch the head of his penis with it as though your testing an ice lolly to see how cold it is. THWACK! His instant erection ploughs into your chin, essentially upper cutting you, and knocks you over. His meat looks like a big fat sausage that's about to explode. You get back to your knees and take his shaft in your hand. "Hey ho, here we go, yo!", you sing into his flesh stick like it's a microphone, before... boom! You slam that happy package right on down your gob hole! Your head smacking back and forth like your headbanging to a heavy metal track. Your throat is making noises like a fucking plunger making hard work out of a toilet or some shit. Like gluh, ung, gug, guh, glug, guh, guh, guh, gug, gluh, ug, ugh, glug... ... guh, gluh, uh, ugh. You had to stop in the middle there to take a little breath. You are human after all.

Anyway your smashing his trouser snake and shit and he fucking loves it and all that and he is like "yeah, yeah, ooh, fuckin' yeah" and shit. Drool is all puddling on the floor beneath you and all that and like splashing all over the place, you know. Like, step off Shamoo, people need to be careful of MY splash zone! And you like grab the shaft in one hand and the balls in the other and stuff and your like working it like that. Your tongue giving it the biggun on his nut balls. Like slip, slop, lollipop mother fucker. Better tongue action than a fucking ant eater. You pushing your tongue down his urethra and give a good old lick all up in there. Then you start slurping on that junk like a fucking kid trying to get the last of their slushy. And his eyes are popping out his head and shit and he's like "Holy shit balls, joker this is a damn acceptable level blow jay." And you like slap it on your forehead and shit and like maybe prod yourself in the eye with it a bit, I dunno. And you like slap it and he looks at you like "uh okay, I s’pose" and then you slap it again because fuck it. And back in the face opening it goes. Plunger noise returns. And he maybe grabs your hair or maybe not, maybe if you're into that and you're not but maybe you are. And he is all like, "I'm going to do a cum" and you're like "pardon?" And he's like "I'm going to do a cum" and you're like, "sorry what?" And he's like "I'm going to..." and you stop sucking and are like, "I'm so sorry, I can't hear you over the racket". He's like, "ever so sorry, I was just letting you know, I was going to do a bit of a cum" and you're like, "Right you are, Sonny Jim" and stick his whoopsie back in your cock pocket of a mouth. Then all of a sudden, without any warning whatsoever, *pew, pew* he does a bit of a cum in your throat making you gag. Then like a fucking fireman's house, white spaff juice sprays out of the end sending you flying backwards as he drenches you with his load. Like DRENCHES you. When he is done, you pull a hanky from your pocket and wipe the corners of your mouth. You have some class after all.

You get to your feet and walk back over to him, a twinkle in your pink eye.

"Thanks Joker, that was okay, I really fuckin' needed that".

You blush slightly and lean in for a kiss. As your faces connect you take his lip in between your teeth and hold it there. You hold it there until you feel it go slack in your grasp, until his eye's glaze over and then you pull out the knife you had plunged into his throat, his blood starting to gush over you. His body goes limp and falls to the floor with a thud. The vibration knocks Lucille from her perch and she falls across his slumped body. You wipe the blood from the knife on your shirt and place it back through your belt, behind your back. You had finally got what you had come for and you didn't care what it took to get it. You didn't fear the walking dead but you did fear what someone might do to you if they found you like this so you decide it best to head off. You step over Negan's lifeless body and start your walk home. After all, people will be waking up soon and it's a long walk back to Alexandria.

... oh yeah! You sing "I'm a slave to your games. I'm just a sucker for pain" as you walk off or something.

[ughseoks]

princess | jhs

— pairing; prince!hoseok x princess!reader

— pairing/rating; smut, pwp | 18+

— word count; <1k

— warnings; dirty talk, horse riding grinding (??), creampie, fingering, implied oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, semi-public sex kind of, outdoor sex, teasing if you squint, pwp, unedited

— summary; the constant moving and touching from riding a horse with hoseok is getting both of you a little hot and bothered.

— written for @bangtan-dreamland‘s Drinks & Drabbles Game! @jeonstime​ sent me this prompt as a joke but i saw an opportunity and seized it.

「 masterlist 」

@daechwlta​: hoseok + Cocktail + prince au 😏

i hope u enjoy yeji!!!!! ilysm 🥺👉🏻👈🏻💞

“Comfortable?”

Hoseok’s chest rumbles behind you as he murmurs the question into your ear. You’re sitting in front of him on his horse, his arms wrapped around you to hold the reins.

“Yes. Very,” you gulp, trying to keep your cool. Your back is lightly pressed against his front, each and every movement from the horse causing you to brush against him. A particularly rough jostle causes your breath to catch in your throat when you’re pressed back into him-- hard.

He holds back a groan as your ass rubs directly against his crotch, dick jumping in the confines of his pants. Always poised, the prince simply clears his throat to mask the noise, effectively catching the attention of the guards surrounding the two of you on horses of their own.

“We’re going to the nearby pond to grab a drink of water. Wait here.”

The guards all nod in affirmation, moving to the side in order to allow Hoseok to direct his horse off of the designated path. After a few minutes, the two of you end up in a small clearing; it’s filled with beautiful flowers and plant life, all centered around a crystal clear pond.

When the horse comes to a stop, the prince keeps one hand on the reins, allowing the other to snake around your waist and tug you even closer to him. You immediately tilt your head to the side to give him easy access to your neck.

“We have to be quick, Princess,” he whispers against your skin, “If we’re gone for too long, the guards may come looking for us.”

“Then let’s get on with it.” You reach back to push his head away. He nips your skin one last time before obliging and dismounting from the horse.

“Impatient?” he smirks, placing his hands on your waist in order to help you down from the tall white steed. You ignore his teasing comment in favor of pressing a kiss to his lips as your hands rest gently on his crisp blue uniform. Hoseok immediately reciprocates, the hands that never left your hips squeezing gently while your lips move together.

You break away with a small gasp, smiling when he pouts and tries to chase your lips. “We don’t have time for a full makeout session, Hobi.”

“Let’s get this show on the road, then.”

A yelp falls from your lips when he suddenly places his arms behind your knees and back and lifts you up. He presses a kiss to your forehead before setting you down on the soft grass below. In the blink of an eye, he’s nestled between your legs, pressing wet kisses to your jaw and neck.

“H-Hobi,” you exhale, threading your fingers through his hair as he works his magic. He grunts when you tug gently on the chestnut strands.

After a few more kisses, he pulls away and sits back on his heels, eyeing the intricate dress you wear with slight distaste. As good as you looked in it, the damn thing sure made it a lot more difficult to have a quickie in the woods. A few moments later, Hoseok settles for gripping the fabric and bunching it up at your waist, a giggle falling from your lips as he does so. He returns it with a heart-shaped smile of his own.

Now faced with only your underwear, Hoseok moves to quickly discard the thin cloth before plunging two long fingers inside of your aching core, causing you to cry out at the intrusion. He pumps and scissors his digits a few times before pulling them back out. They’re drenched.

It only takes him a few more moments to slide his pants down and settle back into his spot between your legs, one hand lining his cock up with your dripping entrance while the other holds him up. “Ready, Princess?” he grunts. You nod yes and he immediately begins sinks into your warm heat.

The burn is delicious; you can feel every inch of his dick as it fills you to the brim. Both of you let out moans once he’s fully seated inside of you. “I love you so much,” he murmurs, peppering kisses all over your face as you adjust to the stretch of him, “You take me so well, Princess.”

You keen at the praise, and soon enough you’re clenching around his dick, signaling him to finally begin pistoning in and out of you. Small cries fall from your lips in time with his thrusts as low moans make their way past his, both of you addicted to feeling the other so intimately. It isn’t long before you feel your high creeping up; Hoseok notices too, his breath hitching when your walls begin to flutter around him.

“Gonna cum, H-Hobi,” you groan, hands scrambling for purchase on his still clothed arms, “Harder, p-please.”

He immediately picks up his speed, each slam of his hips against yours causing you to inch up the grass a little further. “Gonna cream all over my cock? Hmm?”

All you can do is chant his name like a mantra as he slams into you repeatedly. Every stroke brings you closer to bliss, and when his hand slips down to roughly thumb at your clit, you finally climax. Ecstasy floods your veins like liquid fire as Hoseok fucks you through your high, reaching his own peak only a few thrusts later.

When he finally slips out of you, his cum begins to drip out of your hole, a smirk appearing on his at the sight. “You’re making such a mess, Princess,” he teases before lower his face to be level with your glistening pussy, winking when you send him a questioning look, “I think I need to clean you up a bit. Can’t have you dripping all over the saddle, now can we?”

[star3yed]

Happy Holidays @lanelin​! I am you gifter for the @mlsecretsanta! I apologize for such the late work but I really hope you enjoy and had a great holiday season!

Thanks to my editor Tia @tombombadilcankickyourass​ for editing my random ramblings into cohesive sentences!

NSFW between the asterisks! The story ends within the asterisk for those who want to read it, if not I added a small SFW ending.

I made a small playlist that include the songs in this story, check it out :https://open.spotify.com/playlist/40za0n7AHlybZlNWvKde9P?si=sOe7Q5M8QCWXKIN6t0Mw8A

Summary:  A band AU where Marinette and her band decide to come back from retirement to surprise Luka at a music festival!

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Relationship: Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug

Marinette ran in the alleyway leading to the back entrance of the venue, holding her coat tightly around her, her heels clicking against the damp ground. “Girl Hurry!” She heard Alya yell at her from the backstage door. She held herself upright as she stumbled on an empty can of beer. She made it to the entrance, panting a bit as her best friend chuckled. “Well, it isn’t a concert if you aren’t late, is it?” She joked as Marinette looked up to mock-glare at her. “Forgetting something?” She felt Alya press something in her hand and she looked down, seeing a mask, a new mask she had never worn but had spent hours slaving over, a staple of their band. Smiling, she accepted it and put it over her face. “Now c’mon, they’re almost done setting up.”

“Is he in position?” Marinette asked as she held onto her coat tighter, warming up inside the venue. 

“Allegra told me she finally dragged his ass to the floor. He wanted to go back home to you.” Marinette blushed, not surprised her boyfriend wanted to go back to her, yet still flattered. “I guess I acted sick a little too well.” She handed her coat to one of the stagehands and reached the rest of the group. Her bandmates had already put on their masks, a reflection of their onstage personas. Juleka, Ivan, and Adrien huddled together with Rose as someone yelled that it was almost time for them to perform. Marinette had missed this, the backstage mess of people running around making sure things would run smoothly, other bands networking as they waited for their opportunity to perform, the heavy smell of musk, and the excitement of the crowd ahead. She spotted a familiar blue splattered black guitar, with an intricate snake design around the head. Smiling, she turned to her group. 

“First off, thank you guys so much for willing to do this for me, taking time out of your busy schedules and learning to play a different genre …” Rose grinned and held Marinette’s hand, as Juleka spoke up.

“We know you would have done this and so much more for us, so don’t mention it!” The rest of the group agreed unanimously and energetically, making the raven-haired girl flush. 

“Besides Marinette, we missed this too.” Ivan chirped in, Adrien and Juleka nodding alongside him. 

“I haven’t had time to play in forever, I almost forgot how much I loved playing.” Adrien said, smiling.  

“I am honored to share a stage with you guys again, and hopefully we can do this more often.” Marinette said earnestly, stretching her hand out; immediately the rest of the group followed hands on top of one another. “Who are we?” Juleka cheered, 

“Miraculous!”

“And what do we do?” Ivan boasted,

“Rock!” The group said hyping themselves up. She heard a stagehand call out to them. Nerves made her stomach drop, and hyper aware of everything surrounding her, the amount of people backstage making her feel a little overwhelmed. A stagehand offered her a microphones and an earpiece, realizing that her band was up. Feeling her heart race as Ivan and Adrien were the first to get on the dark stage, followed by Juleka after kissing her girlfriend, Rose. “Nerves of steel”; she reminded herself. She had performed for bigger crowds before, and she knew she had at least one fan out there. Alya put a familiar strap on her shoulders and she smiled. Even through his objects, Luka’s magical calming effect washed over her. She put her hand on the neck of the black guitar, breathing deeply. While technically she’d be playing rhythm guitar to Adrien, she wanted to show Luka that his lessons hadn’t been in vain. 

Inhaling deeply, she took a step onto the stage, gingerly holding the neck of the guitar. The audience milled beneath her and as she exhaled, she felt at home. Although it had been a few years since she stepped on a stage, it felt familiar. The dim lights, the buzzing excitement in the air. She felt her heart speed up in anticipation, nerves slipping away as she walked towards the mic stand, her domain. She heard the excitement grow as she approached; a bright white spotlight flickered to life on her. She turned her head towards her bandmates for reassurance, they nodded back at her, signaling they were ready.  Putting her mic on the stand, she leaned in close. 

“Good evening France!” She called out to the crowd. She heard a whoop and her eyes quickly scanned the crowd. “I see someone recognizes us!” She laughed as another few cheers fluttered back to her. She smiled as her eyes settled on a mop of black and blue hair. 

 “We have Stoneheart back on the drums!” She called out as Ivan started to play the beat of an old song of theirs, a white stage light passing from her to him. “And Reflecta on the bass!” She called as Juleka joined in with the bass, the spotlight changing to purple and shining on her. “Chat Noir on the Guitar!” She felt Adrien shred a tune and smirked when she saw Luka’s eyebrows raise into his hairline. “And yours truly Ladybug on vocals!” She pumped an arm as the lights on the stage shifted from green on Adrien to red on her. “We’re Miraculous and we are back for ONE. NIGHT. ONLY!!”. As her words reverberated through the hall, the excitement became palpable.  Her eyes flicked from her boyfriend to the crowd, as they became more vocal and cheered on. “I’m sure most of you know this song! So, feel free to join in and help me sing!”

Juleka and Adrien stopped playing as Ivan changed the tune he was playing, and she flipped the guitar on her back. As she gripped the mic a bit more firmly, Juleka started to play the melody for their song Sorry now. Her nerves having dissipated as she sang, her heart swelled in joy. In the background she heard Alya join her for faster paced lyrics and smiled. The words flowing through her mouth as if she had just made them up on the spot, the emotion building up in her as she remembered the person for who she wrote the song for. Her eyes flicked back to Luka as she got into the chorus, memories flooding back to her; Luka comforting her on his bed after a terrible day at Lycée with Lyla, helping her channel the anger into music. 

Reaching the second chorus she held the microphone out, stopping midway and let the audience sing along with her. Marinette beamed, pleased their song was still remembered. For Marinette, this song was very much her way to cope with the emotions from being bullied and humiliated by Lila. Upon reflection, she realized that the hurt and confidence this song portrayed had made it what it was, and that passion made it resonate so much with her fans. She waved her hand at the audience and put both hands on her microphone preparing to hit the high notes on the second half of the notes. Grinning as she hit them, she opened her eyes again to finish the song.

Relishing in the cheers afterwards Marinette locked eyes again with her boyfriend in the crowd as he cheered for her. He winked at her, before letting out another cheer. Although Marinette wanted to bask in the emotion, she knew that festivals were fast paced, and the band didn’t hesitate to transition between songs. Ivan changed their beat, shifting into their song ‘Care’. Marinette took advantage of Ivan’s small drum solo to shift the guitar from her back to her hands. She gave it a small strum before quietly signaling in her earpiece for the crew members to turn on her amp. Care had a bit more of a nostalgic feel and was Adrien’s favorite song to perform. It was his cathartic song about his father. It wasn’t as vocal intensive as their first song, which gave Marinette time to focus on the guitar and keep the singing more instinctive. It really was more of a song for Adrien to show off his guitar skills. 

Their third song was more guitar heavy and had Mariette step up her game. Luka’s face was priceless when he saw her actually play a second song on his guitar. ‘California Girls’ was a tribute from Juleka to Rose. Jules wrote the lyrics and Luka had helped with the melody. The beginning of the song allowed Marinette to move more freely on the stage as it had more instrumentals. More comfortable with Luka’s guitar she jumped and danced around as she played. She trusted Rose with her backup vocals and focused a bit more on having fun on stage. After the bridge Adrien and she added a small guitar duet to really showcase their guitar skills, a small tribute to their teacher. Marinette had been nervous during practice yet performing and the audience cheering made playing the guitar akin to breathing, effortless. Finishing the song Marinette let go of the guitar, letting the weight fall upon the strap on her shoulders. Running a hand through her hair she moved closer to her mic. 

“You guys have been awesome so far!” The crowd cheered as Marinette held the microphone once again in her hands. “This song is so special to me,”. She smiled and peeked at Luka, noticing him tilting his head to the side. For the past two songs she had sneaked glances at him yet was focused more on the energy that reverberated through the venue. “My boyfriend wrote this song before we started dating.” She held back a laugh as she saw Luka’s reaction. “I had the biggest crush on a model when I was a teenager and he thought I was going to reject him in favor of the model when I had the chance.” Marinette laughed. “I hope if he’s out there and hears this he doesn’t mind we made the melody a bit more pop than rock.” She smiled and nodded towards Adrien to stop playing. ‘Daft pretty boys’ was something Luka was never proud of writing, yet they both found it immensely funny after a few months of dating. She never realized how Luka felt about her and how jealous he was to write a song about his pent-up emotions. She found it somewhat endearing that he felt so strongly about her even back then. Marinette started to play the guitar, and kept her eyes locked with her boyfriend. The band agreed to let her sing and play the first verse alone, as an homage to his writing process, and then join in the pre chorus. It would be the first time he’d hear the song being sung as an actual song, and not a melody. Although she tried to keep her gaze on Luka, she eventually had to look around the crowd, yet she felt his gaze burn onto her. They had changed the original melody to fit a more upbeat tune. Nino had helped with the composition, turning it into a more danceable song. The band had fun learning this song, a small creation for their performance. 

As the song ended, Marinette took a small sip of water provided for the band as the rest of the band room also took a small break. Marinette beamed as she addressed the crowd. “This is our final song tonight! A small tribute to our favorite band, one that inspired us to come back from retirement.” The crowd buzzed with anticipation. “It’s this small band, you might have heard from them. The Quantic Kids?” Marinette paused to let the crowd cheer with anticipation. “I’m pretty sure they’re the headliners tonight. “Her eyes locked with Luka’s as he flushed.  She grinned at the crowd’s excitement as Ivan started the beat of the song. “This song is called When it Breaks.” The crowd continued to cheer as Marinette held the guitar, ready to play again. The song was exciting and different for the band, and it was a bit intense for Marinette as it required more focus on both singing and playing from her. It was worth it in her eyes, as she had spent countless nights practicing in Nino’s studio away from her boyfriend to give his band the respect they deserved. The beat of the song was much faster paced and left the ambience hyped for the next band. Ending the song left the singer slightly out of breath. 

Marinette looked back into the crowd, her eyes scanned quickly trying to find his piercing blue eyes, to no avail. Smiling, trying to press down the growing nerves inside she waved to the crowd. “Thank you, France! We are Miraculous!” trying to reason with herself why Luka wasn’t in the audience she reminded herself not to freak out. “Bug-out!” She yelled out before the lights onstage cut off and the band made their way offstage.

 Immediately the band was flocked by people, but Marinette held tightly onto Luka’s guitar as she searched for him amongst the crowd. Praises and congratulations abundant, Marinette grinned politely, her mind racing with thoughts of Luka and concern over where he was. As the band was brushed from person to person she suddenly felt for her mask. Sighing in relief that it was still in place she resumed her search for a certain blue haired musician. Finding her way to Alya, suddenly a voice struck out clear as day, “My guitar seems to have been stolen.” Marinette’s polite grin turned into a fully-fledged beam.

“So, what if it has?” She retorted as she felt a strong arm wrap around her shoulder. 

“I’d have to report you to the police.” Luka smiled back at her before hugging her. His proper congratulations could wait when she wasn’t Ladybug anymore. 

“Even after we paid homage to your band with our theme?” She retorted sticking out her tongue at him. 

“I’m glad you found inspiration in us to come out of retirement.” He said, eyes filled with laughter. 

“It was an executive decision. You were a big factor.”

“Well, I’m honored…”

“I’ve even taken inspiration from you for my outfit. You like?” She said cheekily. She felt his gaze take her over and his cheeks flush. She had designed a leather bustier top with a teal scaley design that shifted from black to teal chrome with light, mimicking snakeskin. The bustier ended a little above her waist, exposing her abdomen. She designed a short black leather asymmetrical skirt with three thick buckles in the front with a snakeskin texture, to match with the theme. Alongside some teal and black jewelry, she finished the outfit with black platform boots with buckles that matched her top. 

“I’m not sure my girlfriend would approve.” Luka replied, raising an eyebrow. 

“I have a feeling she wouldn’t mind one bit.” She smirked, as Alya came in tow with Nino. The crowd around the band had dissipated, and the bandmates were buzzed from their performance. Nino hugged Marinette as he saw her grinning from ear to ear. “LB! It’s been forever!” She smiled and hugged him back.

“It has been, thanks for squeezing us in for a little comeback.”

“No problem LB, you guys really helped launch the label, along with quantic kids.” He said high fiving Luka. “Are you sure I can’t convenience you guys to record a new comeback record?” Marinette laughed and shook her head. 

Alya chimed in, smirking at her friend “Fine Ladybug, well the least you can do is come to our party, model Adrien Agreste is going.” This time Luka burst out laughing alongside Marinette. 

“Is it true you sang a song about him?” Luka jested raising an eyebrow at the singer. 

“My songwriter would kill me if I told you.” She poked Luka’s side with her elbow before turning back to Nino. “I already have plans for tonight, but if they blow over, I could make an appearance.” Nino chuckled and tilted his hat towards her. “Hope to see you there.” The couple walked towards the rest of Miraculous band to mingle, leaving the musician and singer alone. She waved at him, continuing to mingle lightly with some people before ducking out when everyone was distracted. 

 She walked towards Ayla’s car, having agreed to meet up with the rest of the band after changing. Safely inside she found another set of clothes, almost identical to her current outfit but with the top and bottom colors inverted. She shook her hair out of her pigtails and took off her mask, quickly changing in the safety of dark tinted windows, becoming designer Marinette once again. Just in time, there was a soft knock on her window signaling the group was ready to leave for the party. 

Adrien and Luka joined her in the backseat, as Nino and Alya slipped in the front. Marinette handed Adrien another neat pile of clothing to change. Although his all black leather get-up was sure to be a knockout at the party, Adrien wanted to keep Chat Noir a secret for a little longer, just in case they did decide to get the band back together. Marinette held Luka's hand as the man squished next to the girl to give Adrien more space to change in the small sedan. “So, I heard Ladybug was flirting with you backstage.” She joked making the musician blush. “Should I be worried about competition?” She heard Alya chuckle in front of her, eavesdropping on the conversation, Luka joining in. 

“Why is my melody jealous?” Marinette wrinkled her nose and Luka kissed the tip of her nose. “Well Ladybug should know there is only one girl for me, although I do have to thank her for the comeback.” Marinette smiled at her boyfriend, before leaning against the car door. 

“Well, it’s a small thank you for teaching us how to play the guitar.” Adrien chimed in, signaling he had changed. 

“You guys improved so much! I felt like a proud father.” Luka responded. He squeezed Marinette’s hand twice, a small gesture they shared as reassurance. The group talked on their way to Nino’s afterparty, catching up on their lives. They talked about Adrien’s love life and modeling with Juleka in Fashion Week, Luka’s upcoming tour in Europe, Ayla’s success as a music columnist and her plans to open her own magazine, Nino’s record label and the upcoming artists in his roster, as well as Marinette’s designs that were selected to appear in an Italian Magazine. The car ride had been long yet with the friend group it had felt as though time hadn’t passed since lycée.

The party was more of an industry mixer, where artists, managers and famous people mingled about. The friends were accustomed to this type of party, as it was prevalent in their career choices, and although it was great to make connections it was also somewhat boring. Being a Nino party, it felt more like a club than a networking event, yet people were always on the job. Getting out of the car, paparazzi was abundant at the entrance, trying to snap pictures of model Adrien and rock star Luka, yet the group ignored them, walking straight inside. Immediately Nino and Alya were whisked away to talk to some editorial, and Adrien was being flirted with by an American socialite. Marinette and Luka headed to the makeshift dance floor and started to dance but were quickly interrupted by other artists star-struck by Luka. 

Being used to this Marinette headed to the bar, which is where the couple always agreed to meet when separated by others. She ordered a cocktail and saw a small and quiet lounge area to the left. Heading there she was stopped by two women, a couple she recognized as a musician in Nino’s label and her famous actress girlfriend. Making small talk, she soon found out they were interested in her designs, wanting custom gowns for a red-carpet event. They started to exchange contact information when she felt an arm wrap around her waist. She wanted to lean into the warmth yet before she could it was gone, Luka opting to stand next to her instead of behind her. Introducing themselves again to Luka; the musician and Luka started to talk about the label, the woman curious about the way things were managed as she was new. 

She felt his hand intertwine with hers and a tingle went through her spine. His thumb rubbing the back of her hand made her look up at him, chiseled jaw moving with his mouth, a small smirk present. Although he was mostly nonchalant, he had grown more confident in the year his band has been performing. Goosebumps suddenly traveled up her arm as she tried to focus on the conversation, but the tension building up between them made it hazy. Her eyes darted to the bathroom and smiled, “It was great catching up! I’m going to get another drink.” She said to the couple, letting go of Luka’s hand. 

******

She straightened her back and headed towards a coat room, closing the door behind her. A few moments later she heard a familiar knock before the door opened, revealing Luka. He quickly entered before closing the door behind him and locking it. It only took him to turn back to her for Marinette to be on him, lips crashing against each other, her hand tangling in his hair. Instantly his hands grabbed her waist and pulled her closer, a small moan escaping her throat. He pulled away and smirked down at her. “As much as I love to hear you my melody, we might have to keep this symphony a bit quieter. We don’t want to alert anyone.” He said, putting a hand on her cheek, features softening from lust to adoration. He felt his heart swell at the sight of the seamstress/retired pop star with flushed cheeks, swollen pink lips parted slightly with breathlessness and a baby blue eyes that held utter desire for him. “God you are beautiful.” He whispered, bringing his other hand to hers, and pulling it up to his mouth to kiss. “A goddess of beauty and a siren of song, you’ve lured me into your arms and I never want to leave.” 

Marinette flushed a darker shade of pink, yet the emotions stirring in her stomach beat any of the sentiment in her heart.  “As are you, but we’re wasting precious time. It won’t be long before someone starts searching for us.” She whispered, through half lidded eyes. “It’s been torture to not have you all to myself.”  She took another step towards him, his hands slipping from her waist to her hips to hoist her up and against the door. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his hips, her hands resuming their position in his hair. She suppressed a gasp as he continued to kiss her hungrily, opting to clutch his hair tighter pulling slightly. Luka let out a soft moan, and peppered kisses from her mouth to her ear. Marinette snaked a hand underneath his blouse, feeling the soft skin against hard muscles. He let out a sigh as she gently traced her fingers up and down his abdomen and chest. Deciding the shirt was too much of a hassle, Marinette unbuttoned two other buttons before throwing it over his head. They only separated for a moment before their lips were back together, grinding against each other as they hungrily wanted more. As Marinette’s hand started to gently move up and down his back, the soft touch sensual, Luka started nibbling on her earlobe lightly before kissing behind the ear. He bit down and sucked, “Luka!” Marinette gasped before he continued kissing down her neck leaving a small love bite. Marinette pressed against him harder, wanting him to be closer. Grinding a little faster she felt his hard bulge against her as he groaned into her ear. His face moved back to her lips as he moved closer to the wall opposite the door, his lips sucking on hers hungrily as she bit his lower lip, enticing another moan from him. As soon as her back hit the wall his hands pinned her arms above her head, kissing his way down her neck towards her collarbone. “You know I love your designs but seeing you up there earlier on stage with my colors and my guitar… I never knew I needed to see that before.” He kissed her collarbone again, before straightening out and tightened his grip on her wrists, making Marinette moan. 

“Seeing you up there, wearing this… it made me want to ravish you,” he whispered leaning his forehead against hers before gently lowering her. Marinette almost whined as her feet touched the floor, “it was downright sinful what I wanted to do to you in that moment.” One of his hands slipped from down her arm, neck, between the valley of her breasts to the hooks on her bustier top, leaving shocks of electricity with his touch, Marinette leaning into his touch with pleasure. “My thoughts were filthy. But now…” he trailed off, eyes dropping to unhook the front of her top. “I get to show you exactly how I felt at that moment.” He pulled her top apart to expose her breasts, nipples getting harder against the cold air. Luka smiled and resumed where he left off, kissing gently down her collar bone, Marinette let out a soft moan, her hands clasping together as he neared her nipple. She felt the anticipation of his warm breath on her, yet before he could take the delicate skin in his mouth he smiled. “I haven’t even started and you’re already flustered ladybug?” she groaned, about to retort but the words never came out as his tongue flickered against the soft sensitive skin of her nipple. 

“D-damn you.” She managed to mutter out, his tongue flicking the tip before circling around it. Her fingers tightened around themselves, rolls of pleasure crashing through her. Had Luka not been holding her against the door, she would’ve felt her legs weaken as he bit down gently before taking it in his mouth and swirling the flesh with his tongue. His other hand came down cupping the other breast, fondling it before pinching the other nipple making Marinette moan louder than she meant to. He smiled before shifting, replacing his hand with his mouth, making Marinette arch her back trying to get him closer to her.

Luka pulled away, hand leaving her arms before grabbing her waist and kneeling in front of her. Marinette was left panting biting her lip, as her hands found their way into his hair. He smiled before kissing down her sternum and between her ribcages. He pulled back before pulling the hemline of her skirt above her hips admiring the lingerie underneath. “I see you didn’t waste any of the bustier fabric.” He said, lips tilted upwards in amusement. 

“s-Shut up…” She managed to sputter out, face bright red. Luka gently kissed her thigh from the middle inwards, training his way upwards until they hit the cut of her panties. Marinette was red and flushed, biting her lip to keep sounds from coming out. Her stomach fluttered, as the burning passion inside her consumed her. His lips felt like a matchstick, his trail leaving a tingling sensation that she didn’t, particularly mind. Kissing her through her panties, he looked up at her for permission to continue, to which she nodded, releasing her bottom lip from between her teeth. Luka so gently pulled them down, before ever so delicately put a finger between the folds of her warm, wet, and sensitive pussy. He gently brushed against her clit enticing another moan from the small seamstress. He pulled his finger back and admired it as it glistened in the low light before popping it into his mouth. He wasted no time sucking her wetness from his finger before his face was back at her inner thighs, kissing from the middle towards her slick clit. It didn’t take long before he reached there, giving her clit some special attention with his tongue. Soon he had Marinette bracing herself against the wall for support and her hands gripping and pulling his hair, begging him in sweet soft moans for more. As wave after wave of pleasure overrode her, Luka enjoyed seeing his girlfriend try to keep quiet as orgasm overtook her. Seeing her head tilted back, mouth agape, gasping for air made him wish he had photographic memory. He sat back and admired his handiwork as he held Marinette steady. 

Licking his lips, he smiled and stood up. Marinette let out a small sigh and put her head against the wall. “Need a moment?” he chuckled as he kissed her forehead. She nodded breathless. “Well come here” He wrapped his arms around her waist letting his girlfriend lean against him. He quietly started to rearrange her clothing as she gathered her bearings. “What about...” Luka’s eyes pierced into hers and he winked. “We can continue this at home, but I think our absence might be noticed if we are gone any longer.” He kissed Marinette again before lifting her bustier top over her exposed chest. “Now, my melody, where exactly did you throw my shirt?”. 

*******

Marinette got to the bar and ordered two cocktails as Luka met up with her at the bar. He kissed her temple as the bartender handed her two drinks. She felt proud of her boyfriend, they spent the night mingling, eventually dancing with their friends and happy in each other’s arms. 

[muse-oleum]

Quiet

Kingsman - Harry Hart x reader

Prompt #54: “You’d better be quiet or everyone’s going to know what a naughty little thing you are.”*

Damn you guys are at it in those smutty requests, gosh. I’ve got four more on the way! This is the classic office/boss/secretary smut piece, but Kingsman style. 

* changed the word “slut” to “thing” just cuz i think it fits HH better

Summary: You’re called up to Harry Hart’s office for an entirely professional matter.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: absolute sinful smut (i repeat: this is super NSFW do not read if you’re underage and/or uncomfortable!!)

Here’s what i listened to writing this.

(obviously i had to pick that gif because holsters are a man’s garters and they’re sexey)

Agent Galahad was stressed. 

A stressed Galahad was a dangerous Galahad. A dangerous Galahad was, as Eggsy stoically put it one day when said agent had spent a little too long staring at you, was a horny Galahad. 

And agent Galahad had the bad habit of getting just what he wanted. 

And right now, what he wanted was you. As one of the techies, you worked mostly below grounds, joining Merlin in monitoring recruits and agents alike in the hope you’d prevent something plainly dumb from happening. 

Most people would say that you were just about pretty, but by God, how he wanted you. He’d nurtured a viciously powerful craving for you for months - over a year in fact. A year of flirting, suggestive smiles across debrief rooms, and heated touches in the hallways. 

A year of intense slow burn and near misses, where your bathroom encounters were interrupted by a certain Scot who had eyes everywhere. 

He was stressed and he had enough. His office was one room in which Merlin didn’t have mechanical eyes salaciously plugged into every corner. 

Kingsman agents were not supposed to have trysts, much less lasting ones, but he didn’t care. 

Your phone pinged as you were going over some files in need of your attention. Come to my office. Got a file I need you to look over. You smiled.

It appeared that files weren’t the only thing in need of your attention. 

Your heels clicked against the marble floor of the Kingsman mansion as you made your way to Harry’s office. You knocked on the door tentatively, fully aware of the longing look you received from the man sat at the desk opposite you. 

Harry took in your appearance, his eyes roaming over your long, shapely legs, up to the knee length pencil skirt you wore. It hugged in your hips, outlining every curve he was so desperate to taste. 

“I have a mission coming up. I’ll be gone several weeks.”

His eyes had darkened, his pupils dilating almost immediately as he saw you enter the room fully, closing the door behind you. 

“The file?”

Your arched eyebrow was staring right back at him, daring him to even pretend that there was any file to begin with. 

He stood up, edging his way towards you. Backing you up against the door, he gently took the clipboard you still clutched against your chest, setting it aside. 

“There isn’t any file,” he said in a low voice, his hand skimming the hem of your skirt, thumbs brushing the inside of your thigh. Your breath hitched. His hand found the band of your garter. “I needed you,” he breathed against your lips, his eyes never leaving yours. Nimble fingers made quick work of the clip, exposing more creamy skin to his caresses. 

He pressed you up against the wall beside the door, his other hand by the side of your head. You forgot everything as he crashed his lips on yours, a loud moan escaping you. You felt his hands edge closer and closer to your core, fingers already toying with the lace of your panties. 

As he ended the kiss, attempting to catch his breath, you took the opportunity to stall the progress of his hand. He was no stranger to your tricks. That and Merlin’s continued interrupting was what had him practically prostate with lust right now. Your firm grip on his wrist discouraged him from trying to reach the object of his desire… until he caught your eye. 

It was very suggestive glance, that one, and it set his loins on fire. You bit your lips as you glanced down to where his hand disappeared under your skirt, signifying what you wanted. 

And what you wanted was his mouth working on you, right here, right now.

Many would have said that Harry Hart was a controlling man, who liked to be in charge. But if his woman wanted him to relieve that particular ache that he had created, there was no stopping him doing just as she wished. 

You turned the key in the lock, arresting his gaze momentarily on your fingers. 

What he wanted these fingers to do to him was positively sinful. But all things in good time, he was reminded when your hips rolled up against the wall and you drew in a sharp breath. He noticed your nipples straining against the fabric of your blouse, begging for his attention. 

In his slow descent towards your navel, Harry’s hand dropped to caress the soft skin behind your knee. He grew frustrated with the clasps of your garters, growling as his shaking fingers struggled with pulling your tights down. One by one he took off your heels, dropping them unceremoniously on the ground. With your height newly reduced, your midriff was now directly in front of his face. You could feel his hot breath through the fabric of your skirt. His hands ascended back up your body, settling one on your hips and the other full on your breast. His Kingsman ringlet caught against the hard press of your nipple, causing you to whimper. 

Harry pushed your skirt back up all the way to your hips, his lips trailing a blaze of kisses on your inner thigh. HIs thumb went to caress your nub, rubbing against the material of your panties. Pressure was steadily building inside of you. You felt his mouth press against your core, sucking and pulling on you. You couldn’t control the moans of pleasure and the undulating of your hips into his hand. 

Grabbing hold of your leg, Harry looked up at you, hair messed up and cheeks red. “Careful, darling,” he said, his thumb running over your nipple, “you’d better be quiet or everyone’s going to know what a naughty little thing you are.” 

That alone sent you spiralling down in pleasure, the ministrations of his fingers and lips putting every nerve in your body into high alert. When he was finished with you, Harry’s desire was almost painful. He tugged you down harshly, catching you before you hit the floor, still panting out your pleasure. 

Immediately, his lips found yours, stifling his own moans as you pressed against him. 

“Harry…” he bit your neck, “Harry,” he moaned loudly as your hand plunged into his pants. His whole being was stretched towards you, signifying his lust in every manner his body knew how. “I need you now.”

“Not before I’ve seen you,” he growled, one hand kneading your bottom to keep you rocking into him, the other tugging at each button on your blouse, uncovering the lacy purple bra you were wearing.

It was the same color as those lovely panties he’d so enthusiastically destroyed minutes ago. 

Not wasting any time, Harry dove in, his mouth and hands divesting you of your blouse and bra, leaving you exposed to his eyes. 

The hungry shine of his pupils made you go weak at the knees, sinking more of your weight onto him. 

Cupping your right breast, he suckled and pulled on your nipple, enjoying the feel of such sensitive skin demanding more of him. He’d always thought one of the sexiest things about a woman’s figure was her bosom, not least because it was one of the only visible indication of a woman’s desire. And yours were perfect indeed, designed to challenge every ounce of self-control he still possessed. 

Ignoring his earlier comment, you couldn’t control your moans and whimpers. Finally, after he had brought you back up from your first release, Harry laid you down on the floor underneath him, all but moaning shamelessly as his hips crashed repeatedly against yours.

You smirked. You had him where you wanted him. 

Your hand reached down, grabbing hold of his length. He bucked at that, biting his lips to avoid shouting your name. He could feel every touch of your fingers on his straining member, every caress, and when you smiled that wicked smile up at him, he simply knew he had to be inside of you. 

One look from you told him you’d reached the end of your patience. Without delay, Harry’s hand found your core once more, basking in your warmth as he slipped inside you. The sensation - one both of you had been craving for months - was heart-stopping. You felt more than heard Harry’s deep moan, adjusting to the feeling of him inside of you. 

Encouraging him to begin, you pressed up against his hips, your hands snaking around his waist to secure yourself to him. He began to rock against you, drawing longer whimpers out of you every time he thrust back. His hands were busy with attacking your breasts, feeling your softness just as he shared your warmth down where your bodies were joined. He was enticed by the pretty blush which had settled on your chest; by the vision you presented with your tightly shut eyes and lips tightly sealed. 

As pleasure overcame him, he swore the next time, he’d make love to you somewhere where, preferably, he could hear just how much you enjoyed his attention. 

If you’re still here and not blushing, congratulations, you have joined the HH smut club. Comment down below if you want to be added to the HH taglist! That way, you don’t miss anything ;)

Taglist: @justawriterinprogress; @tonystrksslut; @emilyyblackkk; the-sea-belt;

[narrans]

The Poisoned Fey | Chapter 1 | The Poisoner’s Apprentice

It was dark; not yet dawn, but there was no better time to rise on a northern fall morning. Rothrem was completely still on these mornings. No birds or creatures of the Hhatu Strip disturbed the air as it chilled before winter. Never were there insects saturating the air with their swarming forms. The mammals were either preparing their seasonal migration or hibernation, not that they were too much of an issue in the first place. It was mornings like this that Tal’el woke especially early to begin his work.

Tal’el turned over under his sheets, inhaling deeply as he stretched and clung the warmth around him. He reached out to the candle at his bedside table and grabbed the wick. Even in his dazed state of early consciousness, he was able to focus his mind enough to produce a small flame in the palm of his hand and lite the tip of the candle.

The light in his room slowly grew from dark to dim, and continued to glow brighter as the flame danced on the wick. The room itself was simple in its design and decoration, needing only enough room for his bed and a bedside table. There were a few shelves along the wall for his books and a curtain covering a small closet where he changed and stored his clothes.

The rest of his home echoed the simplicity of his bedroom. There was a table and two chairs, an area for cooking, a washroom, and numerous bookshelves lining every wall. There was only one place not completely concealed with books, and that was a place with a cushioned inset bench next to a window. The wooden floor revealed the spirals of the interior tree

Tal’el sat up and threw his sheets off of him. Rarely did he dedicate an exorbitant amount of time on his appearance. He knew that he was required, by station, to dress appropriately and did so accordingly. Still, he did so willingly. He pulled on a pair of thick brown leather pants and a simple white shirt along with his working vest and a coat. He fitted these things over his faintly tinted green, dragonfly like wings before running his fingers through his dark brown hair tipped in white in the back and slinging his pack over his shoulder.

He unlocked his door and opened it, the early morning air immediately saturating his senses. The poisoner’s apprentice inhaled deeply, his wing tips fluttering in anticipation. Successfully clinging to the bark of the tree and locking the door behind him, Tal’el pushed off of the tree and went into a free fall for several seconds. His heart leapt into his throat and the breath caught in his lungs. It was exhilarating.

The wind whipped through his hair and across his wings before he sprung into action. Wings beating furiously, Tal’el barely grazed the tall grass clumps at the base of the oak tree as he curved sharply and flew barely a foot above the ground. He passed by the grove and the gathering places. The trees of the community rustled, their dying leaves chattering like teeth with the chilling breeze. In no time, Tal’el reached his final destination, a very large black oak tree. He turned his attention upward, his wings naturally propelling him up to the top of the tree.

Years ago, before Tal’el’s mentor was even an apprentice himself, a decision was made to keep the poisoner’s place near the tops of the tree. Though it seemed counter to logic, the decision was backed by many. There was an instance when many powerful land tremors shook loose several potions and poisons from the shelves and storage places. They shattered and leaked into the roots of the tree, killing it within minutes. The tree uprooted and many in the Sprite community were injured and a few were killed because of this incident. After many discussions, placing the poisoner’s place at the top of the trees gave time to evacuate the tree should another incident occur. The place was also reinforced with spells of protection. No such incident occurred again, but the poisoner’s place remained at the tree’s top.

Tal’el arrived, fluttering near the entrance before landing and folding his wings against his back. Wafting heat greeted him as did the smell of dried or drying herbs and minerals and stones. There were a few quartz like crystals at the entrance which, upon contact with Tal’el’s hand, illuminated the workspace.

The space itself was rather large, the entire interior of the tree’s diameter in fact. There were several brewing tables along the edges of the walls filled with beakers and bottles. There were also a two mixing benches in the center of the room with scales for weighing and measuring. There were also mortars and pestles of varying sizes hanging aloft on hooks by wash basins. Also along the ceiling and other free spaces between the drying herbs and stacked stones were dozens of journals and books bound by sturdy leaves and fine, thin leathers.

To Tal’el, the sight was a pleasant one. He remembered his first day working with his mentor, and nothing had really changed within this space nearly thirteen years later. The moment of nostalgia was brief as the senior apprentice placed his belongings in their rightful place in a small cupboard at the back of the room and slid his leather apron over his head. Tal’el also retrieved a set of protective goggles made of precisely forged glass before retrieving his own journal and beginning his work.

Hours of undisturbed work filled his mind. There was a rhythm to his work. Selecting the correct herbs. Grinding, chopping, squeezing them for each concoction. There was a list of various requests and orders from the Boarder Guards, the ones who protected the Sprite villages such as Rothrem against exterior forces and intruders. Boarder Guards from many villages sent word to the Poison Master of Rothrem since there were so few true Poison Masters in the area. Simple potions such as venom and anti-venom to coat the tips of arrows and spears. Poisons to make predators ill. Any number of things to help keep the Sprite villages safe from intruders.

It wasn’t until the two suns, Targarius and Una, were cresting over the horizon that there was additional sound in the poisoner’s place. Without turning, it was clear who it was – the Poison Master himself, Drake Woodsand.

The elder Sprite, Drake Woodsand, had deep set crevasses in his brow and cheeks, giving him a kind of wise look if he didn’t have a semi-permanent scowl creasing his features. His silvery hair, which was slicked back, still possessed flecks of red at the tips near the base of his skull. His shoulders were often drawn forward as he worked, and this generally persisted as he walked or flew about Rothrem. His dragonfly like wings were a misty grey like a fog filled morning and glowed similarly as he landed and tucked them against his back.

He said nothing as he entered and grunted in partial acknowledgment of Tal’el and his work. Drake set he things into a separate cupboard, placed the apron over his head, and perched a pair of spectacles onto his nose as he began stripping some flowers and separating the interior stems, scraping the insides and placing the viscous material into jars. The sounds of the knife pressed into the flesh of the plant and scraping against the rim of the jar combined to the natural noise of the bubbling and mixing.

They worked in silence until well past midday until a messenger arrived with a sealed note. Naturally, Drake took the note from the girl and sent her away with a brisk but polite nod. She smiled, returned the nod, which was exponentially friendlier than his, and fluttered away with her bag of messages. Tal’el, who hadn’t looked up from his beakers of anti-venom, finally reached a pausing point and set down his tools and removed his goggles. His bright green eyes picked up on his mentor’s behaviors over the years, and this was no exception.

“Can you believe this?” Drake grumbled after taring open the seal and skimming the note, his gravely voice blending with his tenor timbre. Tal’el stretched, arching his back and flaring his wings before standing and walking toward Drake. The apprentice knew he would need to see for himself if he wanted the straight-forward answer.

“What is it?” Tal’el asked habitually as he extended his hand just in time for Drake to slap the note into his outstretched hand.

“As if we didn’t have enough to do around here,” grumbled Drake, who slipped into an overexaggerated impression of whomever wrote the note. “‘Excuse me, but would you be so kind as to lend us twenty vials of your most potent anti-venom.’ Really! I mean, what are they doing with the vials we send? Are they getting hurt on purpose? Provoking snakes and the sort just to earn the queen’s fool pendant? I just want to go out there and see how they are pouring through anti-venom like this. You know, maybe if they used their wings and stayed off of the ground, they wouldn’t need the anti-venom. ‘Oh. How fascinating. I didn’t think of that.’”

Tal’el felt a smirk curl onto his face, his head shaking from side to side at Drake’s continued grumbling as his eyes traced over the scrolling Sylvan letters. Indeed, it was another request for anti-venom from not one, not two, but three villages. It was a massive request which was not to be taken lightly. Instantly, Tal’el’s mind worked at lightening speed and his pondering mind began asking questions.

“It’s the cold season,” Tal’el muttered to himself. There’s no way the villages should be using this much anti-venom unless they’re stockpiling. The venomous creatures should be preparing to hibernate and sleep the winter away. New recruits? Creating a tolerance to the venom and requiring vials as a precaution? Or have they noticed something and are hesitant to say anything. “It is a hefty request, but nothing we can’t handle. I’ve been working on harvesting the insides of our Eclipta Pros for some time. Keeping them dried for too long…”

“Naturally dries them out and they’re at peak potency now,” finished Drake, his heterochromatic eyes flaring with energy. “Don’t quote me while I’m standing right here boy. I’m old, not dead.” Tal’el nodded an apology. The elder Fey, despite working with Tal’el for just over ten years, had earned every right in calling him boy; and Tal’el knew better than to quote his mentor. Still, his jest seemed to be taken in good favor as Drake shuffled to the nearest bench to retrieve his tools. Tal’el wordlessly set himself to the task of retrieving the sealed jars of scraped and boiled Eclipta Pros. He organized the jars by age and size near his workstation while Drake continued to mumble and prepare scrapings from other elements and flowers.

The began to work at simmering other herbs and plant elements to combine with the scrapings and boiled Eclipta Pros in beakers and containers suspended over open flame. The smell, herbal yet neutral, carried through the air for the hours they worked.

It wasn’t until much later in the day, just at the very end when the two suns were preparing to set, when the sound of another pair of fluttering wings grew louder. The impact of two light set feet stepped over the threshold. Tal’el took that moment to glance over his shoulder to see his longtime friend Vin Hollardrel.

The slightly gaunt Sprite, with his coal black eyes, crossed into the Potion Master’s space and bowed politely. He presented himself well and formally, but the smile on his lips and gleam in his eyes told another story entirely. He adorned the armor of a guardsman, which consisted of brown and green leathers and folded leaves reinforced by enchantment. His jet-black hair was cut close to his scalp on either side of his head and slightly longer on the top, which was slightly informal given he was in the Guard.

“Vin, pleasure to see you my friend. How went the day?” asked Tal’el as he poured the remaining contents of the simmering jar he held into another set of vials to complete his work.

“Hasn’t begun yet. I only just woke up, but that’s what happens when you’re assigned to evening patrols,” Vin shrugged while peering through some of the bubbling potions. His coal black eyes were distorted as he blinked at his friend several times. Drake rolled his eyes before retrieving his belongings.

“I am leaving. I will most likely be in tomorrow early to check the vials.” With a curt nod of his head, Drake walked to the ledge and flew away. Tal’el continued to organize and bundle the unused herbs before prompting his friend.

“Evening? This wouldn’t be a consequence of some action you took, would it?” Tal’el knew his friend long enough to understand this was exactly the case; however, coming forth and asking about the circumstances or event directly would be rude. Besides, this allowed Vin to elaborate and spin off into one of his embellished stories as Tal’el tidied up the remaining herbs, and Vin did just that.

The dark-haired Guard began an energetic reenactment of the events that transpired beginning with why he had acquired the infraction to the conversations leading to his inevitable punishment. In Vin’s defense, he was covering for a fellow Guard, but he should have known to tell his superior since they were relying on Vin’s presence to run drills and patrols. Regardless of circumstance, Vin’s story was a way to pass the time as Tal’el successfully packaged the last of the supplies.

Now, at the end of the evening, the two departed from the poisoner’s place at the top of the tree, each going their separate ways. Tal’el watched his friend vanish among the trees. There were a handful of times he wished he had chosen a similar lifestyle, but they were fleeting. The life he currently led tested his mental limits rather than his physical ones. He possessed freedom to experiment and create as necessary while also keeping to a predictable schedule.

There was the expected that came with this position, but also the unexpected. As Tal’el entered his home and placed his belongings in their provided place, the unexpected letter requesting significant amounts of anti-venom peaked his curious mind. Why did they require such a substantial amount? And three different villages simultaneously? He was still unable to answer the question and hadn’t had a chance to compose a letter to inquire why.

Tal’el spent the remainder of his night taking notes on inventory, listing potential necessities, and contemplating theories as to why he was so perplexed about the anti-venom situation. By the end of the evening, he had curled back into his bed, eyes drooping. His bright green eyes stared unfocused at the flickering flame before he brought his hand up by his face and concentrated while closing his hand into a fist. The flame, without so much as a sound, snuffed out and left the Poison Master’s apprentice in the dark abyss of sleep.

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