#v: under an ancient sun

[florbelles]

UNDER AN ANCIENT SUN. the elder scrolls v.

[leona-hawthorne]

LEONA-HAWTHORNE’S FICMAS

december 15th. mattheo riddle — slow down!

mattheo riddle x fem reader

summary ; mattheo’s got a little crush on you, but you keep running away every time he tries talking to you! words ; 3.9k warnings ; smut, unprotected p in v, fingering, creampie, spanking, mentions of blood

navigation ficmas masterlist

The corridor was unnervingly quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of parchment or the faint scrape of shoes against stone. You hugged your books tightly to your chest, trying to make yourself invisible as you hurried toward the sanctuary of the library. The cold December air seeping through the ancient castle walls bit at your skin, but it wasn’t nearly as alarming as the warmth you suddenly felt—someone approaching from behind.

“Hi.”

His voice slid into your awareness before you even heard the sound of his footsteps, sending your heart skittering like a startled bird. Turning your head slightly, you caught sight of him—dark curls falling into his eyes, his signature Slytherin tie loosened at his throat, and that grin. The grin that made your chest feel too tight and your thoughts scatter like spilled ink.

Your first instinct, as always, was to flee.

Before he could say more, you ducked your head and pivoted on your heel, muttering something about being late to the library. 

“Oh, no, you don’t.” His hand was warm and firm around your wrist, stopping you mid-flight. He turned you gently to face him, his dark eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your cheeks burn. “Would you please stop running away from me? It’s worrying me, you know. The way you look like you’ve seen a ghost every time I’m around.”

You didn’t dare meet his eyes. Not yet. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the traitorous flush that gave away just how much he affected you. “I’m not running,” you mumbled, though the evidence was damning.

“Oh, come on.” He laughed, soft and incredulous. “You bolt every time I so much as look at you. Do you have any idea how hard it is to catch up with you? You’re like—like a mouse slipping through cracks.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out at first. He tilted his head, the faintest frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t bite, you know. Not unless you ask.” 

His teasing tone made your stomach flip. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, dropping your gaze to the floor.

“Don’t be,” he said softly, his grip on your wrist loosening but not letting go entirely. “I just—look, you know I’m not going to hurt you, right?”

“I-I know,” you stammered, and it was true. He wasn’t threatening to you, not even close. But that didn’t make the rapid thudding of your heart any less overwhelming. 

His brow furrowed slightly. “Then what is it?” His voice dropped, quieter now, as if he was trying not to spook you. “Am I too much? Too… loud? Intense? I can tone it down if that’s what you need.”

The earnestness in his voice nearly unraveled you. You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault—that it was you, and your inability to handle the way he seemed to draw everyone’s attention with effortless charm. The way he smiled like he knew every secret in the world. The way his presence made you feel like you were standing too close to the sun.

“I—” You bit your lip, scrambling for an excuse, any excuse, but your brain seemed to be short-circuiting under his gaze. “I’m just...not used to people like you.”

“People like me?” His eyebrows lifted, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a half-smile. “What does that mean?”

“You know.” You waved your free hand vaguely, avoiding his eyes again. “Confident. Charming.”

“Ah.” He let out a low chuckle, the sound warm and rich, wrapping around you like a blanket. “So, what? You’re allergic to confidence?”

“No! I just—” You huffed, flustered, and Mattheo’s grin widened.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?” he said, and your stomach flipped violently.

“I am not,” you mumbled, heat rising to your cheeks.

“You are,” he insisted, his tone teasing but gentle. “And I’m not saying that to make you run away again, by the way. I’d really prefer it if you didn’t.”

You glanced up at him then, your heart doing somersaults at the soft, hopeful look in his eyes. And for a moment, you thought maybe you could do this—stay, talk to him, let yourself believe that someone like Mattheo Riddle could actually like someone like you.

But instead, you mumbled something incoherent and, in a sudden burst of courage—or cowardice—twisted out of his grasp and darted down the hallway.

“Wait—! Oh, come on! Slow down!” His exasperated laugh echoed behind you, followed by his voice, playful but resigned. “You’re killing me, you know that?”

Oh, but you weren’t getting away that easily.  

Because by some twist of fate—or Mattheo’s uncanny ability to be everywhere you didn’t want him to be—you found yourself crossing paths with him again that very afternoon. And this time, there was no escaping.  

The hospital wing was quiet, the kind of quiet that wrapped itself around you like a blanket, broken only by the soft clink of glass vials as you worked. You were perched at Madame Pomfrey’s desk, carefully restocking rows of remedies, when the heavy wooden door creaked open.  

You didn’t look up at first, assuming it was Madame Pomfrey returning from her rounds. But then you heard the familiar drawl.  

“Madame Pomfrey, I—oh.”  

Your hand froze mid-reach for a jar of bruise balm. Your stomach plummeted. You knew that voice.  

You froze, your hand stilling mid-reach for a jar of essence of murtlap. Slowly, as though moving too quickly might summon some greater disaster, you turned your head toward the door.

There he was.

Mattheo Riddle, leaning casually against the doorframe, one arm tucked against his side, the other pressed lightly to his jaw where a streak of blood stood out against his pale skin. His shirt was untucked, his tie gone, and his dark curls were just messy enough to make him look infuriatingly perfect.  

Your heart started to pound, the air in your lungs thinning to a whisper. “You,” you said before you could stop yourself, the word barely louder than a squeak.  

Mattheo grinned, even as he winced slightly, straightening from the doorframe. “Me,” he echoed.

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the desk as if it might keep you grounded. “What... what happened?”  

“I fell,” he said simply, though the smirk on his lips made it impossible to believe him.

“You fell,” you repeated flatly, crossing your arms.

He nodded solemnly, though there was nothing solemn about the way his eyes flicked over you, taking in the rolled-up sleeves of your uniform and the faint smudge of ink on your wrist from earlier. “Tragic, I know. But lucky me—I’ve landed in the most capable hands.”

Your cheeks burned, and you immediately dropped your gaze, fussing with the nearest jar of ointment to avoid his eyes. “Madame Pomfrey isn’t here,” you mumbled. “I’m just helping... for now.”  

“Oh, I don’t mind,” he said, moving toward one of the hospital beds. “I think I like the idea of you taking care of me.”  

Your fingers fumbled, nearly knocking over a bottle of murtlap essence. “Sit,” you said quickly, pointing to the bed without looking at him. “You need to sit so I can... um... look at that.”  

He chuckled softly but complied, settling onto the edge of the bed. “As you wish.”  

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you grabbed a cloth and some antiseptic. But when you turned back, he wasn’t sitting anymore. He was standing again, closer now—too close, that lazy grin still firmly in place.

Your breath caught. “You—what are you doing?”  

“Stretching my legs,” he said easily, his voice low and warm.  

“You’re supposed to be resting,” you said, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to sound firm. “You’re injured—”  

“It’s nothing,” he said, his grin widening as he leaned against the desk, his dark eyes fixed on you. “I’m not that fragile, you know.”  

“But—”  

“Do I make you nervous?” he interrupted, tilting his head slightly, his curls falling into his eyes.  

You immediately shook your head, even though you could feel the heat crawling up your neck. “N-no. I mean—why would you think that?”  

“Because you’re practically shaking,” he said, his tone softer now, though no less teasing. “And because you keep looking anywhere but at me.”  

Your eyes flicked up to his for a fraction of a second before dropping back down to the floor. “I’m not... I mean, I just—”  

“You’re adorable,” he said, and the warmth in his voice made your pulse race.  

You froze, your fingers tightening on the cloth in your hands. “I should clean your cut,” you mumbled, stepping back toward him.  

But before you could reach him, he moved again, his hands finding the edge of the table on either side of you, caging you in.  

“Mattheo—”  

“I’m not going anywhere this time,” he said softly, his voice barely more than a murmur. His dark eyes held yours, the intensity in them stealing the words right out of your throat. “So stop running.”  

His face was so close now, the warmth of his breath ghosting across your cheek, making your skin tingle. You could see the individual lashes framing those mesmerizing eyes, the slight curve of his lips, the way his teeth nipped gently at his lower lip...

"Come on," you muttered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. You lifted the antiseptic in your hand. "Just... please let me help you."

It sounded weak, pathetic even, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

For a long moment, he simply looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he stepped back, giving you space to breathe again.

"You're right," he said, his voice a little rougher than usual. "Thank you."

He sat back down on the bed, his posture a bit less casual now, more tense. He looked up at you through his lashes, his gaze softer than before.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to overwhelm you. I just..." He paused, seeming to struggle for the right words. "I like you, Y/N. A lot. And sometimes I forget myself around you."

You blinked rapidly, processing his words. "You... really?" you asked softly, hardly daring to believe it. Slowly, hesitantly, you took a step closer, drawn to him despite your nerves.

"Yes, really," he confirmed, his voice low and sincere. As you drew near, he reached out, his large hands coming to rest on your hips. In one smooth motion, he pulled you down onto his lap, his strong arms wrapping around your waist to steady you.

You gasped, your hands flying up to press against his chest. You could feel the firm muscles beneath his shirt, the rapid thud of his heartbeat. Your own heart raced in response, your cheeks flaming with heat.

He smiled softly, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on your hip bones as he held you close. "There," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Isn't this better?"

You squirmed slightly in his lap, hyper-aware of every point where your bodies touched. "I... I don't know if this is a good idea," you whispered, even as your traitorous body melted into his embrace. Your hands slid up his chest to loop around his neck, fingers tangling in the soft curls at his nape.

He chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating through you. "Why not? We're alone, aren't we?" His hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through your blouse. "No one has to know..."

He leaned in, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat. "Let me take care of you," he breathed against your skin, his other hand sliding down to palm your ass. "I promise I'll make it feel good."

You whimpered softly as his lips and tongue worked magic on your sensitive skin, your head lolling back to give him better access. But as he kissed lower, you suddenly felt something wet and sticky on your throat–his cut.

"Wait," you gasped, pulling back slightly. You brought a hand up to your neck, your fingers coming away streaked with blood. "You're still bleeding, Mattheo. We should clean that first before... before anything else happens."

He paused, looking up at you with lust-darkened eyes. A slow, amused grin spread across his face. "You think I give a fuck about that right now?" he muttered, pulling you flush against him again. "Don't worry about that."

His hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head back as he attacked your throat with renewed fervor, licking and sucking at the bloodied skin. 

"M-Mattheo," you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders. "We shouldn't... not here..."

Even as you protested weakly, your hips started to move of their own accord, grinding down against the growing hardness you could feel pressing against your thighs. The friction sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you, making your head spin.

He groaned into your neck, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and into yours. His hands tightened on your hips, encouraging your movements as he rocked up against you.

"Oh, fuck. You're not as innocent as you pretend to be, huh?" he noted, his voice rough with desire.

In one fluid motion, he lifted you off his lap, rising from the bed as you stumbled back. His hands roamed possessively, sliding from your waist to the curve of your lower back before trailing up to cup the soft swell of your tits. His touch was rough and insistent, squeezing and kneading as if he couldn't get enough of you. 

Before you could catch your breath, he turned you around, his firm grip guiding you into place. His hand pressed against the small of your back, a silent command that sent heat pooling in your belly as you bent forward, your chest and palms flattening against the bed.

You felt the air shift around you, cool and heady against your heated skin, as Mattheo's fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt. He dragged it up slowly, deliberately, his movements measured, as though savoring every inch of you revealed to him.  

"Running from me, again and again," he muttered, his voice dark and edged with amusement. "And now look at you. Right where I’ve always wanted you."  

Your breath caught, shame and desire tangling in your chest. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond—not when his hands curled under the waistband of your panties, dragging them down the curve of your thighs in one slow, tantalizing motion.  

"Mattheo," you whispered, your voice trembling, barely audible above the pounding of your own heart.  

His low laugh sent shivers through you. "Finally saying my name. Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear that? And not just in your shy little apologies."  

Your knees nearly buckled as his fingers teased the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, tracing lazy circles closer and closer to where you ached for him. He let the silence hang, heavy and charged, before looping his arm around your front. 

"Cute,” he murmured. "You’ve spent weeks avoiding me, playing coy. But I think you’ve wanted this just as much as I have. Haven’t you?"  

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think—only gasp as his fingers found your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that sent sparks skittering up your spine.  

"Answer me," he demanded, his tone soft but unyielding. "I want to hear you say it."  

Your nails dug into the bedspread, and you shook your head, overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch. "I-I don’t…"  

"Don’t what?" His fingers curled around the back of your neck, squeezing lightly. "Don’t want me? Don’t need this? Say it, sweetheart, because your body’s telling me a very different story."  

You whimpered, the heat pooling between your thighs making it impossible to deny him—or yourself. "I…I want you," you finally choked out, your voice so quiet you weren’t sure he’d heard.  

But he did.  

"Good girl," he praised, the words dripping with satisfaction. His movements quickened, drawing tight, delicious circles that had your legs trembling. "See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? All you had to do was stop running."  

A soft gasp escaped your lips as his hand slid down from your neck, tracing the curve of your hip before gripping your ass firmly. His other hand left your front, joining its twin to knead and grope the plush flesh, his thumbs digging in with a possessive hunger that made heat bloom low in your belly again.  

“You’re perfect here,” he mused, his voice a deep hum as he spread your cheeks apart, his touch maddeningly deliberate. “Bent over for me like this. Made for me, aren’t you?”  

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the whimper that threatened to escape, but Mattheo didn’t miss it. He laughed softly, the sound dripping with smug satisfaction.  

“Don’t hold back now,” he coaxed, his hands trailing up and down the back of your thighs, lingering just long enough to tease but not satisfy. “I want to hear every little sound you make for me.”  

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could form a word, his palm landed on your ass with a sharp smack—not hard enough to hurt too much, but enough to send a jolt of heat straight through you.  

“Mattheo!”  

“There it is,” he purred, his hands smoothing over the spot he’d just struck, his touch soothing and warm. “You sound so fucking sweet when you say my name like that.”  

Before you could respond, you felt the hard press of his length against you, separated only by the fabric of his trousers. He rolled his hips, letting you feel the full weight of him, and your knees buckled slightly at the realization of just how much he wanted you.  

“You feel that?” he murmured, his lips brushing the back of your neck as he reached down to unbuckle his belt. The soft clink of metal was almost drowned out by the pounding of your heart. “That’s what you do to me. Every time you run, every time you look at me with those shy little glances—you drive me fucking insane.”  

The ruffling of fabric being lowered was too hard to ignore, and you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing back over your shoulder. The sight of him—breathing heavily, his cock thick and hard, standing proudly against the taut muscles of his stomach—sent a wave of heat washing over you.  

“Eyes front,” he ordered, his voice rough with arousal. When you didn’t obey fast enough, his hand came down on your ass again, the sharp sting making you gasp. “Now.”  

You did as he said, pressing your forehead into the bedspread as his hands roamed over you again, his touch both reverent and demanding. One hand slipped between your thighs, spreading you open, while the other gripped your hip, holding you steady.  

“God, you’re so wet for me,” he groaned, his fingers sliding through your slick folds. He teased your entrance with the tip of one finger before pushing inside, curling it just enough to make you arch back against him.  

“You like that?” he asked, his voice laced with a dark kind of affection as he added another finger, stretching you slowly. “I can feel how tight you are. So perfect. So ready for me.”  

Your answer was a broken moan, your body moving instinctively against his hand.  

“Shit,” he breathed, pulling his fingers out only to replace them with the blunt head of his cock, teasing your entrance with maddening slowness. “You’re gonna ruin me, you know that?”  

The stretch of him entering you was almost too much, but the way he worked you—inch by agonizing inch, his hands gripping your hips to keep you still—sent a wave of pleasure through you that made your toes curl.  

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice a husky growl as he bottomed out, filling you completely. He stayed there for a moment, his breathing ragged, his hands running over the curve of your back and the swell of your ass. “You feel so fucking good, baby. So tight, so perfect. Tell me how it feels.”  

“Good,” you managed, your voice barely more than a whisper. “So good.”  

“Yeah?” He pulled back slowly, leaving only the tip of his cock inside you before snapping his hips forward again with a deep thrust, filling you completely. You gasped, your body jerking forward at the force, but he didn’t give you a moment to adjust. He set a slow, measured pace, his thrusts deep but deliberate, pulling out and pushing back into you with an almost agonizing slowness that made your heart race. “You like it when I fill you up like this? When I make you mine?”  

Your only response was a strangled moan, your fingers clutching the sheets as he sped up his rhythm, each thrust driving you closer to the edge.  

His hand left your hip, sliding down to your front to brush your clit with just the right amount of pressure. "God, you’re perfect," he muttered, his voice rough as he continued to slide in and out of you, each stroke a slow burn. "I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone like I want you right now."

The pressure inside you was building, slow and steady, like the tightening of a coil. You could feel every inch of him, each thrust dragging out the pleasure until it was almost unbearable. You clenched around him, urging him deeper, and he groaned in response, his grip tightening on your hips as he pushed you harder into the bed.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he breathed, his voice rough and full of need. His thrusts picked up, faster now, more urgent, but still controlled, as if he wanted to drag this out as long as possible. “You feel so fucking good, so warm and tight around me. Don’t hold back. I want to hear you.”

Your hands gripped the sheets, nails digging into the fabric as the pleasure mounted. He hit that sweet spot inside you with every thrust, driving you mad with the sensation, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped your lips.

“Please…” you gasped, not sure if you were begging for more or for him to take you faster. It didn’t matter. You just needed him. 

Mattheo smirked, his fingers still pressing against your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "You want it faster? You want me to make you come on my cock?"  

You nodded, desperate for more. “Yes, please…”

“That’s what I thought,” he rasped, his thrusts quickening as he slammed into you with abandon. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with the low groans escaping both of you.  

With one final, devastating thrust, you shattered, your release crashing over you like a tidal wave. Mattheo wasn’t far behind, his rhythm growing erratic as he buried himself deep inside you, groaning your name as he followed you over the edge.  

For a moment, the world was nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths and the heat of his body against yours. Then, slowly, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.  

“You’re not running from me again,” he murmured, his voice a quiet promise. “Not now. Not ever.” 

​​ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind @revesephemeres @esmerai-artemis @clar2aa @iamaconfusedpan

© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

[chknbzkt]

FINALLYYY FIRST CELESTIAL IVE BEEN CHOMPING AT THE BIT TO SHOW THIS-

And a mix of various sketches and drafts!!!

Psst down here v

Since the horrific murder of a nobleman has put many people in the kingdom’s walls off the idea of letting dragons in their midst for the time being, Sundrop’s continued employ under the king as a personal jester and informant has many under the impression that the dragon himself may have had something to do with it, and that his influence is corrupting the monarch in question.

Sundrop, however, thinks the people can believe whatever they want.

While his position gives him plenty of wiggle room to lavish himself with as much luxury as he desires, truthfully he’d much rather be outside the kingdom walls than in them. No, his heart lies with the wilds of Hyde’s Crossing’s ancient forests. His hoard isn’t even as extensive as it should be, consisting of a few plushies, puzzles, and children’s toys here and there, it’s oddly… empty?

So as much as he… appreciates the fluidity, he spends most of his time trying to keep his distance from Farqur Kingdom as often as possible. Before he has to return.

When he isn’t on his perch at the king’s beck and call, he’s running into random adventurers and the odd monster hunter left and right as he continues to peruse the wilds and stir up mischief as per usual. Most of them have been called to action as of late due to the influx of shades razing settlements to the ground when they’ve been left unchecked for far too long, rising to the challenge in the hopes of scoring money to keep themselves afloat.

There have been a few stinkers regarding interactions here and there, but making new friends is still endlessly fulfilling and entertaining on the occasion that they’ll let him get close enough to actually mingle with them proper. He’s content to share stories of his findings and across the land, landmarks, places of interest, the best places to sun oneself and the loveliest fishing spots!!! This boy loves to know people and be known!!!

He never sticks around long enough to say goodbye however. Always leaves in Farqur’s general direction in a big hurry at odd beats in the conversation. Odd fellow. And he never actually clocked where his companion was from, so the chances of them meeting again are slim…

He seems very flighty for someone so pleasant…

[altuspavus]

@whalefelled

"How do you like snow without liking everything terrible which it brings alongside it, hm?" Dorian teases in response. It's an easy back-and-forth to fall into, it's always so surprisingly easy to fall into any conversation with Bull, he's found. Less surprising as time goes on, even. He can feel Bull's gaze upon him and preens, just a bit. Even swathed in so many layers as he might be, even ridiculous as he knows he must look, a man can appreciate being appreciated.

"Mmmm, Maker, don't say such things and tempt me, Bull," Dorian chastises. But oh he's right, it would be lovely. "Do those even exist so far south as we are?" Worldly, Bull had called himself earlier. The mage presumes, should anyone know, it would have to be him. Or, perhaps, any random Fereldan, but he has no reason nor want to ask them when Bull exists as a much more enjoyable option. Perhaps he asks for unspoken greedy reasons, such as spending time with Bull somewhere nice, somewhere away from the pressures of assisting in saving the world and all of the terrible things that go along with it.

altuspavus​:

          Dorian’s face scrunches up nearly immediately at the qunari’s comment. Liking snow, what a concept. How… terrible. Dorian could never. He shakes his head and snuggles down further into his coat and blanket cocoon. Bull could take all of this blighted snow, if it meant he’d never deal with it again.

          ❝ Antivans are a lot to deal with, though rather talented at the production of brandy and the…. wielding of needles for the purposes of aesthetics. ❞ Dorian laughs to himself. He had gotten the majority of his piercings in Antiva, since there was a difference in skill between them and the rest of the world. ❝ You’ve just said you enjoy snow. Surely this is perfect for you, ‘lucky’, as it were. ❞ Bull having to put up with Dorain’s complaints, however? Certainly not as lucky.

“I like snow, I don’t like my nipples freezing off… or the chafing–” Bull muses. Bull takes a quick stock of the other’s piercings, humming in appreciation, at least Dorian knew where the superior craftsmanship laid in that case. With a little click of his tongue, Bull leaned back into the warmth of the fire a moment and away from Dorian.

“What I’d really like, is a nice hot spring.” he mused with a teasing lilt to his voice. It’d been a long while since he’d indulged in one, but he imagines the wonders it’d do after spending the past few days in the fucking snowy wasteland here.

[strawberryjimin13]

VEIL OF DECEIT | KTHᝰ.ᐟ

— Synopsis: In the gloomy village of Briarfield, an annual ritual demands the sacrifice of an innocent girl to the devil. When Y/N is chosen as the next offering, she discovers the dark truth behind the tradition—a hoax engineered by the corrupted noblemen.

— Pairing: Merchant!Taehyung x Apprentice Healer!reader

— Genre: Fantasy, one-shot, angst, fluff, eventual smut

— Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), obsessive behaviour (not from tae), attempted sexual assault (not tae! None of the bad warnings are for him tbh), mentions of satanic rituals and sacrificing, stalker behaviour, misogyny, objectification of women, eventual smut, p in v, unprotected sex (this is like magical medieval times lol BUT BE SAFE), praise kink, orgasms (f/m), creampie(?), age gap (reader is 20, Tae is 26), creepy old man behaviour (💀)

— Word Count: 17.9k

— A/N: This is not the most polished work I’m aware. The story contains flaws but I had a dream (plot) and a word document 😭 also this was my first time writing smut, can you tell? Maybe I should have made Tae the evil one 🤔Once again feedback would be appreciated!

— English is not my first language so l apologise in advance for any mistakes or typos!

There once existed the kingdom named Aetherfall, the kingdom of light and splendour. Aetherfall was a kingdom unlike any other, a shining jewel set amidst towering mountains and rolling hills. The city, nestled in the heart of the kingdom, was a sight to behold—an architectural masterpiece where elegance met strength, and ancient magic wove through every stone and street. From afar, Aetherfall appeared like a golden crown atop the earth, its walls gleaming under the light of the sun, and at night, shimmering under the glow of thousands of lanterns.

The heart of the kingdom was its biggest city, Starhill labelled as the city of dreams that every person wanted to visit. Among the large kingdom laid a forgotten place at the outskirts. The village of Briarfield. It hardly harboured a population of a thousand people due to the village’s reputation.

The village of Briarfield was cursed. Or so the stories went, whispered from one frightened villager to the next, as the ever-present fog curled around their feet like ghostly tendrils. It wasn’t just the heavy mist that clung to the cracked, cobblestone streets, or the way the sun seemed to forsake the village, trapped behind thick clouds of grey. No, Briarfield bore the weight of far darker rumours: that its prosperity was built upon the blood of innocent girls, sacrificed each year to appease the devil that lurked beneath its shadowy veneer.

In the dim light of early evening, the village lay sprawled at the foot of the mountains, with its decrepit houses leaning together as if they were all that held each other up. Blackened thatched roofs and crooked chimneys poked into the gloom like skeletal fingers. The streets, winding like a serpent through the maze of wooden huts, were damp from the constant drizzle that hung in the air.

Few travellers came near it, deterred by tales of malevolent spirits and dark rituals. The villagers kept to themselves, huddled in their homes, wary of outsiders and of the secrets that their village held.

And in one of those homes, you dreamed of escape. The cottage was warm but filled with a sombre air. You sat at the table, absently tracing patterns in the worn cloth of the tablecloth. Your mother moved quietly around the kitchen; her movements automatic as she prepared the evening meal.

As the silence grew heavier, you spoke, your voice breaking the quiet. "Mother, why did you and Father never leave the village? I’ve dreamed of leaving for as long as I can remember. Why didn’t you ever want to go?"

Your mother paused, her back turned to you. The silence stretched, and you could almost feel the weight of her thoughts pressing against the walls of the small room. Finally, she turned, her face lined with the hardships of life but softened with a deep, weary kindness.

"We never left because we were bound by our own choices, my dear," she said softly, setting down the wooden spoon she had been stirring the pot with. She walked over and sat across from you, her hands clasped tightly together.

"When your father and I were young, we believed that Briarfield was where we were meant to be. It was our home, our family’s home, and leaving it felt like abandoning a part of ourselves. We thought the village’s darkness was something we could endure, something we could change."

She sighed; her gaze distant. "And in a way, we did change it. Not in grand ways, but in the small, everyday moments. We found happiness in the little things—in our garden, in the quiet of the evening, in the love we had for each other. We made our peace with the shadows because they were all we knew."

Her eyes met yours, filled with a sorrowful understanding. "I know it’s hard for you, wanting something more, wanting to escape.”

Your mother reached out and took your hand in hers, squeezing it gently. "I stayed because I wanted to protect you, to give you a chance to grow up with some semblance of normalcy, even if it was flawed.”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you looked at her, seeing the reasoning behind her words. "Thank you, Mother," you said, your voice thick with emotion. "I hope I can make something good come of all this, for both of us."

“I know you will my child. You have always been strong-willed and hence these walls aren’t big enough to keep you in” you smiled at her words and leaned in for a hug. Nothing provided you more comfort than knowing your mother supported your dreams.

The first light of dawn pierced through the thick fog that hung over Briarfield, casting a faint, ghostly glow over the village. The streets were damp from the previous night's drizzle, and the air was crisp, tinged with the scent of wet earth and lingering smoke from the few fireplaces that had been lit.

You pulled on your heavy shawl, its wool rough but warm against the chill, and stepped out into the murky street. The village was just beginning to stir, the early risers emerging from their homes to tend to their chores. The cobblestones beneath your boots were slick, and you navigated them carefully, feeling the weight of the day’s errands pressing on your shoulders.

The first stop was the baker’s stall at the edge of the village square. The baker’s hut was modest but inviting, its windows fogged with the heat from the ovens inside. As you entered, the aroma of fresh bread and pastries enveloped you.

The baker, a burly man with flour-dusted hands and a jovial demeanour, greeted you with a nod. "Morning, lass. What can I get for you today?"

"Good morning," you replied, your voice muffled by the cold. "Just a loaf of bread and some of those cinnamon rolls, please."

The baker nodded and reached for a crusty loaf, its surface crackling with warmth, and a small bag of sweet rolls, their scent filling the air with a comforting sweetness. He handed them over with a smile, and you paid him with the coins you had saved up, tucking the bread into the fabric of your basket.

Next, you made your way to the seamstress’s shop, a quaint little building adorned with colourful patches and ribbons. The seamstress, an elderly woman with sharp eyes and nimble fingers, was busy at her workbench, mending a torn garment. The shop was a haven of vibrant fabrics and threads, a stark contrast to the drabness of the village outside.

You approached her and showed her a small tear in your favourite skirt. "Good morning. I need this repaired, if you could madam."

The seamstress took the skirt with practiced hands, examining the tear with a critical eye. "Of course, dear. I’ll have it done by the end of the day. You’ll need it looking nice for the ceremony."

You nodded, a pang of unease twisting in your stomach at the mention of the ceremony. "Thank you."

With your errands nearly complete, you headed to the village well to fetch water. The well was a central gathering place, surrounded by villagers who would often chat and exchange news as they filled their buckets. Today, however, the well was unusually quiet, the air heavy with the unspoken tension that seemed to follow the village.

As you prepared to lower the bucket into the well, you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. You glanced up and felt a familiar pang of discomfort as you saw Lord Corwin striding towards you. Lord Corwin was a balding, pot-bellied man with sagging jowls and skin that seemed to droop with age, his watery eyes always lingering a moment too long on you. He was balding and an overall unpleasant in terms of looks and personality. His dark, richly embroidered clothing marked him clearly as the village noble.

A sigh escaped your lips as you braced yourself. The last time you had seen Lord Corwin, he had been insisting on a marriage proposal—one that you had firmly declined. He was a man of your father’s age, his advances both unsettling and persistent. Despite your clear rejection, he had never seemed to accept it, continuing to approach you with an unnerving determination. You weren’t even sure why he wanted you. Last you checked; you were a mere peasant compared to him.

You tried to steady your nerves as Lord Corwin came to a halt a few feet away. “Good evening, my lady,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with a hint of nervousness that felt oddly out of place given his authoritative stance.

“Evening, Lord Corwin,” you replied, forcing a polite smile. You focused on the well, determined to keep the conversation brief.

Lord Corwin took another step closer, his proximity making you increasingly uncomfortable. “May I assist you?” he offered, though his voice carried an undertone that felt intrusive rather than courteous.

“There’s no need, my lord,” you said firmly, avoiding his gaze as you continued to work. You lowered the bucket into the well, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze.

He reached out to help, his hand brushing against yours as he took the bucket. The touch was cold and lingering, sending a shiver down your spine. “Allow me,” he said, his smile widening slightly.

“Thank you, but I can manage,” you said, stepping back to maintain some distance. The conversation felt like a repetition of past encounters, and you were eager to end it.

Lord Corwin’s eyes remained fixed on you as he carried the bucket to the edge of the well. “You know,” he began, his tone shifting to something more personal, “I’ve been thinking about our previous conversation.”

You stiffened at the mention of the past. You had rejected his marriage proposal some time ago, a decision that had left a mark on both your lives. “Yes, my lord?” you said, trying to keep your voice neutral.

“I wanted to revisit that offer,” he continued, his tone growing more insistent. “Briarfield would be a much different place with you at my side. I’ve reconsidered the benefits of our union. Your knowledge on herbs and medicine could no doubt be used for something greater”

You felt a pang of discomfort at his persistence. “I appreciate your consideration, Lord Corwin,” you said, forcing a polite smile, “but my decision remains the same. I have no desire to marry. I am also still just an apprentice of my mother. I have not yet mastered the art of medicine yet.”

Lord Corwin’s smile faltered slightly, a murderous look flashed in his eyes, but he quickly masked his disappointment with a practiced expression. “I see. Well, I hope you will reconsider in the future,” he said, his tone now slightly colder. “Briarfield could be quite different with someone of your qualities….and your beauty”.  On the inside Lord Corwin felt frustrated. He had kindly asked for you hand and yet a little peasant rejected him. That was outrageous! You were a woman who needed to know her place. He thought about how he would break you and meld you into a perfect doll once he gets his hands on you.

You nodded, eager to end the conversation. “Thank you for understanding, my lord. I must return to my duties now.”

As you gathered your things and began to walk away, you felt Lord Corwin’s gaze lingering on your back. The encounter with Lord Corwin had left a bitter taste in your mouth and so you went to sleep that night hoping tomorrow would be better.

You were once again back in the market which was surprisingly bustling with people which as quite rare as people of Briarfield preferred staying indoors. As you strolled through the market stalls, your basket swinging from your arm as you selected fruits and vegetables and some new herbs you could use in making remedies. The vibrant colours of apples, carrots, and cabbages were a welcome contrast. You carefully picked out the ripest fruits and the freshest vegetables, exchanging brief pleasantries with the vendors.

As you turned a corner, you spotted a new stall set up in the market square. It was different from the others; it was not just a simple arrangement of crates and baskets but rather a carefully designed display that seemed to combine artistry with commerce. A large, hand-painted sign that read “Exotic Produce” hung above the stall, the intricate calligraphy catching the light although the words were simple and straightforward. Colourful fabrics draped over the sides of the stall, creating a vibrant backdrop for an array of unusual fruits and vegetables, most of which you had never seen before.

Exotic, brightly coloured fruits from distant lands—deep purple dragon fruit, star-shaped carambolas, and rich golden mangoes—were stacked beside more familiar produce, like apples and cabbages. Interspersed among the fruits were small pots of herbs, their fresh, earthy scent mingling with the sweet fragrance of the fruits. The herbs weren’t just your usual mint or basil but rare varieties with names you couldn’t even pronounce. Hanging from the wooden beams of the stall were clusters of dried flowers and spices, their deep hues and rich aromas filling the air with an almost magical quality.

You stepped closer, drawn in by the sheer variety of it all. Your eyes drifted over the shelves lined with jars of preserves—fig jam, spiced pears, and candied ginger—as well as small wooden boxes containing spices, teas, and even peculiar, dried fruits that looked almost like they belonged in a fairytale.

Behind the counter stood a young man, who, much like his stall, seemed out of place in Briarfield—in the best way possible. His dark hair fell loosely around his face, and his eyes sparkled with an energy that made him seem more alive than anyone else around. He wore a finely embroidered vest over a linen shirt, with intricate patterns that looked hand-sewn, and a soft leather belt hung around his waist, from which dangled small pouches and trinkets.

He noticed you approaching and greeted you with a warm, almost mischievous smile. “Good morning!” he called, his voice light and welcoming. “Welcome to my little corner of the world. I’m Taehyung. What catches your fancy today?”

You smiled back, intrigued by both him and his wares. “Good morning, Taehyung,” you replied. “Your stall is... quite different from the others. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this in Briarfield.”

Taehyung chuckled, a soft, melodic sound. “That’s the idea,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’ve travelled far and wide, and I like to bring a bit of everything with me—things that can’t be found in just any ordinary village. I believe even the smallest places deserve a little magic.”

He gestured to a tray of fruit that you couldn’t name. “This, for instance, is a cherimoya—some call it the ‘custard apple.’ It’s sweet and creamy, almost like a dream in fruit form.” He pointed to another pile of peculiar, knobby-looking roots. “And these are galangal. They’re used in soups and teas in faraway lands. Perfect for chilly Briarfield evenings.”

You picked up a starfruit, running your fingers along its ridges. “It’s beautiful,” you said, marvelling at the variety of colours and shapes on display.

Taehyung’s smile softened, his tone becoming more sincere. “Thank you. I wanted to bring something new, something that could brighten up this village a little. Briarfield deserves more than just the tales it’s known for.”

You nodded, appreciating the warmth and care he put into his work. “It’s nice to have something so fresh and different here. Everything else feels so... old.”

“Exactly,” Taehyung said, leaning on the counter with an easy grace. “I’ve always believed that even in the most forgotten corners of the world, there should be beauty and wonder. That’s why I’m here.”

You selected a few pieces of fruit and a small jar of honey that had caught your eye. “I’ll take these, please,” you said, placing them on the counter.

Taehyung packed them up carefully, his movements swift and practiced. “A fine choice,” he said, handing you the package with a smile. “And if you ever need something special—whether it’s some fruit, a spice, or even a little conversation—you know where to find me.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, as if for the first time in a long while, Briarfield held something brighter than its usual shadows. “Thank you, Taehyung. I’ll be back soon, I’m sure.”

As you walked away, your basket filled with exotic fruits and herbs, you couldn’t help but feel giddy by short encounter with the young man. Taehyung being kind, warm, and full of life—was a welcome change. You found yourself looking forward to the next time you would meet him.

The next morning you woke up to the unsettling news of a young girl gone missing and as result your father forbad you from leaving the house fearing for your safety. However, spending almost a week cooped up in your room had left you suffocated and so you finally convinced your father that everything will be okay and to let you out. Although he was reluctant, he gave in not wanting to see his daughter pout any further and so you happily made your way outside.

Today, the sky was overcast, threatening rain, as you made your way through the village. You’d just left the bakery, a loaf of sweet bread tucked under your arm, oh how you missed the sweet delight! Just then you heard a familiar voice calling your name.

“Good morning!”

You looked up to see Taehyung approaching, his smile as warm as ever despite the grey skies above. He was carrying a large wooden crate filled with a variety of fruits, herbs, and small glass jars. His appearance was a bit more dishevelled today—his sleeves rolled up, a few strands of hair falling into his eyes—but there was a certain charm to his slightly tousled look.

“Taehyung,” you greeted, surprised but happy to see him. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you.”

“Likewise, I haven’t seen you since that day.” he replied, adjusting the crate in his arms as he stopped in front of you. “It seems fate is playing matchmaker today. How have you been?”

You smiled at his easy-going manner, feeling the tension of the day start to slip away. “I’ve been well, thank you. The recent disappearance of the girl in the village put my father on edge so I was cooped up in my house for some time.” You say laughing a little.

He glanced up at the darkening sky, a hint of concern in his eyes. “Ah that’s a reasonable reaction. Hope everything turns out okay it also looks like we’ll be getting quite the storm soon. I was on my way to the market, but it seems I might be racing the rain.”

You both shared a small laugh, and you couldn’t help but notice how comfortable his presence made you feel, even in the midst of the growing chill around you. Taehyung’s energy had a way of lighting up even the dullest days.

“Here,” he said, shifting the crate to one arm. “I brought something for you.”

“For me?” you asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

He nodded, carefully balancing the crate as he reached into one of his pouches and pulled out a very small, intricately carved wooden box. The box was stained a deep, rich brown and etched with swirling patterns that reminded you of the stories you’d heard about enchanted forests and ancient lands. Taehyung handed it to you with a playful smile.

“I found this the other day when I was unpacking some of my wares,” he explained. “It’s a blend of tea leaves and spices from the far south. I thought you might enjoy it. A little warmth to brighten up Briarfield’s rainy days.”

You took the box, feeling its smooth surface under your fingers, and opened it. Inside were delicate, dried leaves with an array of colours—deep reds, golden yellows, and dark greens—mingled with tiny bits of cinnamon bark and star anise. The smell that wafted from the box was comforting, a warm mix of spice and earth. Some of these would make a good herbal tea cure, you thought to yourself.

“Thank you, Taehyung. I’m not sure how to repay you for this.” you said softly, genuinely touched by his thoughtfulness.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Consider this as a gift from a friend” he says, face plastered with a boxy smile. “This is lovely. I’ll be sure to try it tonight.” You say excitedly.

He smiled, pleased by your reaction. “I’m glad you like it. If you need instructions on how to brew it, just let me know. It’s a bit different from the usual tea.”

You nodded, slipping the small box into your basket. “I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe I’ll come by the stall tomorrow if I run into any trouble.”

Taehyung’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “I’m always happy to help. Besides, I’m curious to hear what you think of it. I personally quite enjoy its flavours.”

Before you could respond, a sudden gust of wind blew through the village square, and you instinctively pulled your cloak tighter around yourself. Taehyung’s hair was blown back, but he simply laughed at the sudden chill.

“I think that’s our cue to take shelter,” he said, glancing back at the sky. “Would you like to walk back together? I can help carry your things.”

You hesitated for a moment, then smiled and handed him your bread to lighten your load. “I’d appreciate that.”

Together, you made your way back through the village, you made a short stop at Taehyung’s house as he left his crate inside and then moving at a brisk pace to beat the rain towards your own cottage. Taehyung talked easily as you walked, telling you stories of his travels and the different markets he had visited in faraway cities. He had a way of making the world seem larger and more exciting than it had ever felt before, filling your mind with the fantasies of adventure beyond the village’s borders.

By the time you reached your cottage, the first few drops of rain had begun to fall, but you were safely inside before the storm truly hit. Taehyung lingered at the door for a moment, his smile never wavering.

“Well, I’ll leave you to enjoy the tea,” he said, handing you the basket of you bread back. “But don’t forget to tell me how it turns out.”

“I won’t,” you promised. “Thank you again, Taehyung. It was nice running into you.”

“The pleasure was mine,” he replied, giving you a small bow before stepping back into the rain.

As you watched him walk away, disappearing into the misty streets of Briarfield, you couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of warmth in your chest.

You closed the door, the small wooden box of tea still in your hand and smiled to yourself. It seemed that with each encounter, Taehyung brought a little more joy into your life. Perhaps Briarfield wasn’t so gloomy after all.

Unbeknownst to you, a pair of cold, calculating eyes watched from a distance as you and Taehyung exchanged smiles and laughter. Lord Corwin stood in the shadow of a nearby building, his gaunt face twisted into a scowl. His hand gripped the nearest wall tightly.

He had been on his way to visit your family, as he often did under the pretence of “checking in” on village matters. But as he saw you walk with that... that merchant, a slow, burning anger began to churn in his chest.

Corwin had noticed the way your eyes lit up when you talked to Taehyung, the way you smiled so easily at him, something you never did when he was near. It sickened him. How dare you, a girl of such modest means, reject his marriage proposal and then offer such warmth to a mere merchant—a man who was not even of noble blood?

The memory of your refusal still stung bitterly. He had been so sure you would accept his hand when he had asked for it nearly a year ago when turned of age. After all, what better offer could there be for a girl of your station than to marry a lord? He had thought he was doing you a favour by offering you a future above the one your humble lineage could ever provide. But instead, you had rejected him—politely, yes, but firmly.

And now... now you were entertaining this, Taehyung. Corwin sneered at the sight of him, with his polished charm and his ridiculous trinkets. What could he possibly offer you that a nobleman could not? A few exotic fruits? A handful of spices? Corwin couldn’t understand why you would favour someone so beneath him. He had the wealth, the power, the standing. Yet, it was this commoner who had caught your attention.

Corwin’s mind raced with jealousy as he watched Taehyung walks away into the rain, his cloak billowing behind him. His gaze then shifted back to you as you stood in the doorway of your cottage, a small smile playing on your lips as you lingered with the box of tea in hand.

His stomach twisted in disgust. That smile should have been for him—Lord Corwin, the one who had the means to truly take care of you. And yet, you had chosen to waste your time with a man who had nothing of worth to offer, a mere peasant in Corwin’s eyes.

As the rain began to fall harder, Corwin remained in the shadows, his mind simmering with dark thoughts. He would not allow this to continue. He had been patient, waiting for you to see sense and reconsider his proposal. But now, with this newcomer in the picture, he knew that his patience was wearing thin.

Corwin had power in Briarfield, influence that stretched far beyond what someone like Taehyung could comprehend. If he needed to remind you of your place and who truly held sway in this village, then so be it. He would not be so easily dismissed—not by you, not by anyone.

His eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a sinister smile as he turned away from the scene. The rain pelted down on him, but he hardly noticed. His mind was already spinning with plans, ways to bend the village to his will, ways to ensure that you would come to see him not as a suitor, but as an inevitable force.

And if Taehyung got in the way... well, Lord Corwin had dealt with nuisances before. This time would be no different.

As he disappeared into the misty streets, the shadows of Briarfield seemed to wrap around him, as if conspiring with his every dark thought. You might not have seen him, but he had seen enough.

And he was not going to forget.

As the days turned into months, your interactions with Taehyung became a cherished part of your routine. Each visit to his stall, each shared conversation, subtly wove the threads of affection between you, creating a bond that neither of you had anticipated.

It began with the little things. Taehyung’s warm smile became a bright spot in your day, a beacon of light in the otherwise dim atmosphere of Briarfield. His thoughtful gestures—saving the ripest fruits, sharing new herbs he’d acquired, and always finding a moment to chat—made your visits to his stall something you eagerly anticipated.

One crisp autumn morning, as you stopped by to pick up some vegetables, Taehyung greeted you with an excited sparkle in his eye. “I’ve got something special today,” he said, pulling out a small basket filled with fragrant herbs and colourful root vegetables. “I thought you might like to try making a stew with these.”

You smiled, touched by his thoughtfulness. “That’s very kind of you, Taehyung. I’ll definitely give it a try.”

Taehyung leaned against the wooden frame of his stall, his curiosity piqued. “You seem to know a lot about herbs yourself. Is it something your family taught you?”

You nodded as you examined the herbs, he handed you. “Yes, my mother is a skilled healer. She’s been teaching me since I was young. I’m learning how to mix tinctures and create salves to help with common ailments around the village.” You paused, twirling a sprig of thyme between your fingers. “It’s given me a sense of independence, something to focus on besides the daily grind of village life.”

His eyes softened as he listened. “That must be fulfilling, knowing that you’re helping people.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his gaze. “It is. Sometimes it’s exhausting, but it’s rewarding when someone comes to you in pain and leaves feeling better.” You glanced up at him and added, “And it also gives me a reason to spend time outside the house. Not many girls here get that luxury.”

Taehyung’s expression grew thoughtful. “It sounds like you’ve found a way to escape, even if it’s just for a moment,” he said. “I’ve seen how stifling it can be here, especially for women.”

You appreciated his understanding. “Exactly. The knowledge my mother has given me makes me feel… free, in a way. I get to explore the woods, gather plants, and create something valuable for others.” You smiled softly, holding up the herbs. “And it helps when someone like you brings something new to try.”

Taehyung’s grin widened, the warmth in his eyes reflecting the budding connection between you. “I’m glad I could add a bit of colour to your day. And who knows, maybe one day you’ll teach me a thing or two about healing.”

You chuckled, feeling a lightness in your chest. “I’d be happy to. Though I have a feeling you’ve got plenty of your own knowledge to share.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a more playful tone. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to keep trading lessons, won’t we?”

Your heart fluttered at the intimacy in his words, and as you both stood there, surrounded by the rich scents of herbs and the quiet bustle of the market, you realized that this was more than just a simple exchange. It was a promise of something deeper.

Soon, your visits to Taehyung's stall became more than just routine errands—they were moments of genuine connection. On this particularly rainy day, the market was quieter than usual. Taehyung, usually so full of energy, looked a bit worn out as he organized his stall. The rain had beaten down hard, and a small puddle was forming near the edge of his stand.

You approached his stall with a warm smile, noticing the concern on his face. “It looks like the rain has really taken a toll today,” you said, offering him a sympathetic glance.

Taehyung looked up and smiled, though his eyes showed the strain of the weather. “Yes, it’s been a tough day. The rain keeps people away. But I suppose it gives me a chance to get to know my favourite customer a bit better.”

You chuckled and stepped behind the stall to help him. “Well, I am glad to be of assistance. What can I do to help?”

“Could you pass me those cloths? I need to wipe down the counter before it gets any worse,” Taehyung said, pointing to a stack of cloths near the back of the stall.

As you worked side by side, you began chatting about lighter topics to lift the mood. “So, tell me more about your travels. You have mentioned a few places, but what was the most memorable?”

Taehyung’s eyes brightened as he started to talk. “Ah, there was this one time in a small village in the east. They had this festival where they floated lanterns on the river. The entire night was lit up with thousands of glowing lights, and the reflection in the water made it look like the stars had fallen.”

You smiled, imagining the scene. “That sounds beautiful. I cannot even imagine how magical it must have been.”

“It was,” Taehyung said, his voice taking on a wistful tone. “But what made it special was sharing it with people who had never seen anything like it before. They were so full of wonder.”

The conversation flowed easily, and the shared experience of tidying up amid the rain made you feel closer. You noticed Taehyung’s laughter was more frequent today, his usual upbeat demeanour peeking through the weariness.

“Do you ever get tired of all the traveling?” you asked, wiping the counter with a damp cloth.

He shook his head, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Not really. Each place has its own story, its own charm. But there are times, like now, when I’m glad to be in one spot, especially when I have someone to share it with.”

You felt a warm flush at his words, your own smile widening. “I’m glad you’re here, too. It is nice to have someone to talk to who understands.”

Taehyung’s eyes met yours with a tender look. “And I’m glad you’re here. Your stories about this village, they make me appreciate the little things more. Even a rainy day like today.”

The sound of the rain tapping against the stall created a soothing backdrop to your conversation. As you worked together, the storm outside seemed less imposing, and the bond between you grew stronger. Each shared moment, each laugh, and every serious conversation deepened your connection, making the quiet, rainy day a memorable chapter in your evolving relationship.

Winter arrived, and with it came the chill that seemed to seep into every corner of Briarfield. The cold was relentless, wrapping the village in a frosty embrace. One evening, as you walked home from the market, you noticed Taehyung trudging through the snow, his breath visible in small clouds against the icy air. He was bundled up in a thick coat, a scarf wrapped snugly around his neck.

"Hey, Y/N!" Taehyung called out, his face brightening as he spotted you. “You look like you have had a long day. How about a break from the cold? There is a new cafe nearby that opened up that serves the most amazing hot chocolate!”

The invitation caught you by surprise, but the idea of warming up in a cozy cafe was too tempting to pass up. You nodded, a smile spreading across your face. “I’d love to. Lead the way!”

The cafe was a small, charming place with warm, wooden interiors and a soft glow from the hanging lamps. The scent of freshly baked pastries and rich chocolate greeted you as you stepped inside, making you feel instantly at ease. You and Taehyung found a small table by the window, where the snow outside created a picturesque scene.

As you both settled in, Taehyung waved to the barista and ordered two cups of hot chocolate. When the steaming mugs arrived, you took a sip and sighed in relief. The drink was velvety and rich, the perfect antidote to the winter chill.

“This is incredible,” you said, savouring the warmth. “I’ve never had hot chocolate this good before.”

Taehyung smiled, his eyes reflecting a wistful light. “It is one of my favourites. It brings back memories of home.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Home? Where did you grow up?”

Taehyung’s gaze softened as he took a sip of his drink. “I grew up in a bustling city far from here. My mother used to make hot chocolate just like this. Every winter, we would sit together by the fire, sipping it and talking about our day. It was a small but comforting ritual.”

The warmth of the drink brought a mixture of fondness and sadness to his eyes. “What happened to your parents?” you asked gently, sensing the shift in his mood.

Taehyung’s smile faltered, and he looked down at his mug, his fingers tracing the rim. “It is a difficult memory. When I was young, there was a terrible accident. My parents were traveling to a distant town to sell their goods, and their carriage was caught in a snowstorm. They did not make it. I was left alone, and I had to fend for myself.”

You reached out, placing a comforting hand on his. “I am so sorry, Taehyung. That must have been incredibly hard.”

He nodded, a sad smile on his lips. “It was. But I learned to carry their memory with me. It’s why I treasure moments like these, where I can share stories and connect with others. It is a way to keep their spirit alive.”

Seeing the sadness in his eyes, you wanted to lift his spirits. You took a deep breath and began, “When I was a child, we had this wonderful tradition during winter. Every year, my mother would make a special batch of gingerbread cookies. We would spend an entire day decorating them with icing and candy, and then she’d tell me stories about the origins of each cookie shape—angels, stars, and hearts. Those stories always made me feel like I was part of something magical, even in the midst of the cold and darkness.”

Taehyung’s eyes brightened at the image. “That sounds so lovely. It must have been a beautiful tradition.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth of the memory. “It was. It made the winters feel less harsh, and the stories always filled me with a sense of wonder. Sometimes, when I look back, I realize how those little moments shaped my view of the world.”

Taehyung’s expression softened into a genuine smile, his eyes twinkling. “Thank you for sharing that with me. It is nice to hear about those little moments of happiness. It makes me think that there’s more magic left in the world than I thought.”

The conversation continued, filled with more personal stories and laughter. As you enjoyed the warmth of the cafe and the comfort of Taehyung’s presence, the snow outside seemed to fall even more gently, creating a serene and magical backdrop to your evening together.

As spring approached, the transformation in your relationship with Taehyung became more evident. The simple gestures between you, a lingering touch, a shared glance, began to carry a deeper meaning. Taehyung’s once casual conversations now carried an undertone of affection, and his smile seemed to linger a little longer when he looked at you.

One afternoon, you decided to take a walk through the blooming meadows just outside the village. The air was filled with the sweet scent of wildflowers, and the landscape was painted with vibrant colours as the earth shook off the winter’s cold embrace.

As you walked along the winding path, Taehyung turned to you with a soft smile. “The meadows look stunning this time of year, don’t they? It’s like the world’s been dipped in colour.”

You nodded, taking in the beauty around you. “It is beautiful. I have always loved spring. It feels like a time of new beginnings.”

Taehyung’s gaze softened as he looked at you. “You know, I used to dream about traveling to places like this when I was a child. My mother would tell me stories about far-off lands and the wonders they held. Being here with you, seeing these meadows, it feels like those dreams are coming true.”

You felt a warm flush at his words, and before you could fully process it, Taehyung gently took your hand in his. The gesture was unexpected but felt completely natural. His touch was gentle, and it sent a pleasant thrill through your fingers. You looked up at him, surprised by the boldness of the moment.

“I’ve always admired your sense of wonder,” Taehyung said softly, his thumb lightly brushing your knuckles. “It’s one of the things that drew me to you. You see magic in the ordinary, and that is something I’ve always wanted to cherish.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. You had felt a growing connection between you but hearing him express it so openly was both thrilling and comforting. “I never imagined that someone could see me that way,” you admitted, squeezing his hand lightly. “But I’m glad you do. You have brought so much joy and excitement into my life. It’s like you’ve awakened a part of me that I didn’t even know was there.”

Taehyung’s smile widened, and he pulled you gently closer as you continued walking. “I feel the same way. Being with you has made me realize that there’s more to life than just surviving. You have shown me that there’s beauty in every moment, and it’s something I want to experience with you.”

As you walked hand in hand through the meadows, you felt a deep sense of contentment. The shared conversations, the way Taehyung’s eyes lingered on you with affection, and the gentle touches between you all spoke of a growing bond that was more than just friendship. You were falling for him, and it was a feeling that seemed to grow with every passing day.

At one point, you stopped to admire a particularly vibrant patch of flowers. Taehyung leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Do you remember when we first met? I never would have imagined that our friendship would grow into something like this.”

You laughed softly, looking into his eyes. “Neither did I, but I would not change a thing. It has been an incredible journey.”

Taehyung’s gaze softened, and he placed a tender kiss on your forehead. “Here’s to many more adventures together, and to finding magic in every moment we share.”

But one day you got the news that would absolutely break your heart. The news that Taehyung was going to leave the village soon. He has spent almost a year in Briarfield at this point.

The sun was setting, casting a golden hue as the last light of day began to fade. The village was quiet, with only the distant sounds of evening settling in and the loud noises of the crows. Taehyung had just finished packing up his stall for the day, and the air was filled with the crisp promise of twilight.

You stood beside him; your heart heavy with the knowledge that he would soon be leaving for a new venture—a journey that would take him far from the village. The thought of him being away from you was almost too much to bear. As he finished securing the last of his supplies, you took a deep breath, gathering your courage.

“Taehyung,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Are you sure you must leave? I wish there was something I could do to keep you here.”

Taehyung looked at you, his expression a mixture of sadness and determination. He reached out, taking your hands in his, his touch warm and comforting. “I wish I could stay too. But I am but a merchant who must travel to make a living selling new things. I need to go, but not because I want to leave you behind.”

His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the depth of his emotion reflected in them. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us, about our future. I don’t want to imagine a life where we’re apart. Every moment with you has made me realize just how much I want to share my life with you.”

You felt a lump form in your throat as you listened, your heart aching with the intensity of his words. “Taehyung, what are you saying?”

He squeezed your hands gently, his voice trembling with emotion. “I’m saying that I want us to be together. I want to take you with me, not just on this journey, but on all the adventures that life has to offer. I want to travel the world with you by my side, to explore new places and create memories together.”

His words were like a balm to your anxious heart. The thought of traveling with Taehyung, of experiencing new worlds and building a life together, filled you with a profound sense of joy and excitement.

“I know it won’t be easy, I know I’m no wealthy nobleman,” he continued, his gaze unwavering, “and there will be challenges along the way. But I promise you this: I will always be there for you, and I will work every day to make sure that our life together is everything we’ve dreamed of. Your smile, the little expressions you make when you like something, the sparkle in your eyes when you talk about all the things you wish to do, the way you fiddle with your clothes when you get shy... all the little things. My soul hurt from within at the mere thought of never seeing that again.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you could see the same emotion reflected in Taehyung’s eyes. “Taehyung, I don’t want to be apart from you either. I’ve fallen in love with you, and the thought of being with you, of seeing the world together—it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Taehyung’s face lit up with a radiant smile, his eyes shining with happiness. “Then come with me. Let’s build a future together, explore new horizons, and face whatever comes our way. We can make our dreams a reality, side by side.”

You nodded, a smile breaking through your tears. “Yes, Taehyung. I want that more than anything.”

He drew you into a gentle embrace, holding you close as the last light of day melted into the evening sky. The world seemed to stand still as you both revelled in the moment, the promise of a shared future making the present moment feel like a dream come true.

As you pulled back slightly, Taehyung cupped your face in his hands, his touch tender and loving. “Well, I guess I should go the traditional root and ask for your hand from your father right darling” you giggled lightly hitting his shoulder and nodding.

You sat quietly by the window, your fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of your dress as you stole glances at Taehyung. He stood with quiet confidence across the room, but you could sense the tension in his posture. Your heart raced, anticipation mingling with fear as you awaited your father’s decision.

Your father sat in his armchair, arms crossed, and brow furrowed in deep contemplation. He regarded Taehyung with a scrutinizing gaze, the weight of his protective instincts evident in every line of his face. You could feel the tension in the air—your father had always been fiercely protective of you, especially after all the unsolicited attention from Lord Corwin.

"So, Taehyung…" Your father’s voice cut through the silence, steady but probing. "You wish to marry my daughter?"

Taehyung nodded respectfully, stepping forward with a calm determination that steadied your nerves. "Yes, sir. I love her, and I want to spend the rest of my life with her."

Your father’s eyes narrowed slightly, flicking to you and then back to Taehyung. "How old are you, boy?"

"Twenty-six, sir."

Your father’s brow raised ever so slightly, and his gaze softened, just for a moment. You could tell he was weighing the age difference in his mind, but six years between you didn’t seem so bad to him—especially when compared to Lord Corwin, a man nearly his own age who had been making his interest in you disturbingly clear for years. The thought of Corwin’s advances made his stomach churn with disgust. The idea of that old, lecherous man laying claim to you was something your father could never tolerate.

"And what is it you do for a living?" your father asked, his tone regaining its edge. He leaned forward slightly in his chair, as if this question held the key to everything.

"I’m a merchant," Taehyung replied. "I trade in rare and exotic goods and sometimes in textile and jewellery. I’ve worked hard to build my business, and I can provide for your daughter."

Your father nodded slowly, digesting the information. "Being a merchant… It’s an unpredictable trade. One day you could thrive, and the next, you’re barely scraping by. How can I trust that you’ll be able to take care of her?"

Taehyung straightened his shoulders, determination flashing in his eyes. "I understand your concern, sir. But I’ve built my business carefully. I’ve secured reliable connections and steady income. More importantly, I will do everything in my power to fulfil her dream of exploring the world. I will give her love, security, and a life full of joy. I promise you that."

Your father leaned back in his chair, his gaze shifting between you and Taehyung. His eyes softened as they landed on you, a brief flicker of emotion crossing his face. You could see that he was weighing not just Taehyung’s words, but the way you had been glowing with happiness ever since you met him.

He sighed deeply; his expression conflicted and weighing his options. The image of Lord Corwin, with his balding head and leering eyes, flickered through your mind. Corwin had been circling you like a predator since before you had even turned eighteen, making his intentions clear in ways that had always made your skin crawl. The fact that a man so much older than your father could desire you had never sat well with him.

"At least you’re not old enough to be her father," your father muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He looked up at Taehyung again, a shadow of protectiveness still lingering in his eyes. "That… man, Corwin… He’s been after her for years. I don’t trust him. Not one bit. The thought of him trying to court my daughter makes my blood boil."

Taehyung’s expression darkened slightly at the mention of Lord Corwin, but he quickly masked it with a polite nod. He always noted the looming presence of Lord Corwin around you but never commented on it. "I understand, sir. I would never treat her the way he has. I want to give her a life full of love and respect, not possession."

Your father studied him for a long moment, his gaze softening as the words sank in. Finally, he turned his attention to you, his voice gentle. "And you, my daughter? Is this truly what you want? Does he make you happy?"

Your cheeks flushed a soft pink as you nodded shyly, your hands tightening in your lap. "Yes, Father. He… he makes me happy."

A long sigh escaped your father as he looked between the two of you. He saw the way Taehyung’s eyes never left you, the way they softened when they looked at you, filled with affection. He saw the glow in your face, the happiness that had settled over you ever since Taehyung had entered your life.

"That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "To see you happy, to know you’re loved."

He turned to Taehyung, his expression softening but still holding a firm warning. "If you promise to cherish her, to be a good husband, then I’ll give you, my blessing. But know this, Taehyung… if you ever hurt her or make her unhappy, you’ll have me to answer to."

Taehyung bowed deeply, gratitude and respect evident in every movement. "Thank you, sir. I swear to you, I will make her happier than she’s ever been."

Your father nodded, standing and extending his hand toward Taehyung. As the two men shook hands, a sense of relief washed over you, the tension that had held you captive slowly dissipating. Your mother who had silently watched the exchanged came with a bright smile to congratulate and embrace you.

The future you had dreamed of now felt real filled with love, adventure, and the promise of happiness that only Taehyung could bring.

You felt like you were floating on top of the world. You felt the happiest you ever felt standing in Taehyung’s embrace. Nothing could possibly go wrong you thought. How naive you were to hold such expectations...

When it all came crashing down

The news struck Lord Corwin like a physical blow: your father had agreed to let Taehyung marry you. You, the object of his obsession for so many years, were to wed someone far beneath the station Corwin had believed only he could offer you. His heart churned with a mixture of rage, disbelief, and festering jealousy, each emotion more poisonous than the last.

For years, Corwin had watched you grow, long before you had even turned eighteen. He had admired you from afar, convincing himself that once you came of age, he would swoop in, offer you marriage, and make you his. He believed you needed someone with power and experience—a man of influence who could protect you. He told himself that age was irrelevant when it came to desire and control. And so, he waited, biding his time until you would be old enough for him to claim. You were just so beautiful and young he felt excitement course through his body at the thought of destroying that innocence. He wanted to break you, mind, body, and soul.

The comparison gnawed at him. Taehyung was everything Corwin was not: young, lean, and graceful. Where Corwin had become bloated over the years, his once-powerful body sagging under the weight of indulgence, Taehyung’s figure was trim and strong. His skin held the warmth of youth, tanned from days spent labouring under the sun. Corwin’s own complexion was pale and mottled, the sagging skin of his jowls and the red blotches on his nose a testament to years of excess and drink.

Taehyung’s dark, thick hair fell in soft waves around his sharp features, while Corwin’s own greasy strands had thinned to the point of near baldness. He could hardly stand to look at himself in the mirror anymore, especially when the memory of Taehyung’s easy smile and clear, confident eyes lingered in his mind.

What did you see in him aside from his handsome looks? Corwin seethed, his beady eyes narrowing with contempt as he sat brooding in his dimly lit manor. His fingers, swollen and stubby, adorned with gaudy rings, dug into the arms of his chair as he thought of Taehyung’s hands—strong, capable, hands that had undoubtedly touched you in ways Corwin could only dream of.

And that’s what enraged him the most. For years, he had waited, believed that you would come around, that you would see him as your only option for security. Yet now you had chosen someone like Taehyung—an outsider, a nobody, who had somehow won over both your heart and your father’s approval.

Corwin’s stomach churned with resentment. His bulging belly pressed uncomfortably against his embroidered waistcoat, reminding him of how much he had let himself go. He felt grotesque compared to Taehyung’s effortless charm. The thought of you looking at Taehyung with love and admiration, of you sharing your smiles and your dreams with him, made Corwin sick with jealousy. It should have been him. You should have been his.

You didn’t know it yet, but Corwin wasn’t going to let you go so easily. He had waited years for you, years watching from the shadows, and he wouldn’t allow some pretty-faced merchant to take you away from him. No—if he couldn’t have you, then no one would.

Seething in his dark manor, Corwin’s mind twisted and turned, seeking a way to tear you away from Taehyung. His eyes, bloodshot with rage, caught the flicker of candlelight and a cruel smile crept onto his lips. The sacrifice. Of course. It had been right in front of him the entire time.

For centuries, the village of Briarfield had performed the virgin sacrifice ritual to appease the so-called devil. But Corwin knew the truth—it was a hoax, a vile tradition created by the nobles to satisfy their own depraved desires. Every year, they selected a virgin girl under the guise of protecting the village, only to defile her and leave her for dead like it was nothing.

Corwin had never hated the ritual. In fact, he had always seen it as an effective way to maintain control, to keep the villagers fearful and obedient. But this year, he would use it for his own purposes—to make sure that you were his, and only his.

Summoning the village elders under the pretence of urgent business, Corwin presented his case. They met in a candle-lit chamber, the air heavy with the smell of burning wax and damp stone. The elders, grey-haired and hunched with age, listened carefully as Corwin laid out his plan.

“The time has come once again,” Corwin began, his voice calm but insidious. “The devil demands his sacrifice, and we must uphold our sacred duty to protect this village.”

The elders nodded. They had been complicit in the ritual for years, their faces grim and indifferent. They knew what it truly meant, and they were aware of what Corwin was about to suggest.

“This year,” Corwin continued, his tone taking on a darker edge, “the girl has already been chosen.”

His eyes gleamed as he spoke your name.

“She is the perfect offering,” Corwin said with a sickening smile. “Her engagement to Taehyung is a distraction—a temptation that the devil himself would surely seek to punish. We must act before it is too late.”

The elders exchanged knowing glances. There was no hesitation, no resistance. They agreed without question, their loyalty to the hoax and their own twisted desires overshadowing any concern for your well-being. All they cared about was the material possessions given to them by the nobles. They far to gone to consider feelings of others as greed had completely overtaken them, over the years. The decision had been finalised.

The next morning, the announcement had been made. This year’s sacrifice was You.

As the news spread, panic swept through Briarfield like wildfire. Whispers of the devil’s wrath filled the air, and fear gripped the hearts of the villagers. They believed that the ritual was real, that sacrificing you would protect them from harm.

But Corwin knew better. He watched from the shadows, his heart dark with satisfaction. You were trapped now, ensnared by a centuries-old lie designed to rob you of everything. And when the time came, he would be there waiting. Not even Taehyung could save you from the fate that had been sealed.

In his mind, you were already his.

You stood there with wide eyes at the town square as you processed the news. The words rang in your ears, a low murmur at first, like distant thunder, before crashing into your consciousness with the force of a storm.

You… you had been chosen as the sacrifice.

This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening. Your heart hammered in your chest, your limbs went numb, and the world around you seemed to close in. The villagers’ faces blurred together, their whispers and murmurs growing louder. You felt like you were drowning in a sea of fear and dread.

“No,” you whispered to yourself, shaking your head slowly. “Not me…”

This was not supposed to happen. You had been so close to escaping this cursed place, so close to finally living the life you had dreamed of with Taehyung by your side. A life of love, freedom, and adventure—a life far away from the darkness that clung to Briarfield like a shroud.

But now, that dream was being ripped from you.

Your hands trembled as you clenched them at your sides, your mind reeling. What had you done to deserve this? Why were you being punished? You had seen other girls chosen before, seen the hollow, terrified looks in their eyes as they were led away to their deaths. You had always feared this moment, but you never thought it would be you.

A cold, bitter chill swept over you, and your breath caught in your throat. You couldn’t let this happen. You couldn’t let them take you. But deep down, you knew the village’s decision was final. There was no escaping the elders’ judgment, no defying the centuries-old ritual that had claimed so many before you.

Then, through the crowd, you saw him. Taehyung.

"Y/N!" His voice cut through the noise, filled with desperation. He pushed past the villagers, his face a mix of fear and fury. "Y/N!"

As soon as you saw him, the numbness that had overtaken you shattered. Your legs trembled, and you took a step forward, reaching out as if he were your last lifeline.

“Taehyung!” you cried, your voice breaking as tears blurred your vision. “Taehyung, please!”

In an instant, he was there, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace. The warmth of his body, the strength of his grip—it was everything you needed in that moment, everything that kept you from falling apart.

"I won’t let them do this to you," he whispered fiercely, his voice shaking with emotion. "I swear, I won’t let them take you."

But even as he spoke those words, you know how impossible that was. Taehyung was new here so he cannot grasp the severity of everything. The elders had spoken, and the ritual demanded obedience. No one had ever defied it and survived.

Before either of you could say another word, strong hands grabbed Taehyung by the shoulders, yanking him away from you. You stumbled back, reaching for him, panic surging through your veins.

"No!" you screamed, lunging forward, but more hands grabbed you, dragging you backward.

"Y/N!" Taehyung shouted, struggling against the men who restrained him. His eyes were wild with fear, his hands clawing at the air as he fought to reach you.

You kicked and thrashed, desperate to break free, to run to him, to hold him one last time. But it was useless. The men’s grip was iron, their expressions cold and unfeeling as they pulled you toward your home to prepare you for the ceremony.

“Taehyung!” you cried out, tears streaming down your face as you reached for him, your fingertips brushing the air between you. “Don’t leave me!”

“I won’t! I promise!” Taehyung yelled; his voice hoarse with desperation as he was dragged further away. “I’ll come for you, I swear!”

But the distance between you grew, your bodies pulled further apart by the hands of fate. His voice became fainter, swallowed by the murmur of the crowd.

As they forced you back toward your home, you twisted and turned, your heart breaking with every step. Your hands reached out, but Taehyung was no longer there. The emptiness between you felt like a void, and for the first time, true fear gripped your soul.

Your room was cold and quiet, save for the soft splashing of water as your mother gently bathed your skin. You sat in the large wooden tub, your arms wrapped around yourself for warmth, though nothing could shield you from the dread settling in your chest. Steam rose from the water, clinging to the air with an eerie stillness, but it did nothing to soothe your trembling body.

Your mother’s hands moved over you with care, her touch soft but weighed down by sorrow. She washed your arms and shoulders, wiping away the traces of the life you once knew, preparing you for the inevitable. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes dull with grief as she worked in silence. She had not spoken since you were declared as the sacrifice, and the absence of your father—who had left the house earlier, unable to bear the sight of his daughter’s impending fate—hung like a ghost in the room.

After bathing you, she helped you from the tub, wrapping you in a thin cloth. She guided you toward a small stool by the fire, her steps slow, as if every movement pained her. The warmth of the hearth barely touched your skin, doing little to chase away the cold knot of fear in your stomach.

Your mother knelt behind you, her hands moving through your long, damp hair. She did not braid it as she usually did for such occasions. Instead, she combed it gently with her fingers, allowing the dark strands to fall free down your back like a cascading waterfall. Your hair framed your face, its softness a stark contrast to the harsh reality of the ceremony that awaited you. The gentle curls of your locks, freshly washed and perfumed with lavender oil, gave you an air of innocence that would make you appear even more pure to the villagers.

The silence between you both was heavy. You could feel her hands trembling slightly as she worked, her breaths shallow and uneven. She parted your hair down the side, letting it fall in loose waves, unadorned, framing your face in a way that made you look younger, more delicate.

When your hair was dry, your mother brought out the ceremonial dress from the chest at the foot of your bed. She never wanted to use it but here she is. This knowledge weighs at her. Her hands shook as she held the white linen gown before you, her lips pressed into a thin line. The dress was simple, yet ethereal—a symbol of the purity expected of you.

The bodice was a fitted corset, but modest, cinching gently at your waist before flaring out into a flowing skirt that reached down to your ankles. The sleeves were long and billowed softly, cinching at the wrists, giving the appearance of delicate wings. Silver embroidery traced the neckline and cuffs, small and intricate, adding a subtle touch of elegance to the otherwise plain garment.

Your mother helped you step into the gown, her fingers carefully fastening the laces at the back. With each tug, you felt as though the dress was binding you tighter into your fate. The fabric clung to your body, soft but suffocating, as if it were swallowing you whole.

When the final lace was tied, your mother stepped back, her eyes filling with tears as she took in the sight of you. The pure white of the dress, the soft waves of your dark hair, and the pale glow of your skin all worked together to create the image of a perfect sacrifice—untouched, innocent, and ready to be offered.

“You look… beautiful,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

But the word felt hollow. You didn’t feel beautiful. You felt like a vessel—something to be given away, something to be used.

As your mother placed a tender kiss on your forehead, you swallowed the lump in your throat, your heart aching with a desperation you could not express. Your father’s absence weighed heavily on you.

This wasn’t how your life was supposed to end. Not like this.

But as your mother’s hands lingered on your shoulders, the reality of it all sank in and all you could do was pray for any God out there to help you.

Taehyung paced back and forth in the small, dimly lit room where he had been confined. The walls, lined with aged stone and heavy curtains, seemed to close in on him, suffocating his hopes. His mind raced with plans and possibilities, each more desperate than the last. He had been thrown into a locked chamber, barred from leaving and, most painfully, from seeing you. He could hear muffled voices and footsteps outside, the occasional clinking of metal, and the distant sound of the village preparing for the ritual. Each noise was a painful reminder of the precious moments slipping away.

Determined not to give up, Taehyung had already tried every lockpicking trick he knew, but the door remained stubbornly shut. His heart pounded in his chest, a heavy weight pressing down on him as he thought of you being prepared for the ceremony. The images of your face—so full of hope and love suddenly replaced by shock—haunted him. He could only imagine how frightened you must be, and the thought of you being forced into the clutches of the so-called "ceremony" filled him with a deep, cold rage.

In a fit of frustration, he banged on the door, shouting for anyone who might hear him. “Let me out! I must see her!” His voice echoed off the stone walls, but it was met with silence. He pounded on the door again, desperate, and breathless. “Please! Someone, help me!”

His efforts were met with nothing but the indifferent response of the guards outside, their footsteps fading as they moved away. Taehyung sank to the floor, his back against the door. He clenched his fists, his knuckles white, and took deep, steadying breaths, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling within him.

In his heart, he knew he couldn’t give up. Not now, not when the love of his life was in such grave danger. Taehyung's mind raced with a single, driving thought: he had to escape, he had to save you. His determination hardened into resolve as he worked to find another way out, his thoughts consumed with the promise he had made to you—that he would never let anything come between you.

He could only hope that, somehow, he would find a way to break free and reach you in time.

And as his mind tried to come up with another escape plan, he door to his chamber creaked open. The dim light from the corridor spilled in, and there, standing in the doorway with a twisted smile, was Lord Corwin. Taehyung’s heart sank, his stomach churning with a sickening sense of dread.

Corwin stepped inside, his heavy footfalls echoing in the small room. He surveyed Taehyung with a sneer, his eyes brimming with malice and twisted satisfaction. "Well, well, if it isn’t the valiant merchant," Corwin drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. "So full of love and devotion for that sweet little girl, aren’t you?"

Taehyung rose to his feet, glaring at Corwin with barely contained fury. "What do you want?" he spat, his voice trembling with rage.

Corwin’s smile widened, revealing yellowed teeth. He moved closer, his oily presence filling the room like a vile stench. "I’ve come to deliver some unfortunate news, I’m afraid. You see, while you sit here locked away, your precious bride-to-be is being prepared for an incredibly special ceremony. One that has been a tradition in Briarfield for centuries."

Taehyung’s jaw clenched as he stepped forward, his hands balling into fists. "I already know about the ritual," he growled. "But you won’t lay a finger on her. I’ll stop you."

Corwin chuckled darkly, shaking his head in mock sympathy. "Ah, but you don’t know the true nature of the ritual, do you? No, you still believe in that quaint little lie they talk about appeasing the devil." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a sickening whisper. "The truth is the ritual has nothing to do with the devil. It’s all for us. The noble men of Briarfield. Each year, we choose a girl. We strip her of her dignity, her purity... we defile her. And then, once we’ve had our fun, we leave her to die."

Taehyung’s eyes widened in horror, his breath catching in his throat. He felt sick, his vision blurring with rage as Corwin continued.

"And your sweet little bride-to-be," Corwin sneered, "will be no different. I will have the pleasure of taking her first. I have waited so long for this moment—watching her blossom into womanhood, untouched and pure, just waiting for me. And when I am done with her..." He paused, his lips curling into a grotesque smile. "Well, let’s just say she won’t be the same girl you fell in love with."

Taehyung’s vision went red. He lunged at Corwin, his fists aiming straight for the older man’s leering face. "You bastard!" he roared, but before his fist could connect, two guards grabbed him from behind, pulling him back with brute force.

Corwin stepped back, laughing cruelly as Taehyung struggled against the guards. "Temper, temper," Corwin taunted, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "You’re nothing but a pathetic peasant, thinking you could protect her. What could you possibly offer her? A life of selling trinkets in the market? She’s too good for you, boy."

Taehyung strained against the guards; his teeth gritted in pure fury. "I’ll kill you! I swear if you touch her-"

"You’ll do nothing," Corwin interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. "Because you’re weak. You’ll sit here, helpless, while we take what’s ours." He adjusted his coat with a smug grin. "Enjoy the show from your cage, boy. I’ll be sure to tell her how useless you were in the end."

With that, Corwin turned on his heel and strode toward the door, a satisfied smile plastered across his face. As he reached the threshold, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. "She’ll cry for you, you know," he said, as if savouring the thought. "But you won’t be able to do a thing about it."

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Taehyung trembling with rage and helplessness. His heart ached with fear for you, but the fire in his chest refused to die. Even as he struggled against the guards, his mind churned with thoughts of revenge, desperate to stop Corwin and save you from the fate he had so vilely described.

The village square was eerily quiet despite the large gathering of people. You stood there, heart pounding in your chest, dressed in your white ceremonial gown. The wind tugged at the hem, but it did little to stir the suffocating atmosphere. It was as if the very air had thickened around you, heavy with expectation and dread.

The villagers watched with false reverence, their eyes dull and unfeeling, offering hollow words of praise for your supposed bravery. Bravery? It was a bitter joke. You had not chosen to stand here, had not chosen this fate. You were forced- condemned.

The elder approached you with a blindfold in his gnarled hands, his wrinkled face twisted into a grim mask of ceremony. His fingers were cold and rough as they tied the cloth tightly around your eyes, shutting out the last slivers of the village you had known all your life. Darkness consumed your vision, leaving only the cacophony of sound and the bitter taste of fear on your tongue.

As you stood there, sightless, you could hear your mother sobbing softly from somewhere behind you. Each sob pierced through you like a blade, her grief wrapping around your heart. You wanted to cry out to her, to run to her, Be held and comforted by your mom but your legs were frozen beneath you, bound by invisible chains of duty and terror.

Hands gripped your arms—firm, unyielding hands—and began to guide you forward, pulling you away from the square. You stumbled at first, your feet catching on the uneven ground, but the hands steadied you, urging you on. You could hear the shuffle of boots and the whispering of cloaks as the elders led you through the village, away from the familiar sounds of Briarfield and deeper into the woods.

The ground beneath your feet shifted as you left the cobblestone streets and stepped onto the soft earth of the forest. The air changed, cooler with the scent of moss and decaying leaves. The sounds of the village faded into the distance, replaced by the rustling of trees and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot. You could hear the soft chirping of insects and the distant calls of night birds, their eerie songs only heightening the sense of isolation.

Your heart raced in your chest, each step feeling heavier than the last as you were dragged closer to the altar. Your mind raced with images of what was to come, of the horrors Corwin had spoken of, and you fought to keep your breathing steady. The blindfold pressed tightly against your eyelids, and with each passing moment, the reality of your situation sank deeper into your bones.

The elders murmured soft incantations as they led you further into the woods, their voices low and rhythmic, blending with the sounds of the night. But their words brought no comfort, only a sickening reminder of what awaited you at the altar.

You strained your ears, trying to grasp any familiar sounds, anything that would tell you where you were. The world around you had become an abyss, where each sound was amplified in the darkness. The soft brush of leaves against your skin, the cold gust of wind on your face, the distant crackling of a fire you could not see, all of it swirled together in a maddening symphony of fear.

The hands that guided you suddenly stopped, and you could feel the ground beneath your feet shift slightly uneven stones pressing against your soles. You knew, without seeing, that you had arrived at the altar.

You shivered as they lead you towards the, what you assumed to be the alter made up of old ancient slab covered in moss and lichen. As you were laid upon the stone, you could hear the rustling of the elders’ robes. You strained your ears, hoping for some sound that would anchor you in the moment—a bird’s call, the rustle of leaves, anything—but the forest had gone unnervingly quiet. The blindfold pressed tightly against your face, leaving you in total darkness.

You heard the soft scrape of a blade being drawn, the metallic sound causing your heart to lurch in your chest. The elder murmured words in a language you didn't understand, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. You were waiting for something, some terrible finality but what came instead was silence. The kind of silence that felt wrong, like it was filled with secrets.

You felt hands on your shoulders, their grip too familiar, too wrong. And then, you heard it, a low, mocking laugh.

It wasn't the deep, otherworldly growl of a devil, but the cruel, triumphant sound of a man who had long desired something he was now moments away from taking. The sound sent a shiver down your spine.

Lord Corwin.

You jerked against the hands that held you, but they tightened, keeping you in place. Your heart pounded in your chest, panic surging through your veins. You tried to speak, to demand answers, but your throat closed, your voice trapped behind a wall of fear.

"You still believe in the devil, don't you?" Corwin’s voice slithered through the darkness, mocking and taunting. "Poor thing. They have filled your head with stories of demons and sacrifices. But I assure you... there is no devil coming for you tonight."

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. The ceremony, the sacrifice, none of it was real. You were not being offered to some dark entity. You were being handed over to men like him.

"You see," Corwin continued, his voice drawing closer, "this ritual isn’t for protection. It’s for us." He paused, his breath hot and close, sending waves of nausea through you. "For centuries, we've chosen a girl each year to entertain us. To indulge ourselves in ways that the village would never dare to question."

You felt your knees weaken, your body trembling as his words sank in. The stories you had been told since childhood were all lies. The devil was just a tale, a cover for the horrors these men had committed under the guise of tradition.

"Don't struggle," Corwin whispered, his tone sickeningly sweet. "You’ll only make it harder for yourself. After all, you should be honoured to have caught my attention all these years."

Then you felt a hand rustling with your dress and your stomach started twisting at the realisation would exactly Corwin’s words meant. You felt a hand sneak up your dress and grab your thigh and your fight response kicked in. You jerked at the touch and tried your best to swing a fist at where you heard Corwin standing. You were in every disadvantage, but you weren’t going down without a fight. Or so you thought.

You suddenly felt your hands being grabbed and forced down harshly above your head. You cursed aloud at whoever it was but now that both your hands and legs were immobile you weren’t sure what to do. The adrenaline in your body was slowly slipping away and all you felt was terror.

“Tsk tsk tsk, this is not what I expect from you darlin-“ you cut Corwin off  “I don’t care about what you expect from me!” you angrily yelled out but just then you felt a sting on your left cheek.

Lord Corwin had slapped you.

“Somebody really needs to put you in your place. Do not forget you are just a mere woman. You exist just to serve men. The only thing of value you hold is beauty and a fertile body to birth children” Lord Corwin replied venomously.

And just before you could retort back, you felt your dress being ripped and only a gasp left your throat.

“No stay back!” you yelled in desperation as you felt Corwin’s grimy hands roam your exposed legs. You felt his breath near your throat as he leaned down to kiss the area. You felt disgusted and angry. Your mind wondered to Taehyung praying that he would show up somehow. You felt Corwin’s hand slid up and grabbed your chest. You cried angry tears as you decided to yell one last time “Taehyung please save me from here!” you cried loud angry tears and just when you were about to give up, you heard it.

From somewhere deeper in the woods, a new sound echoed, a distant clamour of voices, of movement. At first, you thought it was your mind playing tricks on you, desperate to cling to any hope. But it grew louder, closer. The elders hesitated, their hands loosening on your arms and legs.

Taehyung.

You knew it was him. He had come for you.

The voices grew louder, the footsteps echoing closer until they were upon you. You could hear the rush of movement, angry shouts, the crack of branches underfoot. Panic surged through the elders and the men surrounding you. Their once confident whispers turned frantic.

You felt your heartbeat in your throat, pounding with both fear and a sliver of desperate hope.

"Stop them!" Corwin's voice rose in anger, the sharp command lashing through the air like a whip. His hands gripped your arms again, but they were no longer steady. You could feel his panic too, his control over the situation slipping through his fingers.

The elder holding you released his grip entirely, his cowardice evident in his hasty retreat. You could hear the shuffle of feet as others followed suit, abandoning the ritual altar in a state of chaos.

Suddenly, the blindfold was ripped from your eyes. The world returned in a flash of dim torchlight and shadowed faces. The clearing was swarming with men, some village guards, some common folk, and there, breaking through the tree line, was Taehyung.

His eyes blazed with fury; his jaw clenched tightly as he barrelled toward you. For a moment, you were frozen, overwhelmed by the sight of him and by the fact that he had come, against all odds.

Corwin cursed under his breath, his face twisted in rage as he pulled you roughly towards him, using your body as a shield between him and Taehyung. His grip was hard, bruising, his nails digging into your flesh. You could smell the sweat and desperation radiating from him.

"You think you can take her from me?" Corwin spat, his voice a mixture of fear and disgust as he glared at Taehyung. "You, a lowly peasant, dare to challenge me?"

Taehyung slowed his approach but never took his eyes off you, his expression softening for a brief moment as he saw the fear in your eyes. Then, his gaze hardened again, his fists clenched at his sides.

"I will take her from you," Taehyung said firmly, his voice steady despite the storm raging behind his eyes. "Because she doesn't belong to you. She never did."

Corwin scoffed, his breath heavy against your neck. "Look at me, girl!" he growled, yanking your face toward him. His once pristine appearance was now crumbling. His thinning hair slick with sweat, his eyes bulging with anger and something worse, desperation. He reeked of arrogance, of an entitlement so deeply ingrained that he believed the world owed him everything, even you.

"You could have had comfort," Corwin sneered, his eyes darting between you and Taehyung. "Wealth, status... But you choose him?" His voice dripped with venom. "What can he offer you?"

You stared at Corwin, disgust rising like bile in your throat. Even now, he could not understand that what you wanted was freedom, not wealth. You wanted love, not power. And Taehyung offered you all the things Corwin never could—kindness, gentleness, and a future not built on fear.

But before you could answer, Taehyung took a step closer. His voice was like a promise, unwavering and fierce. "I offer her everything you never could, respect, love, and a life free from monsters like you."

Corwin’s grip tightened painfully for a moment, his face darkening. But then, as the approaching crowd surged closer, the realization dawned on him. His plan had failed. The power he once held over you and the village was slipping away.

His eyes flickered with malice as he released you, shoving you toward Taehyung. You stumbled, but Taehyung was there, catching you in his arms, pulling you against his chest protectively.

"Take her," Corwin sneered, stepping back, his lips curling into a bitter smile. "But this isn’t over. You think you've won, but you’ve merely delayed the inevitable." Corvin threw meaningless threats at you.

And with that, Corwin turned, retreating into the shadows of the woods, his figure vanishing into the night.

As you stood in Taehyung’s embrace, trying to make sense of the nightmare that had unfolded, Taehyung’s gaze locked down onto yours. His eyes swept over your form, and his expression hardened, his features darkening with a mixture of concern and fury. The delicate ceremonial gown you wore was torn and dirtied, bruises beginning to form where the men had handled you so roughly. Your entire body trembled, overwhelmed by everything you had endured.

Without a word, Taehyung quickly slipped off his long coat, moving toward you with a gentleness that contrasted the anger simmering beneath his calm exterior. He draped the coat over your shoulders, covering you, shielding you from the eyes of those who had tormented you.

“Stay still,” he murmured softly, his voice thick with emotion. His hands brushed over your arms as he pulled the coat tighter around you, trying to hide the evidence of what could have been. His jaw clenched as his eyes flicked over your face, lingering on every bruise, every tear, and the fragile look of shock etched into your expression.

Anger flared briefly in his eyes as he spoke, his voice low but steady. “I’m so sorry… I should have gotten to you sooner.”

“Do not apologise for something you had no control over. I’m just glad that you made it.” You whisper back.

As Taehyung held you close once again, you looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. “How did you manage to escape?” you asked, your voice trembling with exhaustion.

Taehyung’s face was a mix of anger and determination. “It was not easy. The guards had me locked in a small, dark cell in the chapel, and I was running out of time.”

He took a deep breath, clearly reliving the tense moments. “I overheard the guards talking about a secret passageway under the old chapel, used long ago for smuggling goods. I knew I had to find a way to use that passage to escape. Also, who reveals such information in front of a prisoner?” he says trying to make you smile and you giggled in response.

Taehyung then continued, “I managed to use a piece of broken furniture to pry open a loose stone in the cell wall. It was a desperate move, but I had to try. I crawled through the narrow tunnel, which led to the chapel’s old crypt. From there, I found a way out to the back of the chapel.”

Your heart raced as you listened, imagining his harrowing escape. “But how did you get to me?”

Taehyung nodded, a fierce resolve in his eyes. “Once I got outside, I made my way to the village edge, where I saw your father sitting in sorrow. I found him and told him everything about the ritual, Corwin’s lies, and how I had managed to escape.”

He paused, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of pride and urgency. “Your father was able to rally the villagers and expose Corwin’s true intentions. They were already suspicious, but my escape and the information I brought gave them the final push to act against Corwin and his corrupt schemes.”

You felt a surge of relief and admiration for Taehyung. “I’m so grateful you made it out in time.”

Taehyung gently cupped your face, his expression softening. “I would have done anything to save you.”

Your gaze shifted just in time to see the villagers dragging a furious Lord Corwin back into the clearing. His once-fine clothes were torn and filthy, his large frame covered in mud and sweat. He panted heavily, too slow, and too fat to outrun the angry crowd that had hunted him down.

“Let me go!” Corwin bellowed, his face flushed with humiliation and anger. “You fools! You have no idea what you have done! This village needs me!”

The villagers’ rage bubbled over as they shoved him to the ground. “You let our daughters die!” someone shouted from the crowd. “You let them suffer while we were blind!”

Corwin sneered, trying to rise, but his bloated body betrayed him, and the crowd held him down. He turned his eyes to Taehyung, the hatred in his gaze palpable but Taehyung let the crowd do the talking, deciding to step back with you.

A Month Later:

The grandeur of the magical court of Aetherfall stood in stark contrast to the grim history of Briarfield. The court was a sprawling palace, its walls adorned with shimmering crystals that bathed the hall in a soft, ethereal light. Magic-infused tapestries depicted scenes of legendary heroes and mythical creatures, setting a majestic backdrop for the day’s proceedings.

Lord Corwin, along with other implicated nobles from Briarfield, was presented before the court. The once-proud noble now looked gaunt and dishevelled, his arrogance replaced by palpable fear. The court was abuzz with whispers and murmurs as the noble’s faced judgment for their crimes.

The Chief Enchanter, a figure of immense power and authority, presided over the proceedings. His robes, interwoven with silver thread, glowed with a gentle luminescence. He spoke in a voice that carried both authority and sorrow, condemning the nobles for their abhorrent actions.

“Lord Corwin and his compatriots stand accused of vile corruption and cruelty,” the Chief Enchanter intoned. “Their ritual, a grotesque masquerade to cover their own depravity, has caused untold suffering. Justice must be served.”

Corwin’s face twisted in a mixture of rage and despair as the verdict was read. The punishment was severe—his wealth confiscated, his titles stripped, and he was to be banished from the realms of Aetherfall. The court’s magic would ensure he could never return, casting a protective barrier around the realm to keep him from ever entering again. And he shall work as a peasant until the day he takes his last breath.

Where as in Briarfield, the once-dark village had transformed into a vibrant scene of celebration. Lanterns floated above, and tables were laden with an array of delicious foods and sparkling drinks. The villagers, once sombre, now danced and celebrated the end of a dark chapter in their history.

The village square of Briarfield had been transformed into a picturesque scene of festivity for your wedding. Lanterns, adorned with delicate fairy lights, floated gracefully above, casting a warm and inviting glow over the area. Tables draped in rich, burgundy fabrics were laden with an array of delicious foods: succulent roasted meats, fresh fruits, pastries dusted with sugar, and bubbling pitchers of sweet, sparkling drinks.

The wedding ceremony took place in the heart of the village square, where a beautifully decorated archway of intertwined flowers and greenery formed a natural altar. The archway was adorned with cascading blooms of ivory and blush pink, their gentle fragrance mingling with the cool evening air.

You stood at the entrance of the makeshift aisle, a vision of grace in a simple yet elegant wedding gown. The gown, made from a flowing white fabric, had delicate lace trim along the neckline and sleeves. Your hair, left open in soft waves, was adorned with a few small white flowers, adding a touch of ethereal beauty.

Taehyung stood at the altar, his formal attire reflecting the elegance of the occasion. He wore a dark navy-blue suit with intricate silver embroidery that caught the light, making him look every bit the regal figure. His eyes were locked on you, filled with admiration and love.

As you walked down the aisle, the villagers, gathered to witness the event, applauded, and cheered, their faces beaming with genuine happiness. The sound of soft music played by a small band in the corner of the square added to the celebratory atmosphere.

When you reached the altar, Taehyung took your hand gently, his touch warm and reassuring. The officiant, a respected elder of the village, began the ceremony with words of wisdom and blessing.

“Today, we gather to celebrate the union of two souls who have found their way to each other through trials and love. Let us rejoice in their happiness and witness the vows they will make.”

Taehyung and You shared your heartfelt vows which certainly bought tears in your eyes as the comforting words set in.

The officiant smiled warmly and pronounced you both husband and wife. The crowd erupted in cheers as you and Taehyung shared your first kiss as a married couple.

As the evening progressed, the celebration continued with lively music and dancing. Taehyung and you moved through the crowd, greeting friends and family, sharing laughter and joy. The atmosphere was filled with happiness and relief, a stark contrast to the dark days that had preceded this moment.

During the evening, as the stars began to twinkle in the sky, you and Taehyung took that as a chance a sneaked away from everyone. You both giggled like teenagers as you made your way towards Taehyung’s cottage. As soon as the door closed, Taehyung had you pushed up against it and wasted no time crashing against yours hungrily, filled with all the love and desire he had been holding back throughout the day. You melted into his embrace, your body responding instinctively to his touch.

He trailed kisses along your jawline, down your neck, leaving a trail of fire wherever he touched. Your knees grew weak as he found that one spot on your neck that always drove you wild. His hands roamed over your body possessively, claiming every inch of you as his own.

With a sudden burst of strength, he lifted you into his arms and carried you toward the bedroom. You giggled playfully at the unexpected gesture, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he kissed a trail down your collarbone.

He gently laid you down on the bed, hovering over you with a look of pure adoration in his eyes. "You have no idea how beautiful you are," he whispered huskily before capturing your lips once again. You slowly trail your hands under his shirt and understanding what you wanted, he pulled his shirt off.

He had a soft stomach but years of hard labour had made his muscles taunt and as you were admiring him, his hands traced patterns along your sides before sliding under your dress to caress every curve. The fabric felt like too much of a barrier between your bodies as he explored every inch of skin beneath it.

Sensing your impatience, Taehyung pulled away for a moment to remove your dress, his eyes never leaving yours as he did. Once you were lying before him in nothing but your lingerie, he took a moment to admire the sight.

"You're perfect," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "Absolutely perfect and all mine."

His hands resumed their exploration, this time with no barriers in the way. He traced circles over the soft skin of your stomach, his touch sending shivers down your spine. Slowly, he moved lower, teasing the sensitive skin just above your panties.

You moaned softly at the sensation, arching into his touch. His fingers danced lightly over your heat, driving you closer to the edge with each gentle caress.

"Please," you whimpered, unable to take the teasing any longer. "I need you."

Taehyung's eyes darkened with desire at your words, and without another moment's hesitation, he removed your panties and looked at your core glistening with wetness. You suddenly felt shy and tried to close your legs, but Taehyung was fast enough to pry them open again.

“Don’t hide from me love, let me see and feel all of you” he said looking directly in your eyes. He brings his fingers to your core once again and starts making a figure 8 forcing the sweetest of sounds out of you.

“That’s it love. You look so pretty” he says before diving headfirst into your centre without a warning making you cry out in pleasure at the new sensation. Your hand reached out to grab his hair, pulling on the strands, eliciting a groan out of him. His tongue circles your clit as he slowly enters a finger inside you. The sensational felt uncomfortable but was soon replaced by blinding pleasure once he started moving them.

You felt a coil build up in your stomach as your breath started to get laboured not understanding the sensation. “Tae- I feel s-something in I- you” you couldn’t form a sentence before the coil snapped and you came with a loud moan panting loudly.

Taehyung finally rose up from between your legs, your juices running down his chin making your cheeks heat up. “You did so well baby!” he said a little bit too enthusiastically. You shyly reached your hands over his shoulders and brought him down for a kiss.

Taehyung pulled away before pressing his forehead to your, your noses touching, “We don’t have to do anything beyond this.” He whispered.

“I want to Tae. Don’t worry” you ease his nerves. “It’s going to hurt a little. I’ll try to go slow okay and if anything hurts too much, stop me” he rambles a little which is endearing to you how much he is worried about you.

You kiss his lips one more time, “I trust you Tae, don’t worry” you smile up at him. Seeing you with those big eyes looking at him asking him to make love to you, Tae scrambles to pull his pants down bringing his cock out and stroking it.

"I love you so much," he murmured as he lined himself up with your entrance. "Are you ready?"

You nodded eagerly, excitement and nervousness mingling together inside you. This was it—the moment you had been waiting for.

With a slow and steady push, Taehyung entered you fully. You gasped at the feeling of him stretching and filling you completely. Tears welled up in your eyes as a mix of pleasure and pain washed over you.

"Shh," Taehyung whispered soothingly as he wiped away a stray tear. "I've got you."

He stayed still for a moment to let you adjust to the sensation before slowly starting to move. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body until all thoughts were replaced by pure ecstasy.

As his pace quickened, so did the intensity of your pleasure until it was all-consuming—like fireworks exploding inside you with every movement. Your nails dug into his back, your moans growing louder with each thrust. You wrapped your legs around his waist feeling him even deeper inside of you.

"I'm… I'm…" you stammered, unable to form a coherent thought as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak. But as you were about to cum, he pulled out making you whine at the loss of your high. Before you could complain, he flipped you over on your stomach bringing your hips up and entered your heat once again.

Your hands clutched the sheets tightly as you feel him move your hair to the side and leave trails of kisses behind your neck and ear. You feel your pleasure build up once more and all you can let out are incoherent words. Taehyung could feel you were close with how much you were clenching around him.

"Come for me, baby," Taehyung urged, his voice filled with a mix of desire and desperation. "Let go."

With one final thrust, you felt yourself unravelling beneath him. Pleasure washed over you in a tidal wave as your hand tightened on the sheets below.

Taehyung's movements grew erratic as he chased his own release. With a low groan, he buried himself deep inside you as he found his own release. He buries his face in your neck as the waves of pleasure subsided, both of you breathless and spent from the intensity of it all.

He flipped you back onto your front before collapsing on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he caught his breath. "I love you so much," he whispered against your skin.

You ran your fingers through his hair lovingly, savouring this moment of intimacy between you. "I love you too," you replied softly. "More than words can say."

As the world outside faded away, you knew that this was just the beginning of a lifetime of love and passion with Taehyung by your side as you both fell asleep in each other’s embrace.

The day had finally come. You and Taehyung were ready to leave the village behind and embark on your long-awaited journey, you were ready to embrace the world beyond the shadows of Briarfield. But first, you had to say your goodbyes.

Your parents stood by the small, worn-down cottage that had been your home for as long as you could remember. The familiar creak of the door, the patches in the roof your father had mended over the years, the garden your mother tended to—it all felt so achingly nostalgic now. Your mother, tears already brimming in her eyes, reached out to hold your hands tightly.

“Oh, my sweet girl…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “It feels like only yesterday you were a little child, running through the fields. And now, you are leaving us, off to see the world with your husband.”

You choked back your own tears as you wrapped your arms around her. “I will miss you, Mama. So much.”

Your mother pulled back slightly, cupping your face with her hands. “Promise me you will write when you can. Tell me about all the places you visit and the adventures you have. I want to hear every detail.”

“I promise,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your father, though not an emotional man, could not hide the tears in his eyes. He stepped forward, pulling you into a tight embrace. “You’ve always been strong,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I am proud of you for choosing your own path. But remember, no matter how far you go, this will always be your home.”

You nodded against his chest, feeling the warmth of his familiar embrace one last time. When he pulled away, your father’s gaze shifted to Taehyung, who stood respectfully nearby, watching the exchange with a soft smile.

“Take care of her,” your father said, his voice turning more firm, though still gentle. “She’s everything to us.”

Taehyung stepped forward, his eyes full of sincerity. He took your father’s hand in his, shaking it firmly. “I will. You have my word, sir. I will keep her safe and do everything I can to make her happy.”

Your father’s expression softened, and with a nod, he stepped back to allow you both to continue your farewells.

Taehyung turned to your mother, bowing slightly out of respect. She took his hands in hers and said, “Thank you for bringing light into her life. I can see how much you care for her.”

“I love her with all my heart,” Taehyung replied softly, his voice steady. “And I promise to cherish her, always.”

Your mother smiled through her tears before she let him go.

With the goodbyes said, you and Taehyung turned toward his small carriage carrying all your packed belongings and some of Taehyung’s wares. But before you could take another step, Taehyung gently tugged you back, his hands cupping your face as he kissed you softly on the forehead. “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice full of warmth and affection.

You nodded, though tears brimmed in your eyes. “As long as you’re with me.”

He smiled and took your hand in his, lifting it to his lips for a gentle kiss. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, but this time, it was not from the cold, it was from the love that seemed to radiate from him in waves. “Together,” he whispered.

As the carriage started to move, Taehyung navigating it, you gazed at your surroundings, watching Briarfield slowly disappear behind a veil of mist and trees. A small part of your heart ached with the weight of leaving everything familiar behind, your parents, your home, the village where you had grown up—but you were also excited to finally see world beyond the once gloomy village.

He noticed the faraway look in your eyes and gently squeezed your hand. "You know," he said softly, "this isn’t goodbye forever. We will visit your parents soon. Perhaps once we've settled a bit, we can come back and spend time with them during our travels."

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with gratitude and relief. "You’d really do that? Even after everything?"

"Of course," Taehyung said, smiling. "I know how much they mean to you, and they’ve welcomed me like family. I want to make sure you never feel like you’ve truly left them behind."

His words brought comfort, and you leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder as the carriage rolled steadily along. Outside, the landscape was changing from the familiar fields and woods of Briarfield to new horizons.

With that, the two of you settled into a peaceful silence, your hands intertwined as the carriage carried you toward the future.

© strawberryjimin13 - all rights reserved, please refrain from copying, reposting, modifying or translating my work on any platform.

[1920sladydectective]

Romans V Elephants - Professors AU 2.9K

Here it is my loves, part one of my modern Professor x Student AU.

I hope you like it, hoping for it to be around 3/4 parts.

No smut in part one as its just the set up, but boy oh boy is it coming.

Let me know!!

tag list: @nikaachuuuu @shinyshayminflower @chocolate-quotes @fruitfulfashion @wolfessa @lia-winther @ivorydevil @borderline-fixated

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61817521/chapters/158064463

She's Got A Wicked Smile, Angel Eyes:

Gentle summer sun lingered on the autumn winds as you slipped through the ancient cobbled halls with a steady thwack thwack thwack. 

Cambridge was as imposing and beautiful as you’d hoped. It spoke for itself, history resting tenderly in every crack and crevice. You didn’t belong yet, but you were determined to pretend. You deserved your place here and each morning waking up in a tiny, poorly insulated room you reminded yourself of that. 

There was an odd balance here of knowing you were privileged to learn in such hallowed halls and rolling your eyes at the insensitivity of your comfortable, rich classmates. Each night out at a fancy pub had to be budgeted, beans instead of mince in your dinner, as they racked up tabs higher than your monthly food budget in an hour and then failed to turn up to their lectures. Still you smiled and nursed a cider, nodding as you discussed your latest charity shop find. That was cool here, trendy and sustainable, just as long as you pretended to have a Barbour coat and signet ring to wear with your £2.50 jumper. 

One such evening had drained you of all energy and thus you had overslept, curled obviously under a thick gingham duvet set. Now, as penance, you were dashing as fast as you could to your first lecture at half nine. It was naturally with your most important Professor. 

Professor Medarda was a legend. Her presence lingered around the Humanities buildings as some kind of God. A Professor of History, with a specialisation in Ancient Rome, she had seen more of the world and knew more of its jaded growth than you could ever hope to. She was precise, exacting and unforgiving. That’s to say, lateness to her was as much a sin as murder. 

You knew this theoretically, but feeling her amber eyes cut into you as you slipped into the room at 9:03 was entirely different. 

“You’re late,” Her gruff voice froze you in place, halfway to your seat. 

“I-Im sorry, I”

“And now you’re being disruptive, sit down and be quiet,” It was a command, wrapped in a sardonic smile. 

You sat, hands trembling in your lap, trying to absorb literally anything she said. 

Her classroom, distinct in its opulent furnishings and softer lighting, offered little comfort. Matters were made worse by your jittery, illegible notes and her closing statement. 

“Now, as I’m sure you know, I only accept two thesis proposals a year, and the other nine of you will have to work with the other Professors in the department,” Professor Medarda spoke plainly, deft fingers slamming a book on her desk shut, “I expect to have all of your proposals in my inbox by four o’clock on Friday,” 

It was Wednesday, and you had somehow missed this memo. You needed her as your thesis advisor. She was the best and you hadn’t fought this far just to settle for less than at the final hurdle. So the whole being late thing was great, you’d really put yourself on the map, really pissed her off. Your body grew tenser, as you mutely packed up and left the room amidst the throng of perfume and dark academia pinterest. 

Hours slipped by meaninglessly as you stared at your battered Dell laptop. You had direction, you had purpose and you had a boulder of anxiety blocking the flow of anything else. 

Romans V War Elephants. 

That’s all you’d written so far. You knew it was a good idea, with a rich pool of resources to rely on, and yet. There was always a yet with you. A crumbling Nature Valley bar made a sandy blanket on your lap. Your tea was cold and your mind was empty. 

Friday morning came and you had poured your soul into a Thesis proposal you were certain was not going to earn you a spot with your dream Professor. Her lecture was eleven am, and at no point did she even acknowledge the prospect of making a choice. You would know when you knew, it seemed. 

Tuesday, bleak as summer recessed into the fickle British memory and autumn summoned brutal winds. You were halfway through a disappointing panini, essay mostly written, when a gmail ding made you jump. Sriracha spilled down your front, clumsy hands mopping it with a tea towel. Onto Mount Laundry it went, as your eyes darted over this new email. 

Three times and still the words would not compute. 

‘..consideration, I am pleased to extend an offer to be your Thesis advisor,

Blah blah blah scheduling hours blah blah resource allowance blah

Professor Medarda’ 

Lukewarm ham and cheese forgotten, sharp and unsure breaths rattled against your laptop screen. Somehow, fuelled by Lidl energy drinks, you’d done it. She was yours and that almost guaranteed major success. 

Your email was redrafted nine times, as you sought to teeter on the edge between ass kissing and nonchalant. Three times a week you would spend time with her, learning as much as you could, crafting a paper you could be proud of. You needed to invest in a better alarm clock immediately. 

Cambridge was well and truly orange now, leaves and litter scattered everywhere as you fought to keep your hat on your head. Your next lecture was with Professor Medarda, and after that came your first supervision session. New stationary, thick ringed notebooks from your sister back home and a lipsticked smile, you could almost pretend that you were confident and prepared. Almost. Pale skin and twitching limbs gave it away. Quarter past twelve, and your wobbly knees lingered. 

She gathered her things silently, tucking them under a muscular arm and strolling into her adjourning office. A pause, rustling and the bounce of curls reappearing. 

“Do you wish to use your time or not?” 

Shit. “Yes, of course,” You fell over yourself to follow her, the elusive space suddenly enveloping you. 

Walls filled with aged wood shelves, perfectly varnished and housing more books than you could hope to own. Leather Bound tomes, first editions, signed copies. All amazing, all pretentious, all very Cambridge. A spiced scent lingered in the air, oaky and deep, as your gaze flicked to a dancing flame. 

“I thought you weren’t allowed candles in these buildings, just in case,” You regretted it before you’d even finished speaking. 

She snorted, her gaze set on yours, “Going to tell on me, child?” 

“Course not,” 

“Can be our secret then,” She passed you a small, china cup of tea, “Sugar?”

You shook your head, taking the black murky tea and adding a drop of milk.

It was like a warm blanket, soft and tender. Oh. So she could be nice. You nodded your thanks, and took a scalding sip. The heavy door clicked shut at her bidding, sealing you away into a little pocket world with her.  

“So,” Her strong voice commanded the room, “Show me why you’re worth it, Dear,” 

Not why the topic mattered or how sound your research was, why you were worth it. The room narrowed, as did your windpipe. Selling yourself was part and parcel of the academia world, but to her? You’d already used that energy for a babbled report. 

Still, smooth and confident words left your mouth, a dance and proposition in one. Your eyes had cleared, a dissociation sailing you through the initial conversation. Your charm bled through, thick and false, as the need to succeed overtook the doubt. As it always did. You were here after all. 

“Well, I suppose  this will be of use then,” She grinned, a haphazard throw landing a gilded book in your lap, relishing in your gasp. 

“This is impossible to source,” It was a book you’d seen snippets of, and nothing more, “I didn’t realise the University had one,” 

“It doesn’t,” The clink of a cup on a saucer, “I do,”

“T-That’s amazing,”

“Read it, make notes and write me a list of other resources you need but cannot find,” a thick stack of papers, essays presumably, “Whilst you do, I shall mark these,”

“Now?”

“Do you suggest some other time?” Her eyebrow raised, “This is rather the point of this time,” 

A laugh, high and choked, as you nodded. “Yes, I’ll get on it,”

Professor Medarda cleared a part of her desk for you to rest your possessions and you tugged the heavy chair forward against the patterned carpet so that you could read and type at the same time. You worked silently, as she laughed and rolled her eyes at the papers that red pen seemed to reduce to shreds. She seemed totally used to you, as if you were another little trinket in her space, and though she was still stern, eyes focused, her charismatic nature was potent here. Constant tea, biscuits and an apple when you wrinkled at the fourth bourbon cream. 

You tilted your head, taking the royal gala from her grasp. 

“First piece of fruit you’ve had since moving here?” 

“Well,” A slight giggle, “I had dried mango yesterday,”

“Big spender, expensive stuff,” 

“Not at Lidl,” A slight cringe in your soul. She was Waitrose through and through. You idiot. 

“Not at Lidl,” She repeated, smirk on her face, “Thanks for the tip,”

When your allotted time finished, you folded yourself away back into your satchel and thrust the book towards, with a slip of paper on top, “That’s the list, only managed to read half today,”

She crossed her arms, jewellery twinkling prettily, as she snatched one and handed back the other, “Finish it for Monday, we can discuss where it will fit in your thesis then,”

“You’d let me take it?”

“Is this your way of saying I shouldn’t trust you?”

“Of course not, Professor,” A gulp, “It’s just so precious,”

She was ushering you out with a smile, hand on your shoulder,”Then treat it as such, see you on Monday,”

The door shut. Pop. The bubble of her pocket world shattered around you, leaving a magic book and a grumbling stomach. 

When you’d told your mother that at Cambridge you wouldn’t be allowed to work, that it was against policy because of the shortened terms and immense workload, she had laughed in your face. No help from me, she had reminded you again and again. You’re on your own. Laughable, as if you hadn’t been fending for yourself for years. Now, as you bundled in your bed with a packet of crisps, you wished she was somebody she was not, somebody with endless money and kind words. You had your waitressing job, which had worked you into the ground, and now you lived off the pittance you had been able to save and a maintenance loan that left your account for rent before you’d even noticed it. 

In short, it was lunch OR dinner, and this time lunch had won out. Dinner was aforementioned crisps and a good helping of tap water, mixed with the nurturing words of your newest book. 

Weeks slipped by under the iron thumb of Ambessa Medarda, your workload heavier than ever as she steered you as if you were a little remote control sailboat. It was a wonder she managed to see any other students, you seemed forever in her office listening to her dulcet tones or cataloguing research papers. Sometimes, on less busy days, she lets you hang around to study rather than forcing you to go to the library. She seemed to read you as easily as her books, amber eyes welcoming and dangerous. 

“Some of the best places in the world to study,” Her voice started one wednesday, “and yet here you stay,”

“Bit too much noise for me,” You muttered half into a textbook, “Too many of Daddy’s credit cards,”

Her barked laugh brought you back, “Well, feel free then,”

You hadn’t meant to say that, not at all. You resembled a tomato, “Just prefer the quiet,”

A knock at the door saved you. Her Chinese food had arrived. It smelt divine, and you let out a little sigh. 

She sat eating, composed and methodical. Several times she had prompted you to eat your own lunch, until you meekly admitted you had none. Narrowed eyes pinned you in place. 

“Why?”

“More of a dinner perso-” A loud, unavoidable grumble from your torso. 

“Your stomach doesn’t seem to be,” Her chair creaked as she chucked you a small bag, gaze straight back at her things. 

It was a hot, slightly greased bag. Spring rolls. Twelve of them, warm and crunchy, begging to be eaten, “Are you sure, Professor?”

“Eat,” was the only word she gave you. 

Winter crept up on you, frozen air a shock as you walked back with groceries. Somehow you’d been in Cambridge for nearly two months and spent most of that time with Professor Medarda or curled on your plastic desk chair. Still, the magic of Christmas began to loom in the early November air. It came sooner and sooner, as did the expenses. That’s why you sat once again in the pub, this time with mulled wine and a mince pie, chattering away with your tiny circle of friends. 

“So,” Matilda asked, focusing directly on you,“Any developments? Any new friends? Cheap dinner deals?”

Fabulous, an audience to make you feel like a lifeless loser, “Not really, just been work work-”

“Work,” Nat interrupted with a giggle, “We know babe,” 

“At least you’ve got that sexy Professor to while away the days, I could climb her” Matilda continued, sipping her beer. 

You were a tableau, brows crinkled in confusion. “Climb who?”

“Professor Medarda, you tit,” Her eyes rolled, “Who else? Professor Daniels, the seventy-six year old?”

“I-I don’t, I mean she’s pretty I guess,” You stammered, “I don’t really see her like that,”

“Then you’re fucking blind,”

You laughed. Forced. Was Professor Medarda hot? You guessed her face was nice, all angular and sharp, with soft edges that made her seem inviting. She did have that towering frame, honeyed voice, plush curves. You were warm. It was not because of the wine. You pushed that confusing train of thought into a distant, long since abandoned station.

Something about that night had set you off balance, mind muddling over old interactions with a new rosy hue. She was nothing but professional, considerate and gentle, a guiding hand to your education. But her words, her voice, were they suggestive? Fuck. You hated your friends, they made everything confusing. That was why you were cold, that was why you were suffering. They had made you forget your scarf and gloves. It had nothing to do with finding your Professor attractive. 

She was late which was unusual. You were anxious, which was not. When she wandered in, a small bag in hand, your eyes met and you felt a jolt that had not been there a few days before. Was the golden glimmer brighter now? More alluring? You couldn’t tell. 

“Come on in then,” She muttered, key clicking pleasantly to unlock the office, “I grabbed us some pastries,” 

You beamed, taking the brown paper bag she offered, as you situated yourself in your chair. 

There was nothing majorly different and yet everything had changed. 

She was a beautiful, majestic thing and you felt like a lump of neglected, sprouting potatoes. If she noticed your repetitive glances she did not comment on them, merely continuing to offer feedback on your work and provide advice on what to explore next. You had a lot more than Romans V War Elephants written down now. 

The croissant was perfect, its flakiness distracting you for mere moments, before you fixated on a tiny bit of pastry attached to her red lips. A practiced tongue darted out to steal the offender, wetting her lips as she scrawled down words. Your stomach clenched. This nonsense was not going to end well. 

Finally, mercifully, the day’s session ended, and with it did the proximity that made your mind fuzzy.

It was bitter now, as she walked with you out of the Humanities building, colder than perhaps any other day yet. You murmured nonsense, distracted replies to her conversation and all at once she stopped you, abrupt and calculating. 

“You forgot your scarf today,” It wasn’t a question. 

“Y-yes,” You nodded, cheeks already red from wind burn, “Was in a rush,” 

“You have a twenty minute walk ahead of you,” She frowned, a ghost of concern and something else in her eyes, “Whereas my car is a few steps ahead,”

“I don’t-” Heated cashmere fabric collided with you, as her hands deftly wound her own scarf into a knot on your neck. 

“There you are,” She cooed, tucking it into your coat, “Can’t have you getting cold, Sweet Pea,”

“Thank you, Professor,” You almost slurred, mind fixated on something else, “I’ll give it back when I next see you,”

“No rush,” With that, she was climbing into her car with a wave. 

It was all you could think, smell, understand. Honey, loose leaf Earl Grey and the woodiness from the office candle.

Numb, dazed feet dragged you home, where you curled into sheets, scarf still on.

You were drowning in the smell of her. You wanted to bottle it, choke on it forever. 

Proper crush on your thesis advisor? Tick. 

Professor Ambessa Medarda was the most gorgeous woman you had ever met, and you were the shittiest, stupidest cliche. 

[himasgod]

King Deshret x Reader VI

Where you realize that you have returned to where it all began, and you make sure to attack the problem at its root.

(KING DESHRET IS BACK. Many of you will be wondering, hey, where is part V? Well, the answer is simple. I'm not uploading it in chronological order hehe, and that has been noticeable throughout the fanfic. I want you to first read this part without knowing the previous part, to make a little chronological disorder, which is what I like. Then, when I publish part V, you'll know where all this comes from heheje)

XVII.

You opened your eyes with a start, the echo of a stabbing pain still resonating in your chest. Your last memory was of Deshret’s cold betrayal, when his hand—the same one that once tenderly caressed your face—sacrificed you to satisfy Nabu Malikata’s whim. You had felt the warmth of life leave you, the weight of sacrifice crushing your soul, and darkness claiming you… but now, the desert air filled your lungs again.

Your gaze swept the place in disbelief. The palace was familiar to you, the golden walls and majestic columns unmistakable. The audience chamber was decorated for a solemn occasion, and in front of you was the marriage contract you had signed years ago.

Time had gone backwards. You had returned to the day your fate would be sealed, the one in which you gave your heart without suspecting the betrayal to come. But now, a spark of determination ignited within you. This time, you would change your destiny. You would not be a victim or a sacrifice. You would protect not only your life, but also your love, and you would make sure that your husband would never forget what you meant to him.

You took the pen with a firm hand, and to the amazement of the scribes and Deshret himself, you drew a new clause in the contract: an infidelity clause that demanded his complete loyalty to you. If he ever broke that promise, the consequences would be severe.

“Do you doubt me, my queen?” Deshret asked with a smile that hid a glint of curiosity.

“I just want to make sure that our union is protected,” you replied calmly, looking directly into his amber eyes.

The King, intrigued by your attitude, accepted without protest. His hand covered yours as he sealed the contract, and although his gesture was warm, you felt the responsibility to ensure that this time things were different.

XVIII

The next few days were filled with the bustle of wedding preparations, but you had something else in mind. While the servants decorated the palace, you worked on a special gift for Deshret. Under the guidance of Hermanubis, the most loyal of your friends, you commissioned the finest craftsmen to forge a bracelet of pure gold, adorned with elaborate inscriptions that you personally engraved.

These inscriptions were not mere ornaments; they were ancient runes designed to repel Allure, the supernatural power of attraction that some entities could exert over mortals. You knew that if you wanted to protect your love and your marriage, you must prevent any outside interference.

When your wedding day finally arrived, you wore a golden robe adorned with jewels that sparkled like the desert sun. Deshret awaited you at the altar, his imposing bearing matched only by the intensity with which he gazed at you.

“This is my gift to you,” you said, your voice barely concealing the pride and hope you felt. You offered the bracelet with both hands. “Promise me you will never take it off.”

The King took the bracelet and examined it closely. His fingers traced the engraved runes as a warm smile spread across his face. “I promise you, my queen,” he said solemnly before placing it on his wrist.

Your hands met, and in that instant you knew you had taken the first step toward protecting that which you held dear.

XIX

As time went on, your and Deshret’s relationship blossomed. Every anniversary and birthday, you gave him ornaments similar to the bracelet, each decorated with protective runes that reinforced your promise to each other. He accepted them proudly and wore them always, as a symbol of his love for you and the promise he had made to you on your wedding day.

However, your happiness was put to the test when Nabu Malikata arrived at the palace. The Goddess of Flowers was an imposing figure, her hypnotic beauty seeming to fill every corner with an almost tangible power. She attempted to use her Allure to captivate Deshret, certain that no one could resist her power.

But to her amazement, the King remained unmoved. He treated you with the same love and devotion he had always shown, completely ignoring the goddess’s attempts to attract his attention.

Frustrated, Nabu Malikata noticed the bracelet he wore and tried to persuade him to take it off.

“This bracelet represents a promise,” Deshret replied firmly, “and I have no intention of breaking it.”

The goddess, accustomed to always getting what she wanted, frowned. But her frustration only grew with time.

XX

One night, Nabu Malikata took advantage of a celebration to get Deshret drunk, hoping the alcohol would weaken his will. While he was sleeping, she tried to remove the bracelet from his wrist, but she encountered an unexpected obstacle: a blood lock, a spell that could only be deactivated with your blood.

At that moment, the chamber doors swung open, and you entered accompanied by two servants.

“Take him back to our chambers,” you commanded, your voice as calm as it was deadly.

Your eyes met Nabu Malikata’s, and in that instant, a silent exchange took place. Your gaze was filled with knowledge and defiance, a clear message:

"I know exactly who you are and what you intend to do. But I will not allow it."

The Goddess of Flowers stepped back slightly, aware that she had lost this battle.

XXI

That night, as you cared for Deshret, he woke and took your hand with a gesture full of remorse.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his eyes meeting yours with sincerity. “I should never have allowed anything to even try to come between us.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you told him with a soft smile. “Because I know that this time, you choose me, always.”

From that night on, Nabu Malikata never interfered in your relationship again. Though she remained an ally of the kingdom, she knew that the bond between you and Deshret was unbreakable.

XXII.

Over time, your and Deshret’s love became the foundation of a prosperous kingdom. You ruled together with justice and wisdom, uniting the desert under your leadership.

Years later, as you looked out over the vast sea of ​​sand from the palace terraces, Deshret approached you. He wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on your shoulder.

"I had a strange dream today, my queen, one that has been roaming around in my head all these hours. Nabu Malikata stood between our marriage, and I fell into her arms. However, repentant, I made us turned back time… so we could live our lives again."

He grabbed your hand and began to kiss it with his lips, the whole back of your hand

"I would die for you. I would stay months, years, lost in the great deserts looking for your love. I would fight for you. I would kill for you. The massive golden walls of this palace cannot compare to your beauty. You are my greatest treasure, my queen” he whispered.

And in that moment, you knew you had beaten fate. This time, eternity was on your side.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

[iiseult]

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝐹𝑜𝓊𝓇: 𝑀𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝐿𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒲𝒾𝒻𝑒

CWs →  BALDWIN OILS HIMSELF UP, angst, love letters, themes of war and death, historical inaccuracies, slow burn, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, eventual smut (once reader and baldwin are both over 18), leprosy, time-period accurate sexism

Wordcount: 3.3k

Note: This might be my favorite chapter. Please let me know your thoughts, and pay special attention to the cross necklace. You'll see what I mean. <3

It was not so dramatic, the way his illness progressed, but progress it did. The Holy Disease was inevitable, and he’d always known that. Six months and he was losing sight in his left eye, his peripheral vision effectively ceasing to exist. Twelve months and the eye was becoming clouded and sapped of its color, like something bleached by the sun, only a baby blue now when it used to be so much deeper. Eighteen months and everything through the eye was covered in an indispersable layer of silver mist. And then there was his little finger, the poor little finger on his left hand which he could no longer feel, and when he commanded it to move, it was as if a phantom were possessing it. If it weren’t for the fact that he could see it moving, wiggling back and forth, he likely wouldn’t have any idea whether or not it was really happening. Often he frowned at it in concentration, exercising his will over it and forcing it to move, desperately trying to feel something. Every time he was forced to give up, frustrated. However, the majority of his skin and all of his features were still perfectly intact, and for that he was grateful. 

That September he fell ill with fever. Forty-two days and nights he laid in bed, watching drowsily as the sun made its daily voyage across the heavens, warming his too-warm skin and blinding his aching eyes. In periods of occasional lucidity his thoughts lingered only on you. He would see a flash; then the fullness of your lips, the sweet curve of your neck, the shape of your back, and were you wearing your sapphire today? He could picture it clearly, lying against the firm softness of your full bosom, gleaming like a winking eye. Ah, sick mind. Shameful thoughts. He redirected them. What of the kingdom, his kingdom? What of his sister Sybilla, and her son, his baby nephew Baldwin V? They did not come to visit because Sybilla claimed she couldn’t bear the sight of her beloved brother in so much pain. And then his mother was dead, a few months buried. Nobody left to come visit.

He continued to read during this time. He was brought books on war and strategy, classic and ancient tales of love and romance, history, and Greek literature, of which he had always been very fond. Perhaps it was these such books that gave him his next brilliant idea. 

He sent for ink and parchment, lots of parchment, and when he felt well enough he sat up in bed and took up his supplies and got to work. Pages upon pages he produced, many times rambling and repetitive in nature because of his fever-addled mind, but always strikingly sincere. From his very heart he wrote, hours each day, and he didn’t share his work with anyone. When Raymond visited he would conceal everything under the covers, or else slide them under the bed. 

It was a woman, always the same woman, that he wrote about or wrote to or described in as much detail as he could. Each time he painted a picture of her with his words, a new facet of her beauty was revealed, a new angle, a new reason to love her. And he knew that he did love her. Completely enchanted. Utterly enraptured. Such tender feelings, such longing! He found himself writing cliches while trying to adequately express the extent of his feelings. And each one of these pieces of writing was addressed to you. 

“By chance, I met you in the library. I was playing chess. Raymond likes to cheat when I look away from the chessboard because he says the battlefield is just like a game of chess, and in a real battle you must never look away because your opponent does not always play fair. But I would forfeit all my knights and rooks for you, so I looked away from him and towards you instead. 

“And when you looked at me, my heart leapt in my chest and a feeling like warm water cascading down my shoulders overtook me and I could not speak. I held my hand out to you and did your bidding, and then I could stand it no longer so I went away. The warmth was becoming unbearable. I was overcome. As if I were a cauldron of boiling water, I burned and then softened and turned pink as something bubbled up inside me. I know all this happened for you. And when ever I thought of you and your exquisite beauty for the rest of the day the same feeling came, tingling in all my nerves. I thought then that it was not unlike having a fever. 

“But now I know better, and now that I know with refreshed memory what fever is like, I can say that it’s nothing like you. This fever is harsh and unrelenting. This fever is painful, not pleasurable. There is a heat threatening to overtake me so that I never cool down. But what is this feeling that comes when ever I see you? Dearest Lady, I suspect that this must be love.”

But those were the good days. Those days he could think clearly and articulate properly. So many more of his days were spent too sick to stay awake, drifting in and out of this mortal plane, tangled up in a haze of confusion and stale bedsheets, having long since sweated through them. 

His birthday passed. Sixteen, finally, but he didn’t know it until days later, when came his next period of lucidity. His sister sent a gift– fresh, new robes made of silk to soothe his raw skin, embroidered in rich, gold thread. Raymond brought him a quill made from a peacock feather, blue and green and shimmering. It made him laugh when he saw it. Raymond was referencing a joke between the two of them, where the peacocks in the garden often interrupted their conversations with their awful, hideous squawking (for such magnificent looking creatures, their calls were surprisingly grating). And from you, lying on the bedside table, was a parcel of brown parchment tied with a thick white ribbon. He knew that ribbon, for he had seen you wear it in your hair once. 

He pulled it loose and placed it aside, intending on keeping it on his person at all times so he might always carry a piece of you wherever may go. He peeled back the paper, sliding it off to reveal a mahogany box. It was unremarkable, but his heart was beating wildly in his throat as he flipped up the delixate metal latch and opened the sleek lid. Resting against the silk-lined interior were two things; a large glass jar full of an amber-colored liquid, sealed with a cork; and a delicate chain with a plain gold cross hanging from it. And then, under the jar, he saw something else– the corner of a folded piece of parchment. A note! He snatched it up and unfolded it hungrily. It was written in your pretty feminine hand, which sent a fiery gust of heat blasting through his veins. 

“Your Majesty, happy sixteenth birthday. I know this is but a meager gift for a king, but I fear I cannot match your wealth or creativity. The necklace is one of the only things I brought from home. I wore it round my own neck every day then, and I do believe it has served me quite well, given my current position as queen. I am giving it to you in hopes that, God willing, your condition might improve. The oil is what I use after my baths to soothe dry skin, especially in these coming winter months. Perhaps it will help you in a more practical sense. Many birthday wishes, and prayers for a speedy recovery. Sincerely, your wife, Y/N.” 

He pressed the letter to his chest, almost as if he were trying to become one with it. Then he took the delicate gold chain between his fingers and unclasped it, draping it across his neck and securing it again. It fell against his collarbones and glistened handsomely, feeling very cold against his feverish skin, and yet his heart warmed when he thought of you wearing this very chain, day in and day out. What had touched your skin was now touching his. The very notion was enough to make him shiver. 

He did not take the necklace off again, not even for his bath that evening, or after it when he retired to his chambers for the remainder of the night. 

Baldwin shrugged off his bathrobe and layed, completely nude, on his silk sheets, where the jar of oil from you was waiting. He savored the feeling of its cool glass against his hands, still rife with fever, and then pressed his cheek to its surface, deeply inhaling the rich scent of the night air which drifted through the open window. To know that your hands had touched that very jar made him pulse with excitement. That you had thought of him with some amount of tenderness, that you had thought of him at all, touched him. 

Carefully he pulled the cork from the mouth of the jar with a gentle “pop,” and set it aside. He brought the jar up to his nose. It smelled sweet and flowery, very fresh. Clean. Comforting. Smelled like you. He sucked in another deep breath through his nose, letting the gentle fragrance wash over him and sink into his pores. Then he dipped two fingers into the jar and spread the thick liquid along his forearm, coating the skin there thoroughly. It was silky and cool and left a gloss in its wake. His dry, parched skin drank it up greedily, plumping up almost immediately. It was delicious. 

He poured a dollop of the stuff into his hands and rubbed them together, relishing the feeling of his slick palms sliding against each other. Languidly he massaged it into his chest, his arms, and his robust shoulders. He threw back his head and slowly worked the pads of his fingers into his delicate neck, feeling the tendons there roll beneach his touch. A small sound escaped his throat. Then he moved his hands lower, not neglecting a single inch of flesh. He splayed his fingers out over the white planes of his thighs, well-toned as they were, and then slid lower, past his knees and to his ankles. It was pure bliss. 

Once he was satisfied, he popped the cork back in the jar and leaned over, placing it on the side table, then blew out the candle, laying down finally with a sigh. His body sunk into the cloud of his mattress, his aching limbs met with instant relief. Beneath his pillow was your letter and ribbon. He slid his hand under it to feel for them, just to make sure they were still there, and once he was convinced, he slipped right under into a dreamless sleep. 

The very next morning, he woke to find that his fever had miraculously relented, leaving his forehead cool and dry. Amelia immediately informed you of his recovery, and though you were relieved, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from your shoulders, you couldn’t help but wonder how he had recovered literally overnight. It seemed nobody knew the answer, not even the physicians that came to examine him throughout the rest of the day. But perhaps it was better not to question it. 

Baldwin had but a few days to enjoy his renewed health before he thrust himself urgently back into work. During his prolonged illness, the ever-fickle political state of Jerusalem had become alarmingly unstable. The Saracens were threatening to wage war, led by the wise and formidable Saladin and his army, rumored to be made up of some 20,000 men. So Baldwin was faced with a harrowing decision, with thousands of lives hanging in the balance. Should he send his men to battle despite their meager numbers, where they would inevitably be met with death and destruction? Most of his knights had already been laid to waste, leaving behind largely unskilled fighters, and only 4,000 of them at that. And could he fulfill his kingly duty to fight alongside them, or would his frail body betray him? Such questions made him wonder if he was even worthy of his title. 

Self-loathing ate at him over the coming week until finally, he was forced to take action. Reynald de Châtillon had been pressuring him incessantly to fight, no matter the risk, arguing that it is God’s will and therefore Jerusalem could never fall. Baldwin wasn’t so sure. But deep in his heart, he knew he had no more time left to waste. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

The morning was fair and the early sunlight mild, falling through the trees in pale yellow streaks. The trees had been turning all shades of red and orange for the past month, and now they were withering brown, falling, falling. The smell of smoke and chill was perpetual, and very pleasant. The month of November. Autumn in its prime. You woke up that morning not to the melodic calling of birds, which you had become accustomed to, nor the gentle rustling of leaves stirred by the wind, but the muffled cries of Amelia as she came to rouse you from your slumber. Though she had stuffed a handkerchief against her mouth to dampen the sounds, it was no use, and she could not stop it. You had woken up before she even made it to your bedside.

“Oh Amelia, whatever is the matter?” you asked, sitting up in bed with alarm and looking at her, concern heavy in your gaze. You’d seen her upset before, and it wasn’t an uncommon thing to see, but never had she been so outwardly aggrieved in your presence. The poor girl’s shoulders shook with every breath she took. As gently as you could, you got out of bed and guided her to sit on the edge of your mattress, where she promptly collapsed. 

“Oh, Your Majesty,” she wailed, looking up at you through tear-filled eyes, “the most awful, terrible thing has happened!”

Her bottom lip trembled, and her cheeks seemed to be flushing darker by the second. In fact, she seemed on the verge of hyperventilating, sensitive soul that she was. 

“What? What’s happened, dear girl?” you urged, wiping a runaway tear from her chin. An anticipatory panic had begun to build up inside you. All you could think was that somebody must be dead. Suddenly you were very worried for Matilda, whose frail, brittle bones would likely not survive an accident, which was a very real possibility. In her line of work, what with all the manual labor, you often feared for her health, though she always insisted on being fine. But those thoughts were soon completely dashed from your mind. 

“The Saracens…they’ve come! They’re here to take Jerusalem!” 

You were stunned into speechlessness. You did not quite know the full gravity of such a thing, of how dire this could be for your whole way of life, and that of your mother before you and of her mother before her. How much would change, were the crusaders to fall! But Amelia’s next words gave you a relative idea. 

“They say they’ve brought 20,000 men to Montisgard, to match our army of 4,000. Oh, Your Majesty, we are lost, lost!” she wailed, burying her tear-stained face in your shoulder. For a moment after that she continued talking, uttering those same words over and over again, “lost, lost,” as if trying to understand the meaning of them. But to you the message had been clear enough, and your heart dropped all the way down to your bowels and all you could think was; Baldwin. 

Baldwin, the sweet fair-haired boy who’d kissed your hand like it was a holy relic on your wedding day; the one who’d known you well enough from a scant few glimpses here and there to know which gifts to buy for your birthday– and, for the record, they had been the most thoughtful gifts you’d ever received; the one who, unbeknownst to you, prayed for you every night and every morning; the one who had loved you since the beginning. That one, going to fight in a war he was doomed to lose. 

And then you were crying too. Great, fat, burning tears glided down your cheeks and into your mouth and onto yours and Amelia’s dresses as you clutched her to you. Your breath could come only in heaving gasps, ripping through your chest painfully. So great was your pain! You could not see that boy die. Then came an image of his broken body lying alone on the muddy battlefield, indistinguishable from all the others in death. Snot dripped down your nose. You cared not. 

Matilda opened the door and came in quietly. Your eyes pleaded with her not to deliver to you any more bad news. Her face, drawn into a solid, impassible mask, revealed nothing, except that it looked wan and much older. In her hands was a towering stack of parchment, so tall that it obscured her entire chest from your view. 

“Your Majesty,” she called demurely, much softer than usual, “before his departure this morning the King instructed me to bring these for you.” 

Rather violently, you wiped the tears from your eyes and wordlessly took the stack into your own hands, taking great care not to drop any. Everything was blurry but you flipped through the pages nonetheless, sinking further and further into a state of hysteria as you did so, realizing with a pang of horror that each and every sheet was a letter from Baldwin, addressed to you. There must have been a thousand of them, enough for one every day since your marriage.

Three years worth of love letters. 

You clamped a hand over your mouth, trying in vain to abate the new volley of tears welling up inside you. Never had you known such love and devotion from another human being, and you couldn’t even say thank you.

Or goodbye.

As you flipped through the pages, you became grave and still. 

“My Dear Little Wife, you were beautiful today. I could smell your rose-scented oil from down the corridor. How I love that good smell…”

“My Dear Little Wife, would that I could take you out to the city on my horse, that your beloved arms could wrap tightly around me as we gallop across the orange earth…”

“My Dear Little Wife, as the imminence of war falls upon me, I know that my time may soon come to an end. If I could wish for one thing in all the world, it would not be to cure myself of this accursed affliction, but to have more days to spend living in bliss under the same roof as you. To know you is to love you, my dear. I am sorry if we lose this battle and you are stripped of your queenly title. I am sorry for all that might happen then. Understand that I fight for you, ma cherie. With all the love and tenderness one man can hold in his heart, I bid you goodnight, as your faithful husband, Baldwin IV.”

Yes, that was it, the last letter in the stack, dated only yesterday, and presumably at night. You promised to yourself, and whatever else was listening, that in the event that he did not return, you would read and cherish each and every letter. But you could not dwell on that thought. He would come back. He must. Because you needed him. 

“Heavenly father, if you would bring him back to me, I swear I will spend every last day by his darling side.” 

//taglist: @lzsia @eatmeandbirthmeagain @likeanecho344 @lunargraveyard @yoursoulisinyourkeepingalone @stickparrot

if anyone else would like to be added, please comment to let me know!

[morgana-ren]

Come down to the Black Sea VII

Merry Honda-Days and Toyotathon everyone, here's the latest chapter of that story that everyone has forgotten existed lmao

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Mentions of violence, blood, attempted assault, slight sexual content, one very pissy, overgrown fish and bad writing. It's getting worse folks, much much worse. Soon there will be plenty of uh debauchery for all. I swear.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

Who is the first to burn?

 What an absolute hell-day. 

The café had been swarming with customers to the point of overflow, and you'd barely gotten a chance to rest your throbbing, aching feet— or even take a damned breath without someone practically breathing down your neck for you. 

With the entire island abuzz with the news of the gruesome beachside slayings, anyone with free time and not much else to do had congregated in social forums and restaurants to speak in hushed tones and exchange gossip. 

Small communities don't have much going on in the way of excitement, so they swarm like bees to honey to any sort of scandal, and it seems that a potential murderer walking among the population is the best form of news to get people in all up in a bluster. Sure, the police had said it was likely an animal attack in their press conference, but people love to talk, and it turns out that a murder is much more titillating than a displaced predator. 

Oh yes, the tips had been great, but you could barely feel your legs, and exhaustion was rapidly taking hold. You’d had another date scheduled for tonight, but in the wake of things, you weren't sure if you could even keep your eyes open long enough to cancel it. A quick apologetic text and a promise to make up for it later is the best you can muster before the dreaded drive home. 

Thoughts of crawling into bed and sleeping through the next afternoon occupy your head, mind on autopilot as you navigate your way back to your apartment. The winding road takes you by the shore, and you can't help but stare longingly for a brief moment before the light turns green. Twilight turns the sky a velvet purple, ocean lapping gently against the sands, and once more, your thoughts turn towards the sea. On nights like this, you’d used to visit the beach, basking in the silence and peace of nature. Truth be told, you miss it terribly; it feels as if a piece of yourself is missing as you deny yourself the opportunity to visit your once special place. 

The vicious sea creature lurking beneath the waves has robbed you of that. 

Vindictive, but more so, utterly drop-dead exhausted, you take the turn the opposite way towards your home– and duvet cover tantalizingly waiting on your bed– instead. 

It’s a rink-dink pop-up apartment that costs more to live in than it likely cost to build the entire thing. It’s not much, but it’s home, and it’s yours– and right now, there’s nothing in the world you want more than to be inside, curled up under the covers layered on your cheap, shitty mattress. 

You’re almost home-free, pulling into your designated parking spot when you spot her : A sun-tanned, leather-skinned older woman that you'd rarely seen without a bent cigarette between her bony fingers is smoking just outside the stairwell. 

Lisa. The resident nosy neighbor. Clearly, news about the beach had reached her as well, as she’s perched in the stairwell like a vulture waiting to pounce on the rest of the unsuspecting tenants and entrap them into a lengthy conversation about her thoughts on it. 

Eyes almost rolling out of your head, you can’t help the audible sigh. You don't have the energy to converse with her, but you steel yourself, knowing it's entirely unavoidable. She's clearly hooking for conversation, several butts lying scattered around her ancient brown sandals. The best you can do is try to cut it short– as short as you can with a woman like Lisa. 

You almost feel bad, being so catty and dismissive of her. She's a very nice lady; she's just exceptionally chatty– and nearly deaf to social cues— and you aren't feeling up to it right now. The only thing you give a good goddamn about is the sink of a pillow. 

“Hey Lisa,” You stifle the sigh that threatens to escape, pulling your bag from the passenger seat and slamming the car door shut with a tired swing of your hip. 

“Howdy kiddo!” She smiles at you, light from the setting sun spotting through the patterned holes in her wide brim straw hat as she nods at you in acknowledgement, clearly gearing up for the whole conversation with barely contained eagerness. “You hear the news?”

“Yep,” You fumble through your bag for your keys, trying to give a clear hint that you aren't in the mood for a chat today, even knowing it's pointless. “Been at work all day. Hard not to. You know how people here talk.”

“Well, I'm glad they let you outta there before it got too dark. It's not safe out there anymore. Not like it was when I was young. You know, used to be you could sleep on the beach and not worry about a thing.” 

That was never the case. Lisa sees things through nostalgia glasses, as is evidenced by her attire, which might have been considered hip at one point before you were even born. 

“Yeah, it's a real shame.” 

“It’s a shame alright,” She inhales another drag from her cigarette, ashing onto the concrete beneath her as she shakes her head. “They were probably good kids. Hurts my heart to see folks so young gone before their time.” “Who?” 

“The kids that were killed— Well, kids to me ,” She purses her wrinkled lips. “About your age, if I had to wager. Nothin’ but youngins. They were having some kind of party on the beach when the tragedy occurred. Such a pity their life was cut short like that, especially in that way. What a travesty.” “Yeah, it’s awful,” You yawn, half intentionally, half unable to help it. “I’ve been warning the city council for years that they’re infringing on mother nature, and she’s going to bite back one day. Looks like she has now. She can be brutal, when she wants to be. You know, I told them about that new harbor. You seen that thing? Like we don’t have enough around here. Pokes right at the boundary line.” You nod, not really sure what else to say. It’s clear she wants to spark a discussion, but your head is a mass of fog and exhaustion, and you’re drawing a blank. Thankfully, she seems to get the hint, frowning slightly as she moves to let you pass up onto the stairwell.

“Right, well, you must be tired– you take care now, girlie. Don’t be staying out too late. Something is stirring on this island. Been here long enough to know something ain’t right.”

“I won’t, Lisa. I’m going straight up to bed. I’m wasted.” 

“Good,” She flicks the butt onto the floor, stamping it beneath her shoes before reaching into a half-empty pack for another, apparently still set on fishing for conversation from another unaware person just trying to get home for the day. “Heart can’t take losing anyone else. Old lady can only take so much heartbreak.”

You offer her a sincere smile before continuing on your way. She’s a genuinely sweet woman– lonely, if you had to guess. She doesn’t seem to have any children or family of her own, thinking of herself as some kind of den-mother to the apartment instead. Normally, you’d be more sympathetic to her, but right now, all you can think about is crawling into bed and curling into a ball. 

“Take it easy, Lis. Don’t stay out too late either.” 

You drag yourself up the metal stairs, footsteps heavy and echoing off the metal steps and against the concrete walls. With one last look at the sunset, you flip through your keyring, more than ready to fall into the sheets. You insert the key and–

The door handle turns without you needing it. 

That’s odd. You’re damned sure you locked the door today. Pretty sure, anyways. It’s possible you didn’t. You were a bit preoccupied, after all. It might’ve been one of those little mental slipups. Either way, you’re too tired to worry about it. With a shrug, you kick open the door with a nudge of your boot, hurtling your body through the archway like a stone. 

Your apartment is dark, and left with a pounding headache from overwork and undernutrition, you don’t even bother with the lights. Instead, you fling your bag onto the sofa, where you resolve to deal with it tomorrow. Right now, you want something to calm your churning stomach. Lunch breaks are a fantasy when things get so busy, and you’d only been able to shovel a few bites into your mouth between rushes.

Poking your head in the fridge, you note over the half-eaten leftovers strewn about the shelves, something foul-smelling clearly hiding amongst them. Whatever it is, it’s permeating what little good food you do have, pulling out a few things of tupperwear only to throw them back in disgust, shaking your hand off as if it could wave away the stench.

No dinner tonight, it seems. Even if the lack of food wasn’t enough to turn you off, the smell certainly is, and waiting for takeout sounds like the worst idea you’ve ever had. Tea for dinner it is. 

The stove hums to life, the burner transforming into a bright, scalding red as you fish the teapot from one of your cabinets. It’ll take a few moments for the water to reach boiling point, and it should be just long enough for you to slip out of your day clothes and into something far more comfortable. Nothing in your life has ever sounded better than getting out of these pants and into something light and airy and comfortable.

The hallway is dark, and you nearly trip over a pair of shoes you must’ve left there earlier. The last few days have left you scatterbrained and in disarray, and clearly you’d been letting yourself lose sight of your mental faculties. Forgetting to lock the door, kicking off shoes in the hallway, and who knows what else you’d been neglecting. Tomorrow will have to be an organizational day– but you’ll deal with that tomorrow when you have the ability to process it.

Fumbling through the dark, you manage to find the closet, shucking off your shirt and kicking your pants off your legs as you reach for a clean tank top and a pair of sleep shorts on the shelf. You hear your phone vibrate in the pocket of your work pants, but you can’t be assed with it right now. You don’t even bother fishing it out as you kick your pants to the side. There is no one in the world you feel like talking to right now. Not even your scorned date who is probably bummed you decided to cancel. You are too, to be fair, but you wager you wouldn’t be much fun right now. 

As you unclasp your bra and slide the straps off your shoulders, you could swear you hear some kind of thump behind you. Creaky, miserable old apartment has you scoffing under your breath. Probably the damned AC unit thunking out again. Yet another chore to add to the list of shit to do tomorrow– not that the superintendent will do anything. As far as he is concerned, you pay to sleep here, and that’s that. 

The teakettle starts to whistle from the other room, and you shuffle your dirty clothes to the side, shutting the door to the closet and stepping back into your bedroom. Your eyes haven’t quite adjusted to the darkness, but you swear you see movement .  

It’s far too dark to truly observe anything in the shadows, but it leaves you with the lingering feeling that something is wrong . Something that sends your hackles raising and a shiver down your spine. Nothing seems out of place, but something feels off . 

You try to shake it clean, ignoring the strange bristling that has the small hairs on the back of your neck rising, opting for the kitchen instead. Everything that has happened lately must have your brain fried and your nerves on end. Or you might just be exhausted. 

Yeah, that seems right. 

The kettle steams and pops as you pull it from the burner, filling an old mug with the water and stirring in a teabag. It smells adequate, and you're halfway through inhaling when you swear again that something moves out of the corner of your eye. You haven’t slept properly in days, and the dull light of the setting sun must be playing tricks. Shadows dancing on the walls. The awful news playing on the edge of your mind, making you paranoid. Whatever it is, it can wait.

It's nap time, and not even the God of the sea himself could stop you from it. Nor can that edging fear that grips at the fringes of your mind and won’t relinquish its grip. 

From the hallway, you can see the finishing line. The pale outline of your bed in the darkness, soft and waiting, inviting and utterly perfect. You don't bother flicking on the lights to settle in first. It's so close now, you can practically feel the pillow. The tea goes onto the nightstand, and you're not sure that you'll be awake by the time it's cool enough to drink. You fall into the feathery mattress, so ready for sleep that you swear you're already practically half way there. Your eyes close, not even bothering to worm under the covers. 

Finally . 

Your body sinks into the feather bed, limbs falling limp and relieved exhale inevitable. It’s unbelievably comfortable in a way you could swear it never has been before, and it feels like you’re wallowing in a cloud. It’s so close now, the sweet, lovely embrace of rest–

But that strange, terrible feeling stays sharp on your mind, ever insistent and refusing to quiet despite your whinging mental protests. 

Something has you on edge. Some subtle thing that doesn't feel quite right. Something uncanny and off that has you shifting restlessly. Your body is so exhausted that you can barely think straight, but something raw and primal and cold has lodged itself in your gut, refusing to let go. 

You try to ignore it. Try to shrug it off as typical weird day strangeness. You flip onto your back, trying desperately to will yourself into the sleep you'd been so desperate for. Your stomach churns, anxiety and adrenaline racing through your veins for no real discernible reason, and even as you grasp for rest, it slips through your fingers. 

The short hairs of your body stand on end, that dreadful feeling of being observed without your knowledge edging into your mind. What was once a persistent tired warps into a cold dread, your heart pounding, something urging you to run–

Your eyes open of their own volition, scanning around for something . Something abnormal, something wrong. You're greeted by nothing but blackness, but you swear, you could swear —

“You humans are so dull. No wonder you’re all half dead already.”

You did not imagine that. Your eyes dart in the direction of the noise, blood like ice and hands beginning to shake. Body paralyzed in fear, refusing to move. That voice, it sounds like—

“It's a– how you say– modern fucking marvel you haven't been killed off already.”

Sparking to life like an old motor, your body shoots up off the mattress, heart thrumming in your ears and legs quaking but ready to bolt. Your feet hit the cheap carpet, knees bent and poised to flee. How is it possible, how is it possible?

A heinous cackle resounds through the room, echoing off the thin walls of your apartment. That hideous laugh that haunted your dreams the first time you'd heard it. 

“T-Tomura?”

This has to be a nightmare. It has to. 

A frantic look around greets you with two horrible red eyes in the shadows, glowing faintly in the dark. Somewhere in the dim light, you can make out the shine of ivory teeth, beset by twin sets of fangs, bared in a snarl. Your hand slaps the nightstand, determined to prove to yourself you must be losing it. A flick of the light on your table only proves true your worst fear. 

He’s here.

Like a horrid shadow, a monster clad in black, a figure stands in the corner of your room bearing down on you. Tall and imposing, menacing as he glares you down with horrible red eyes.Whatever reason he’s here, it cannot be good. Your mind swims through memories of your last encounter: The ferocity, the viciousness, the vindictive and sincere way he’d lunged at you. He’d wanted you dead– and now he’s here to finish the job. 

A desperate rabbit cornered by a fox and left with no other options and, frankly, nothing to say to him, you bolt . 

Like a newborn fawn on stilted legs, you tear towards the door of your bedroom, almost tripping over a pair of wayward pants. You barely manage to catch yourself on the wall, scrambling to right your balance. There's heavy football behind you like the beat of a drum, approaching inhumanly fast. You claw at the door frame, desperate for the extra momentum. Another cruel laugh, this time immediately behind you.

He's on you before you can even manage a scream, large hand encircling your neck, sharp nails dimpling painfully into the soft skin. Squealing and dizzy, he rips you to your feet with a fluid and disconcerting ease, tossing you back on the mattress with a shove of his arm. 

You try to scramble backwards on the bed, efforts squandered as his frigid, clawed fingers wrap themselves around your ankle, yanking you forward once more. Fear and horror mix a caustic cocktail in your gut, kicking fruitlessly at your assailant. His soft chuckle is almost somehow more dastardly than his shrill bark of laughter, sending a riptide of terror through you as he approaches, your leg held in his unrelenting iron grip. 

“How is this possible?” The words force themselves from your throat, your hands clutching the sheets as if they could protect you somehow. “You can't— it's not possible!”

“You arrogant little idiot,” he spits, a guttural growl overtaking the ends of his sentence. “You don't know what I'm capable of. But you'll find out.”

“But you're— your tail and— But –” 

His other hand curls into the neckline of your tank top, the fabric audibly stretching between his fingers. “ Disgusting , isn't it?”

He pushes forward, your head pulling instinctively backward as he leans closer. An overly large hoodie envelops his upper body, with an ill-fitting pair of black jeans riding low on his hips. The hood is pulled over his head, pasting a smattering of frazzled silver hair to his forehead and over his face, leaving only his chapped, snarling mouth visible to you. 

“ How ?”

Another derisive laugh, mouth curling into a twisted grin. “I'm capable of all sorts of things you can't even fathom.”

The metallic, acrid scent of copper becomes palpable and assails your nostrils as he leers over you, and even in your terror, you begin to notice suspicious, dark stains spattered over the fabric of his ill-fitting clothing. Sand stubbornly layers in the creases, rubbed obstinately to the cheap cotton, and you notice strange rips and tears far too clean to be organic and ‘hip’ all over his attire. 

Still, it’s not until you see the barely visible logo for a local college, bloody and half-torn from where it had been ironed on, that it hits you. 

The clothes aren't his. They can’t be. 

He took them. From his victims.

“Jesus— it was you !”

“You'll need to be more specific,” he grins. 

“The beach! Those college kids— the massacre— you killed them!”

He rolls his slitted eyes, an obstinate sense of  pride still shining through his dismissive expression. “Don't act surprised . You thought someone else had finally had enough of your kind to do something about it? Don't be stupid.”

“God— how could you? They were innocent—”

Snorting air through his nostrils, he scoffs. “Innocent? There's no such thing for one of you ,” He pushes your back further onto the mattress, torso leaning down and head pushing closer until he's so near that you can feel his breath puff on your collar bones as he scents you. “Besides, it's your fault.” 

“I didn't kill them!” 

“But you made me do it. Didn't you?” 

“What are you talking about?” You try to shove at him, feeling his chest against yours. The burn in the back of your thigh from how he’s stretching your leg wails and whines, but it’s a dull roar compared to the cacophony of fear that blares in your brain like a siren as you hear him snap his teeth. 

“I couldn't even eat them all. I wasn't even hungry ,” he giggles maliciously, driving the point of cruelty home. “They died because of you, you know.  Because you had to be a stubborn little brat.” 

“You're a fucking monster,” you hiss, anger starting to bleed through the fear. “Don't you dare blame me.”

“If you'd have let me do what I wanted, they'd still be alive,” Softly, he huffs onto your neck, raspy voice laced with faux-sympathy. His hand releases your newly-maimed shirt to trace his thumb over the hollow of your throat, fingers eventually settling to rest on the precipice between your shoulder and neck. You can feel the tip of his claw prick at your skin, threatening to sink deeper. “So it's your own fault.”

“ Fuck you!”

“Offer still stands,” He mockingly grins, tongue lashing out against your pulse point as you recoil. “I'm sure I could figure it out in your clunky human form. The outcome will be the same either way. I wasn't hungry then, but I am now. Starved , even.” 

His fangs graze your flesh, finally removing his hand from your ankle only to anchor you down by the hip instead. His grip is steel, claws sharp as razors resting threateningly against your skin. You whimper as he chuckles, tongue lapping more insistently this time. 

“Where's all that fight now? All that brattiness you had? Not so brave now that I can touch you, are we?” His fingers tighten on the rounds of your hip, nails divoting just enough to punish and leave you twitching. “It doesn't matter now.”

Hate sparks your survival instincts, your arm slowly moving to the side and praying the movement doesn’t catch his attention, your hand desperately searching for something— anything— you can use against him. It reaches the cool wood of the nightstand, fingers fumbling about for a grip on something weighty. 

“It doesn't have to hurt,” He pants, fingers beginning to wander beneath the hem of your shirt. “I can be merciful— if you beg me.”

“Like hell ,” you spit, longing to tear those terrible eyes from his head as they scan over you.

“There's a girl,” He exhales in a ragged way that leaves your gut shooting through the floor, hand slinking to squeeze at the rounds of your waist. His tongue slips through his teeth one last time, lapping at the tender spot on the crook of your neck until you’re certain it’s gone raw. “I'll almost miss you when you're gone.”

Faster than you can register, his lips latch, fangs driving into your yielding throat without pity or remorse. Your mouth opens in a wordless cry, scream caught like a flightless bird in your chest. He wiggles above you, worming his way further onto you and clutching for leverage as he gnashes. His teeth are like knives, your blood warm and feeling horrifically uncanny as he tears into you almost teasingly with every whimper and whine, clearly testing the limits of his restraint. You can practically feel his every synapse longing to rip into you, quaking with ravenous need. A true predator, held back only by the leash of his own urges.

It will only satiate him for long. He's supping on your fear— your terror— reveling in his own victory. 

You won't let him have it. 

It's now or never. 

Your voice strains with pain and adrenaline, your shaking fingers curling around the handle of the mug of tea, still almost warm against your flesh. 

“The feeling isn't mutual!”

Driven by pure survival, it’s over in a flash. With as much momentum as you can muster, you bring the ceramic down on the top of his head. There's an audible thunk hidden somewhere underneath his animalistic howl, and your body slams into overdrive, kicking him off of you with every ounce of hidden strength you have as his fangs release their hold. Faster than you knew yourself capable of, you're off the bed, hand still cradling the sodden mug, body hunched in a defensive position, unsure of whether to fight or fly. 

He turns to face you, mouth still wet with your blood and eyes ablaze with fury. His hands brandish those dastardly claws, so eager to tear you apart. Abject terror nearly nails you to the spot, a deer in wretched, red headlights, but some hidden strength drives you to throw the heavy mug square at his head and make a break for it. He narrowly dodges it with inhuman reflex, lip curling into a vicious snarl as it smashes against the wall instead, shattering into fractured pieces that scatter across the floor of your bedroom. 

You don't stick around to hear what he says next. Feet pounding the carpet, you take off down the hallway, desperate to reach the front door. So close, if you can just get outside, you can call for help. You can almost feel the air from outside, hand reaching forward towards the handle—

“ Get back here! ” 

Fingers snag in your hair, nails grazing your scalp and ripping you backwards, a high-pitched cry erupting from you as agony sears through your spine. Your back hits the wall of the hallway hard enough to bruise, a cold hand curling around your neck once again and squeezing hard enough that it leaves you gasping.

“You little bitch .”

The back of his hand meets your cheek with uncanny strength, and now it's your turn to taste blood– your own – as one of your teeth juts into the tender, soft flesh of your inner lip. You see double for a moment before your eyes manage to focus in on his face. His expression is twisted into one of hateful rage, teeth bared and dyed a watery crimson. Another yank forward only to slam you against the wooden wall once more, your head making a hideous crack as it makes contact. Pain explodes through your skull, tears forming on your eyes against your own will. 

“You could have made this easy,” He tightens his grip on your throat until you struggle for breath, hiccuping air pathetically where you can. “But now? I'm going to take my time with you. I'm going to make it hurt .”

“Go to hell— you overgrown clownfish—”

“Talk tough while you can,” Five sharp pains where his fingers dig into your skin. “Soon you won't even be able to beg me to stop.”

You slam your bare foot into his bony shins, trying to kick him off. You swear you hear him chortle, tongue flicking out over his lips. A stray picture frame clatters to the ground at your struggling, glass shattering as it makes contact with the floor. 

“You humans are so weak. It's pathetic. ” he loosens his grip only a modicum, just enough to watch you flounder in his grasp. You grab at his wrist, raking your nails across his pale skin, tearing at his sleeve and leaving red welts in your wake. If he even notices your weak attempt to pry him off, he shows no indication. 

“Let me go!”

“I don't think so, you sniveling little brat. I gave you a chance, and you spit it back in my face.” 

“What are you even talking about! You're the one who threw a fit and attacked me again out of nowhere! I didn't even do anything to you!”

“You're just like the rest of your kind,” he growls, spitting the final word like an insult. “You understand nothing .”

“You don't even try to explain! You just— you just get all pissed off and start throwing tantrums!” 

His face contorts, and then evens out. “Do you really think mocking me is the wisest idea?”

“What does it matter? You're going to kill me either way!” 

“True,” he shrugs, lips curling upwards into a sinister smile. “You might as well just let it happen. Let this all be over.” 

You wince as he leans in again, legs kicking wildly, ankles pounding the wall of the hallway. 

“Yes, soon, it'll all be over, and things can go back to the way they should be. You'll be gone , and I can forget all about this and you —”

Something pings in your brain. As you scratch and claw at his skin, something nags at you. Something he’s said.   It doesn’t add up. Even your fear-shackled brain recognizes that something is off . He can hate you, sure, but all of this? Forgoing the sea, dragging himself through a city he loathes filled with people he wants dead? Risking life and limb and his prized freedom simply to teach you a lesson? He could have waited and watched, but he didn’t . He was willing to bet it all to see the light leave your eyes and suffocate the lingering flames of your influence on him. Behind the terror of the situation, the logic cracks apart and begins to break. 

Through some effort, you manage to drag your gaze away from his hate-filled one, eyes flickering to the pale of his bony wrist, your fingertips brushing against a bit of fabric tied around it. 

Clothing. Your clothing. The scrap he’d ripped from you in his last monstrous fit of rage. 

Something clicks. 

“S-sounds like you’re the one with the problem–” You try to force a snigger, laughing in the face of death. “You think killing me will make it all go away, huh?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” He sneers. 

“Don’t I?” You heave air into your lungs where you can beneath his steely fingertips, body panicking at the looming suffocation. 

“No, you don’t!”

 “It’s almost romantic. You made yourself human just to get little old me– ” 

“Shut up .” 

“N-nah,” You offer him a cruel smile, equal parts spite and amusement. “Got you really twisted up, doesn’t it? Never been told no?” “You’ll be quiet if you know what’s good for you–” 

“Don’t think– Don’t think I will. And I don’t t-think that’s what you want either, if you think about it.” “You will ,” He tightens his grip. 

“Did it make you that j- jealous ?” 

Another slam before you can even finish the word. Your head is spinning, pain splitting your skull in two. Your head lulls, eyelids fluttering. 

“Y-you can’t take it– being told– n-no,” Your head swivels loosely. “And that’s why you’re here. I mean, that—” You inhale raggedly, regaining your strength to glare up at him with unrelenting accusation. “—Or you’re that lonely .”

“You have an awfully big mouth for an idiot about to die!” “Admit it,” You swallow, cringing at the taste of pennies in your throat and tinging the taste buds on your tongue. It’s thick and sickening, but you power through. “You were bored . I’m the closest thing to entertainment you’ve had. The closest thing to a friend. You missed me–” 

“You’re a pathetic human whore . I came here to end you like you deserve .” “Did you?” You grin up at him, your own teeth slick with blood. “How’d you find me, Tomura? ”

He says nothing, but his lips twitch ever so slightly. There’s that murderous glint to his eyes, a fire feeding into an inferno, but you can’t help pushing. It feels like he’s accidentally revealed some sacred part of himself against his will. Some baleful, forsaken, deep place he keeps hidden even from himself. 

“And now you’re in my apartment, t-trying to kill me. Or is it your own misery you want to snuff out? You think if you kill me, it’ll all go away–” 

“I’d kill you and every other filthy human if I could,” He says, eyes flashing and voice full of conviction. 

“But you can’t ,” You cough, still trying to breathe through his steely grip. “So now you’re here.” 

“Not yet. But I can sure as hell kill you .”

It’s a gamble. A huge one. But the way you see it, the bad end will come either way. 

“And let me guess, you think if you kill me, everything will go back to the way it used to be? That the crippling loneliness will subside, and you can go back to sustaining on pure fucking hatred alone? ‘Kill your friends and you can miss them’ type of deal? That you can pretend that you never cared at all? Fool even yourself?” 

Looking back at your ‘friendship’ with him, it seems more antagonistic than anything, but for him, that’s probably the only contact he’s had in ages. There may be others of his kind, but you have an inkling that they are either gone, or he hasn’t seen them– or isn’t welcome among them. Despite his best efforts to appear otherwise, he has the quiet desperation of a man who hasn’t been heard and allowed his sadness to fester and harden into molten rage, oozing and destructive and directionless. 

“We are not friends !” 

“Fine line between care and hatred. You just seem like you can’t tell the difference anymore. You’re here trying to murder me and that doesn’t happen when you’re as apathetic as you claim to be.” 

“You’re a fool.” “And you’re lying to yourself! You think killing me will make it go away? You think that ache will stop? Stop and think for a fucking minute, Tomura! You have no plan, no prospects, and the entire island on high alert. You risked your life to be here and do this. You think that’s normal?” 

“It’s your fault!” He hisses, spitting words between his teeth. “I hate you!” “Well at least you can admit you feel something! ” 

He growls, a low rumble in his chest, but again, he says nothing. 

“Look, if I disappear, people will come looking. I have a job, family , people that will know something is wrong. They’ll find you here, and you’ll be carted off to be a glorified science experiment for the remainder of your life. You’ll never see the ocean again. Is that what you want? Is this really worth it?”

Silence. The wheels in his head are turning, and while he will never admit it, there’s the tiniest flicker of dubious doubt there. “Your only hope of ever making it home again is to let me live– unless you’re willing to die for me. For this . I could take you back, and we can just– just forget about this. But that’s your only chance. If you kill me, it’s game over. For both of us.” 

A stand-off between the both of you. His white-hot stare, eyes like malignant rubies boring into yours, steeling himself against your invasive words. There is no part of him ready to admit anything close to what you've accused, but the pressure on your body doesn't increase. Frozen, a violent moment in time suspended for what feels like eternity in amber. 

You're certain he could have waited like that for an age. A never ending nightmare he's more than happy to keep you held hostage in. 

At least, he would have. 

Something catches your attention. A noise that isn’t your wild thrashing or his whispered threats. A thumping noise, a bit too rhythmic and controlled to be from your struggle. 

Just down the hall, someone is knocking on the front door. 

It only takes him a moment to realize as well. He looks at you, and you look at him, both of you in a stasis. His hand on your neck, your nails dragging against his wrist. An endless moment with the both of you frozen in a tableau of violence.

“Darlin’, you in there?” 

Lisa . It’s Lisa. Oh, you could kiss her. 

He shoots you an accusing glare, as if you had planned this from the start. A large hand slaps over your mouth, fingers still flexing on the rounds of your throat. His body bullies you further into the wall to stay your struggling, doing everything in his power to keep you quiet. 

“Not a single word,” He hisses. “If you even try to scream, I’ll break your neck.”

It’s difficult to breathe through his large hand cupped on the latter half of your face, leave alone through the pressure on your windpipe, but you obey, nodding to his command. If nothing else, it might buy you a bit of time to think. 

“I heard some commotion from downstairs, so I thought I’d come check on you. Are you in there?”

Neither of you move a muscle, entirely frozen in place. Moments pass, but you know Lisa. She’s persistent. She won’t be leaving.

“Sweetheart?” she's pounding on the door insistently. “You’re worrying me. I know you’re in there. Is everything okay?”

“Don't fucking move,” He reminds you. “I'll kill you both .”

Lisa, nosy as she is, is a good woman. You don't want her hurt. You keep your mouth shut, even as you could scream. She keeps knocking, even as you pray for her to leave. Think, think, think–

Tomura’s entire body is tensed and coiled like a cobra, each muscle pulled taut and poised to strike. He seems caught between fight and flight; his instincts screaming that he turn tail, but his hatred demanding he stay. More humans is the last thing he wants, but he refuses to allow this to have been for nothing. He won’t get the chance again.

“Well, that does it. I'm calling the cops!” She croaks from outside the door, panic rising in her throaty voice. 

His eyes widen the tiniest bit, and for the first time, you see it. Fear. He can't take on an entire department. Guns drawn and ready and eager to brutalize. At best, it cuts his plans short and kills him. At worst? They take him alive. 

That. You can work with that.

His smothering grip on your face muffles what you try to say. His eyes flick to you, and against his better judgement, he eases it the tiniest amount. Just enough that you manage to squeak out a sentence, but ready to clamp down again if you’re foolish enough to try to yell.

“She's not going to leave, and she will call.”

“Then perhaps she needs to die –” “People will notice her missing. Two missing people in the same apartment? There’s no way in hell you’ll make it back to the ocean. You won’t make it anywhere! They’ll cordon off this entire block. We’ll be dead, but so will you. Or worse .” 

He seems to panic for a moment, eyes flitting about, and gripping tightly. He clearly didn’t plan for nosy neighbors– if he planned at all. “And how do I know you won't run anyway? You humans are stupid like that–” 

“I don't want you to hurt anyone else! If I run, you'll just kill us both, like you said! I’m not in any grand hurry to die!”

He seems to deliberate for a moment, fingers flexing and eyes narrowed as he realizes his time to decide is running short. Even as he tries to hide it, there’s the tiniest hint of panic hidden behind the wrath of his expression. 

“Look, the longer you wait, the more likely it is she’s calling the police. Then we’ll both have a lot of explaining to do that I know you aren’t keen on. I can make her go away, but you need to trust me.” 

He flinches at the word trust , mouth pulling into a snarl. 

“You don’t have a choice!” You remind him sharply. “Go ahead and answer the door yourself if you want, but her seeing a strange man in my apartment isn’t going to ease her suspicion!”

He huffs, hand pulling from your mouth to ball at his side. The other still tenses threateningly on your neck, even as he realizes he’s been bested by unforeseen circumstance. 

“ Fine ,” He releases you slowly, questioning his decision even as he does it. “But I'm listening. And if you so much as hint— ”

“I won't!” You rub at your sore throat, voice croaking. “ Now give me that robe! Inside the bathroom door.”

He seems perplexed, but does so, throwing it carelessly over and watching intently as you pull it over your shoulders and cover your freshly bruising neck and bubbling bloodwork smeared over your chest. 

“Just– Just stay here! Don’t move! And don’t let her see you!”

You unlock the padlock to the door, just noticing the damage now from where Tomura must have forced his way in earlier. Great. No way in hell you’re getting your security deposit back now. A flustered Lisa stands outside the doorway, cellphone in hand, smelling of stale and acrid cigarette smoke.

“Hey! Hey— sorry,” You offer her your best ‘ I swear nothing is wrong’ smile. “I was a bit tied up.”

“I— Jesus, girl. Are you okay? There's been one hell of a ruckus coming from up here. You're bleeding—” Her eyes settle on your temple where you’re certain a dribble of blood is matting in your hair.

“C— Closet shelf fell on me when I was changing out of my work clothes,” you smile, wiping your hair out of your face. “I knew I shouldn't have put it up myself. Came crashing right down on me. Broke all my stuff right on my head.”

“My God, that’s horrible! I knew I should have told the superintendent to do his damn job and come up and help. Do you need an ambulance? Here, I'll call—”

“No!” You almost snatch at her phone, panic rising as you can practically hear Tomura gearing up. “No! Really, I'm okay. Just a bit of ice and a few bandages and I'll be fine. It looks worse than it is.”

She gives you a skeptical look, trying to peek into your apartment in a less-than-inconspicuous manner. 

“Honest. I'm fine! Just a bit of a shock, is all. Scared the hell out of me, but I'm fine. I’ll fix it later. I’m just exhausted, is all. I want a nice bath and some sleep.”

“I—”

“If it's bad, I'll get it looked at,” You insist, unsure if you’re more desperate for her to stay or to leave. With the threat of the malevolent creature perched in your hallway, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice, you decide it’s the latter. 

“I don't have insurance, Lis. The café can’t afford it. You know I can't go to a hospital. It'll put me in the poor house. I can barely afford anything as it is, leave alone medical bills.”

It's a dirty card to play, but it's honest, and more importantly, it works. She pauses, shoulders falling in defeat after a moment as shakes her head, slipping her phone back into her pocket. “Damn shame, the state of things. Ridiculous.” 

“Yeah,” you force a rough laugh, trying to appear calm and composed even through your rabbiting heart. “I'll take it easy. I'm going to lie down. It’s not that bad. It just looks that way.”

“Alright, honey. You know to call if you need anything, right?” 

“I do. Thank you, Lisa. Really.”

You mean it sincerely. Her interference probably saved your life… for now.

“Do you want me to stop by tomorrow? Help you clean up?”

“I’ll let you know. I’ll give you a call either way and let you know everything is alright.”

“You better,” She pokes at your chest with an orange acrylic. “Don’t go scarin’ me like that.”

“Sorry again. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” 

Reluctantly, she turns, offering you one last look. This won’t be the last you hear of this, but you’ll have to deal with that later. You have a bigger issue to deal with now. 

But you think you have just the idea how to.

[ladyveronikawrites]

WINTER STORM

30 Days of Bad Omens

PAIRING: Nicholas Ruffilo x Taylor (OFC)

KINK - Breeding Kink

SMUT PROMPT - "Relax angel" ; "Ruin me"

CW: breeding, established relationship, mentions of pregnancy, family planning, unprotected P in V sex, use of pet names, FLUFF, ITS CUTE OK

SUMMARY: Taylor spends the holidays with Nicholas and his familly in the cabin in the mountains. The pair get snowed in before his family arrives. Oh what will they do with all their time?!

Word Count: 2k

Crossposted - Wattpad / AO3

unbeta'd ✨

Story for my beloved @itsmrsfuentes 💜

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Taylor looks out the large window and onto the balcony below. She shivers just thinking about how cold it must be outside in the Colorado mountains, snow-covered and shimmering against the morning sun. She sips her hot mocha savoring its chocolatey scent that warms her body. 

“There’s my princess.” Nicholas’ voice is thick with sleep. The old wooden floors creak against his bare feet. He slows his breath so as not to startle her as she peers out into the cold beyond. 

“It’s beautiful outside, just like you,” he mumbles against her hair as he wraps his arms around her waist. 

Taylor hums in agreement imagining the dark winter storm that blazed through the mountainside last night; it’s amazing how howling winds and heavy snowfall could produce something so breathtakingly beautiful.

“Looks like we are going to be snowed in for a while,” he whispers against the shell of her ear before trailing kisses down her jaw and neck. “What could we possibly do with our time?” he sighs against her, snaking his hands up her shirt. “ 

Taylor's breath hitches when his hands graze over her breasts pulling her against his chest. Nicholas’ calloused fingertips begin to draw lazy circles over and around her perk nipples making her moan and grind her ass against him. Her beautiful sounds go straight to his dick.

Nicholas slips one hand from under her shirt to grab the mug from her hands. At the same time, he sets down the mug and twirls his girl around to face him. The small excited yelp from her pretty mouth sets his core ablaze. Grinning, he stares down at her breathtaking bright green eyes, etching each freckle decorating her skin to memory, silently hoping their kids will look just as gorgeous as she does one day. He takes her hands in his and squeezes them gently. 

“This time of year has me feeling so sentimental… so thankful for you,” he starts, his throat tightening slightly with emotion. “We’ve been together for a few years now and I know my life has been crazy with touring and recording an album. But I want to settle down with you. You are my home Taylor and I want to have a family with you, whenever that may be.” Shy from his heartfelt confession, he tucks a loose strand behind his ear, waiting with bated breath for her response. 

“Can we start no-” Her request is answered with a heated kiss. Sighing softly, Taylor tilts her head slightly to deepen the kiss, licking at his lower lip. 

Nicholas chuckles. “Relax, angel we have all day.” He caresses her flush cheek as he gazes deeply into the eyes of the woman he loves.  

She grins back at him before hoisting herself up on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around his neck. Large hands slide down her side and grip at her waist. Taunting, she brushes her lips against his lips only to peck a kiss on the cheek. Giggling, she whispers in his ear, “I can tease too,” as she rakes her fingers through his scalp. Nicholas buries his head into the crook of her neck groaning as he decorates the delicate skin with little love bites. Taylor doesn’t let up as she tugs again. 

Nicholas nuzzles her neck “Baby,” he warns before pressing a heated kiss to her jaw. She quickly relents with a defeated huff, returning her hands to his shoulders. “That’s it!” he chuckles lifting Taylor over his shoulder. She starts to protest but finds herself being dropped onto the green velvet sofa with Nicholas straddling her.

“Nicky I-” her voice erupts into giggles as he tickles her sides- the spot he knows will be her undoing. He laughs right with her, watching as she screws her eyes shut tight and throws her head back as the laughter consumes her. “Pl-ease,” Taylor gasps for air between breaths and hiccups. Instantly, Nicholas stops and leans back to give her space. “Sorry babe, you are just so cute when you laugh,” he snickers.

“It’s ok,” she rasps, her breath steadying as she sits upright. She scrubs her face with her hands before tying her hair up into a messy bun. She flashes Nicholas a mischievous grin before pouncing on him to tickle him back. She yelps when he rolls them over and onto the floor, grateful for the layers of blankets and pillows from the movie night before. He pushes himself up onto his hands to alleviate some of his weight from her chest. 

His long hair tumbles over his shoulders as he stares down at her with a wicked grin, pupils blown wide like saucers. “Look what you started now.” He presses his hips against hers, his hard cock aching against his jeans. “Feel it, baby, that’s all because of you.” 

Taylor’s breath catches when he grinds against her, his large size apparent in his skin-tight jeans. His sea-glass eyes turn stormy as he stares down, and before she can say something witty- full lips crash into hers, wet and desperate, just like the mess between her thighs. A soft moan escapes from her throat when he pries her lips apart with his tongue. She can’t get enough of him; his taste of mint and tobacco. Tilting her head slightly she deepens the kiss as she snakes her hands through his tousled hair. When she reaches her destination, she tugs his roots while biting his lower lip- “Fuck, I need you,” her boyfriend moans, his breath hot against her cheek. “I need to put a baby in you,” he growls lowly into her ear, making her skin tingle and pussy throb.

Taylor hesitates for just a second, before coming to terms with the wild and nerve-wrecking thoughts in her head. Has she thought about them having a family together, yes- they have talked about it countless times. Gone through the ‘what ifs’ and even crunched the numbers to see if they could afford this new chapter in their lives. She took a deep breath to silence the worry and when she looked at the love of her life again in the eyes, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she wanted to spend her life with him. 

Empowered by confidence, Taylor shifted her hips to hook her leg over his. “Do it,��� she says before positioning her weight to roll them over, getting on top. 

She adjusts to sit lower on his torso, feet planted firmly on either side while her hands remain flat on his chest. Quick as a cat, she silences his question with a finger to his lips. His raised eyebrow gave him away instantly. 

“Before you ask, yes I’m serious. I wouldn’t have said so if I hadn’t. Plus we’ve been talking about this for months now.” The hand on his lips moves to caress his cheeks. “We are happy and healthy what’s a better time than now?” A warm hand envelopes hers and he leans into the soft touch. A heat simmers in her belly as she leans down to plant a kiss on her lover’s lips. When he kisses her back, it's deep and passionate yet guarded– gentle. 

She lets her body takeover- tossing away her sweater along with any lingering insecurity and doubt. Nicholas works quickly to unfasten her bra, casting it alongside the clothes on the floor. Before Taylor can lean down to continue ravishing her boyfriend, two tattooed hands press against her chest- stopping her. 

“Get up.”

The quiet demand turns her core molten and Taylor is quick to obey. Before he asks, she sheds the other layers of clothing just as he does the same. Suddenly, a chill spider crawls up her spine so she turns to face the lit fireplace, finding solace in its heat. She glances over at the family Christmas tree adorned with lights and ornaments. Dreams of their first child’s Christmas morning flash through her head and her heart flutters. 

“Come here, princess,” his soft voice calls to her. When she turns, she finds Nicholas sitting surrounded by pillows, propped against the bottom of the sofa. “Here,” he instructs, patting his thigh. 

Her eyes scan his large erect cock and her throat tightens slightly. They have fucked and made love and everything else under the sun, but this moment feels different. This moment is different- it means so much more. There’s a weight to it, not a pressure but rather a comfort. She trusts Nicholas wholeheartedly and she knows he trusts her too.

Slowly, she makes her way to him- teasing as she juts her hips with every purposeful step. When she goes to straddle him, he stops her with a pat on the thigh. 

“Turn around, darling.” Taylor’s thoughts begin to swirl as she turns away from him and then-

“That’s right,” is all Nicholas gives her as she stares at herself in a full-length mirror draped with twinkling lights.

Slowly, she positions herself over him-watching Nicholas’ expression in the mirror with bated breath. He notices her hesitation as she hovers above him so he puts pillows around her legs for support and grips her hips to steady her. “That’s it, pretty girl, you are doing so good.” His praise makes her pussy wall flutter with anticipation as she sinks lower, keeping her gaze locked on him. He throws back his head and groans as her slick walls lure him in. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.” At this point, his words come out breathless and whiny. She feels so full… of him, yet she still needs more. “So good,” he repeats between tender kisses to her shoulder blades. A soft giggle tumbles from her lips as he brushes his nose over her spine. When she opens her eyes, she finally sees the way he makes her feel; cheeks flush and bitten lips. Taylor catches Nicholas staring and she follows his path- straight to where they connect. 

“We fit perfectly together,” he purrs peering up at her in the mirror. “Ready for more?” All she can muster is a nod before planting her feet firmly on the ground. It’s slow at first, the way they move in tandem; her rocking her hips and him thrusting into her. Nicholas digs his nails into her hips, the sharp and quick pain urges her faster. 

“God, Nick I’m close -please,” she whimpers. He knows exactly what she needs as he snakes his hand to her front, separating her lower lips with his fingers before reaching the sensitive bud. With one quick swipe of his finger, her eyes shut tight and her head falls back onto his chest. 

And suddenly, it all stops. Taylor lets out a whine as the sensations start to dissipate. “Eyes on me, doll.” Her eyelids flutter open in response and quickly finds his primal gaze. “Good.” The only reassurance she gets before he continues his relentless pursuit of pleasure. The sound of skin slapping and ragged breathing fills her ears as the coil tightens in her core. Her legs start to tense as the pressure builds between her thighs. 

“That’s it, mama, ruin me-” 

“Oh shit,” she whines, baring down on him as she drenches him with her release. “Fill me, Nicholas,” she pleads as he releases rope after rope of his seed inside her. 

Sighing, she lets her tired body fall against his warm chest, legs falling limp to the side. As her eyelids flutter closed, she basks in Nicholas’ body heat that comforts her as her heartbeat steadies. “You look gorgeous in the afterglow, little mama,” he whispers the new nickname in her ear. It makes her tummy flip with delight. 

Nicholas wraps his arms around her tummy watching as it expands with every breath she takes. Taylor looks down at where his hands meet by her belly button and she smiles imagining a little baby bump. 

“Soon my hands won't be able to fit like this,” he says before kissing her cheek. 

“It can’t wait,” Taylor beams, resting her hands on his.

[diioonysus]

my favorite historical facts

mayans believed that having crossed-eyes meant you were favored by the sun god kinich ahau, who was cross-eyed as well. in hopes that children would be, they would have objects dangled between their eyes to permanently cross their eyes.

ancient rome had a 4-story shopping mall with 150 shops and offices which was made in 113 AD

ancient egyptians invented toothpaste, they made it with rock salt, pepper, mint, and dried iris flowers

until recently (20th century) bones and mummies were used in traditional medicine, as some believed they could cure ailements by ingesting related body parts.

left-handed people were considered unlucky in ancient rome

lots of medieval barbers were also dentists and surgeons, which is why barbershops use red and white stripes because the stripes represent bandages used during bloodletting.

in medieval germany, married couples could legally settle their disputes by fighting a martial duel.

married women were not allowed to watch the ancient olympics, under penatly of death, but the vestal virigins in ancient rome were allowed to in some circumstances because their sacred building was knocked down to make a stadium

ancient greeks invented the first alarm clock in a system where pebbles would be dropped onto a gong and this would then make a loud sound

if a pirate ship approached flying a red flag with a hourglass on it then the defenders knew they were in some shit as red meant "give no quarter" and the hourglass meant essentially your time on earth was about to run out

shakespeare originated the "yo momma" joke, as in his one play titus androcius, a character says "thou has undone our mother," to which another character says "villain, i have done thy mother."

before abraham lincoln became a politician, he was a champion wrestler with more than 300 bouts under his belt, and only lost one match in his career. he was inducted into the national wrestling hall of fame in 1992

the gauls when trying to sack rome, caedicius had to get approval from the senate on the besieged capitoline. a messenger snuck through the gallic camp and scaled the unguarded cliff side of the hill to deliver the message. It was quickly decided to restore camillus to his command and to give him dictatorial powers and then the messenger snuck his way out again. the senone scouts discovered the messenger’s footprints and figured out that there was a way to scale the cliffs. they choose a night with a full moon and sent their bravest warriors up the cliff. none of the romans noticed, but the geese did. they started honking loudly and woke up the sleeping romans, the romans than pushed the gauls off the hill, and due to this fight the gauls suffered food shortages and diseases, so geese saved the day.

a pig was executed in 1386 after attacking a kid who would die from their wounds. the pig was arrested, kept in prison, and then sent to the court where it stood trial for murder, eventually being found guilty and then executed by hanging.

forks used to be considered blasphemous. when forks arrived in 11th century italy, it alarmed religious leaders because eating with artifical hands offended god.

the bluetooth design and name was named after the viking king harald bluetooth, based on an analogy that the technology would unite devices the way harald bluetooth united the tribes of denmark into a single kingdom. his intials in runes is the design of the logo

throwing an apple at somebody in ancient greece was considered flirting because the apple was sacred to aphrodite, so throwing it was declaring ones love

king george v of england was euthanized as his staff wanted his death to make the morning papers rather than the evenings ones, so they put him to death early without his consent

robert liston, a surgeon preformed an operation with a 300% mortality rate; he killed the patient and two other people

[osiiiris]

Perfect.

I know, I know, the Cardinal!Terzo x Bishop!Necropolitus Cracoviensis pairing still seems strange to you, but shhh… don’t say anything. Just let me hold your hand and guide you to a room where Bishop Necropolitus Cracoviensis’ hands are moving swiftly as he sketches Cardinal Terzo's form on his paper.

Think about Bishop Necropolitus, who cannot help but admire the cardinal’s body, the way the candlelight, the only source of illumination, plays across his skin, how it highlights the veins in his arms, the sharp lines of his collarbones, then down through his contracted torso to the subtle V just above the red cloth that barely manages to cover his most precious parts. Just enough muscle to suggest strength, but not so much that he appears overly muscular, it expresses vitality even while sitting on a chair, evoking in the Bishop the image of a resting wrestler, a subject he has seen many times in ancient sculptures.

Terzo’s face is turned toward the wall on his right, giving Necropolitus his Roman profile, but he peers at him from the corner of his eye through the black locks of his hair from time to time.

“Maybe we should have had a bit of music…” the Cardinal suggests.

An amused smile almost escapes Necropolitus’ lips as he realizes how unquiet Terzo seems, and how all that immobility and silence must feel like a sweet torture to him.

“Maybe next time, yes,” the Bishop agrees. “Now, please, don’t move your head.”

Satisfied with being the one giving orders today, the Bishop focuses back on the sketch. 

You can understand how he’s entranced by the way Terzo’s muscles tense and relax as he shifts his pose, how his chest rises and falls with each breath. He can feel life coursing through his veins, that unrestrained energy, impatience for action. Terzo is clearly not made to stand still. Also, he’s probably used to being naked in front of people, proud and comfortable as someone who has forgotten the meaning of shame.

A pair of clinking goblets and a joke, a “You could pose for me,” had been all it took to convince Terzo to sit on that chair in his studio. “Yeah, why not. I could pose for you.” 

Not that he needed much persuasion to undress and be admired.

“Is the pose okay?” the Cardinal asks. “Do you want me to-”

“No.” Necropolitus looks up from his work, a split second enough for their eyes to meet. That sounds like an excuse to finally move. “You’re perfect,” he reassures between one stroke of charcoal and the next. His gaze has now fallen on the trail of hair starting from Terzo's navel and disappearing under the cloth on his lap. “Perfect,” he then repeats, this time almost whispering to himself.

Imagine they have been working together for weeks now, preparing for Terzo’s rise as the leader of the satanic church, even though the road is still a long one. But Terzo does not want to sit on that throne unprepared: he is planning a revolution. Under the dim light of candles or golden sun rays in the afternoon, Necropolitus could only focus on Terzo’s moving lips while he explained his plans, those plump lips - often painted black - dancing around his words of renovation dreams, the music he will play, the art he will bring, and how everything will be different when he takes the lead. And Necropolitus believes him -oh, Sathanas, if he does… picturing him sitting on his throne, majestic and powerful, is the image that often accompanies him in his dreams at night where he can only dream of kneeling at his feet... Maybe he should start to draw those visions.

“Is this everything you need, Necropolitus?” Terzo’s voice is smooth, but you can feel a hint of provocation in his tone.

“What do you mean?”

And now you can see Terzo, returning the artist’s lingering gaze, allows a small, knowing smile to play at the corners of his lips: Necropolitus is no exception. There is power in this, being the object of such intense desire, and he thrives in it, feeling the energy around him shift and thicken with every passing moment.

Very naive of Necropolitus to think he was the one in charge the whole time.

“This project is important. I need you to capture all of it. Every detail, every shadow, every… part.” Terzo’s smile becomes sly as he breaks his position. The light dances on his moving body.

The more Necropolitus looks at Terzo, the harder it becomes to keep his thoughts pure. His breath hitches as Terzo’s hand reaches the sheer cloth covering his nudity and, to the Bishop’s surprise, he not only changes position but stands and steps closer until he stands just inches away from him.

“I want you to take everything.”

And in a swift yet graceful movement of his hand, the cloth finally falls to the floor...

[azrielsshadows42]

A Court of Scales and Fire V

This is my submission for @erisweekofficial, day 7: free, I'm hoping this will help get my story out there. btw, you cannot read this as a stand alone it will not make sense.

Chapter 4 Character Moodboards

A/N: The dividers are made by @tsunami-of-tears , and comment 🐆 if you got the Kipo reference

Warnings: Swearing, No misogynistic Illyrian lords were harmed in the making of this chapter (unfortunately)

Both = Mind speak (Colour will vary depending on who is speaking)

Bold = Ancient Language

Italics = Thoughts

Word count: 3.2k

Rhysand's Pov

We sat there studying each other for a moment in silence. Ever since both ends of our bargain had been held up, Eris never visited the Night Court, he wasn't welcome here. Just because our courts were allies, for the benefit of the Autumn people, did not mean we suddenly liked each other, and it certainly gave him no authority to waltz into MY home, unannounced.

"What do you want, Eris?" My voice was cold, as it always was during official High Lord correspondence. His eyes regarded me with indifference, and he raised a goblet of wine to his lips, painfully slowly. I somehow had a feeling he did that just to grate on my nerves.

"I would have thought that brute of yours would have told you" He drawled. "While Under the Mountain, we were attacked by a witch who, as I understand is now under your roof, you wouldn't happen to know her, would you?" Eris took another slow drink from his glass, my eyes narrowed, sharp enough to cut through his mental barriers if I wanted. "Are you suggesting that I planted the female there?"

"Well, it is rather suspicious you learned of it and dispatched one of your dogs at the same time I did, especially considering how much farther the Night Court is from the place of incidence." His know-it-all tone annoyed me beyond belief, but I managed to speak my next words with the same cool indifference as the rest of this discussion. "We did not know her prior to the events of yesterday"

"Really? I could have sworn I heard her and your general talking earlier, they seemed pretty comfortable, has he tired of Nesta already? Typical of Illyrians." I failed to keep the rage out of my eyes, the anger out of my voice. "If there is nothing else you're here for, High Lord" The title was spat out like an insult "Then leave, now"

"Actually, Rhysand, there is" The words were spoken with a thoughtfulness that didn't match the fae speaking them. I did not say anything, did not deign him with a response, my silence was his invitation to elaborate.

"Recently my guards have found traces of people passing through Autumn with our regular traders, People I have not permitted, carrying with them something unfamiliar, and certainly not from any of the seven courts, nor the human lands as well as a mysterious break in the trees, perhaps your new little witch friend has something to do with it"

I considered that this might be true, though whether this female was a witch or if that was just another thing Eris assumed about her was unclear, although I also considered that these strange occurrences might be caused by the apparent weapon smuggler's Y/n told us of, in which case she is telling the truth, at least about this.

"We shall keep a close eye on her, in the meantime, she is innocent until proven guilty, and she is under the protection of the Night Court, so I believe it is time for you to take your leave" I stated it with finality in my voice that left no room for him to argue. The new Autumn High Lord huffs slightly in displeasure, but makes no retort, winnowing back to his Court without any further fuss, merely saying: "I will be back tomorrow".

I really hope I don't regret this.

The next morning - Y/n's Pov

It was early, the sun hadn't even crested over the mountain yet, Y/n was still in her guest silk night gown. She sat atop the massive bed, Everest in her lap. "Ok, granted, we haven't gotten anywhere with our mission" Her long leafy tail flicked a piece of lint off her knee, very pretentiously, in Y/n's opinion. "Told you." She would have retorted, but they both heard footsteps, judging by the length between each sound and how deep it was, she guessed it was Cassian. "Hide"

Y/n scrambled to the top and threw the linens over herself while Everest shrunk further to the size of a large mouse and crawled under the bed. The footsteps stopped right outside the door, then they were violently flung open. "Gooooood morning!" Cassian's booming voice sounded out into the room with a sing-song aspect to it. "Time to get up sleepy head" While yes, she was already awake, it was four-thirty in the morning, what the hell was he talking about?

"It's too early to be awake" came her grumbled response, she made sure her voice was deeper and slightly rasped. "You said you wanted to go to Illyria, right?" There was a pause in which she used to process what he had just said. "Really?" she questioned.

Cassian's grin brightened; he is way to energetic right now. What the hell does he put in his coffee, cause whatever it is, he needs to share, I need some of that too. "Really, but only if you get up now." His hazel eyes looked at me expectantly. Y/n looked back at him, lips thinned. "Well, are you going to leave so I can change?" That seemed to snap him out of it. "OH, right, right, yes, I'll leave." He bolted out, closing the door behind him.

Once they knew Cassian was out of earshot, Everest climbed back on to the bed giving Y/n the sassiest, most flat look a dragon could. "Illyria, really?" "What? I'm curious!" She rolled her emerald eyes.

"And what am I to do while you're out galivanting?" Y/n stood up from the bed, taking off her sleepwear and replacing it with her undergarments and armour. "Have you found a princess to torment yet?" Everest's head whirled around so fast she worried she might snap her own neck. "I will bite you." hissed Everest.

"Right, cause you've never bitten me before, I'll be in true agony, such unexpected pain" Y/n's words oozed sarcasm. Everest huffed, turned toward the open pavilion and flew out over Velaris, but not before throwing one last glare at Y/n, just for good measure.

Y/n put her hair up in a simple braided updo before exiting the bedroom. She grabs one of the sandwiches the house put on the table as she walked past and into the training room, where she assumed Cassian would be. Y/n was proven right when lo and behold, there stood the Night Courts general, next to their emissary, Mor. "Greetings, and salutations" she said cheerily, Cassian matched her energy while Mor appeared as if she would fall over any second. Someone clearly had not yet woken up. Y/n clapped my hands together "So, how are we getting there?"

"The lovely Morrigan will be winnowing us" Her eyes trailed the females tired form sceptically. "Does 'The Lovely Morrigan' know that?" Mor was now leaning almost all her body weight on Cassian. "Yeah, I asked her yesterday" She let out a grumble, opening her eyes a bit more while pushing off of Cassian. "You failed to mention that I needed to do it at four-thirty" He feigned confusion "Did I? Huh, must've slipped my mind, and technically, it's five now" This, unsurprisingly, didn't improve Mor's mood.

"Just get over here so I can go back to bed" They stepped closer to her, each putting a hand on her shoulder, the world warped, twisting and turning once more until they were on a snowy peak. The second they got there, Mor shook their hands off her, and winnowed back before they could thank her. It was not long after that the cold penetrated Y/n's armour. She shivered, and goose bumps rose on her skin under her sleeves.

"Not used to the cold?" She had been in plenty of cold places before, but usually Everest would be there to warm her up, always blocking the wind so she never felt it. "No, I'm fine with the cold, I just never knew this place warranted the use of igloos" Cassian laughed uproariously. "It's not that cold, if you want igloos, you'll find them in Winter" Y/n watched as their breath plumed out in front of them. "We'll agree to disagree"

Snow crunched ahead of them, Y/n could see three winged figures, one in front, the others trailing a few paces behind. She wasn't sure why, but she didn't like the vibe they gave off, and the middle one looked very punch-able. "Lord Devlon" Cassian said in greeting.

"Cassian" His eyes roamed over Y/n in distaste. "Have you brought another witch here?" She didn't know who this Devlon was talking about, or if Cassian had actually brought a witch here, but she decided if she was only going to be here once, then she'd have as much fun with it as she could.

"No, this time he got the witches mentor" Y/n grinned evilly at them. Panic flashed across Devlon's face, though he tried to conceal it. His companions however, made no such attempt. She could hear Cassian mutter under his breath saying "You and Nesta both" with an exasperated look and shook his head. Oh, so Nesta was the 'Witch' he'd brought last time, I should've guessed.

"She is here to learn, just like Nesta was" Devlon's eyes narrowed, his lips pursed and just a general air of supreme asshole about him. "No."

"We weren't asking" Cassian replies, with an edge to his voice. "I will not have you bring more disgrace to this camp" He sniped sharply. It was then, that Y/n stepped forward, her eyes dark, menace in every move she took. "Oh really, is that so?" To intimidate them, she started chanting in the ancient language of the dragon riders known as Draconic.

"Feta, Gouda, Chevre, Fromage"

The two lackies pulled their weapons as she made the marks around her eyes glow, Devlon's face revealed the fear he felt in that moment, even Cassian looked at her unsurely. "Stop, STOP IT THIS INSTANT" Y/n only chanted louder.

"FETA, GOUDA, CHEVRE, FROMAGE"

"Alright, alright, enough, you can train here, just stop your curses." The glowing faded and she plastered a sickly-sweet smile on her face watching Lord Devlon heave breath after breath. "Lovely, thank you so much for your generous hospitality"

Cassian's Pov

I was starting to think that maybe Eris wasn't entirely wrong about Y/n being a witch. I have never heard a language like that, and her face glowed, at least, some of it. And it has been officially confirmed that her and Nesta would get along swell. All she needs is a smut book in front of her and they're practically twins.

We walked through the camp, snow crunching beneath us, I could tell the cold was starting to get to her. I guided her past the buildings, pointing out certain shops, explaining anything she questioned. "Why was Devlon so pissy about me coming here? I mean, I get the whole 'No outsider's' thing, but it almost seemed personal.

"I'm not regarded very highly here, anyone I bring, he would immediately hate. I already brought Nesta here and she also said she was a witch, you can imagine how well that went over. And finally, you're another female I have brought to train, he doesn't want to lose more weapons. There is a superstition here that if a female touches a weapon, it will bring bad luck to the wielder" I winced, this was the part of Illyrian heritage I wished I could erase, it was silly, but mostly, I worried it would deter Y/n, make her want to leave.

To my surprise, she laughed. "Then my blades must be double cursed, they were forged by a female too" I couldn't help but chuckle at that. "They would lose their shit if you ever told them that"

We only stopped once we got to the furthest training ring in the camp, just in case she did anymore witch-stuff. "What exactly did you do back there?" Her brows pulled together in confusion, so I elaborated. "The chanting and the glowing eyes?"

"Oh, that was nothing" My eyes told her that was not enough of an answer. "I just said a bunch of words from a language we are taught when becoming trackers, and the marks on my face can glow when I tell them to, apparently it's got something to do with a survival tool that we no longer need, but still have the feature. If Lord misogyny is just gonna assume I'm a witch, I might as well have some fun with it."

As if Devlon didn't hate me enough, he gave me plenty of shit about bringing Nesta before even knowing she's not a witch. However there will be no way to convince him otherwise after that little stunt Y/n pulled.

"Are you ready for some real Illyrian training?" I asked as a challenge. She unsheathed her blades, spinning them around herself elaborately for show before crouching in a fighting stance, prepared to leap.

"Ready"

Eris's Pov

I was back at the house of wind, to my surprise, it was Rhysand who had contacted me about a meeting today, saying he did indeed have information about who he suspects is behind the unauthorised traders. I walked into the room, eyes scanning for imperfections, I found none, they prepared well, I'd give them that. Both Rhysand and Feyre were sitting at an immaculately set table, finger foods plated beautifully dotted its surface.

I sat down opposite Rhysand, my hands had not even touched the table before a commotion was heard, voices and wingbeats. My heart jumped for some unexplained reason, and I beat it down because who gave it the right to start flapping around like a lovesick puppy?

The witch and general came in while talking to each other loudly, they were both covered in sweat. She was flushed and panting, her hair littered with fly a ways, but I struggled to redirect my gaze from her form. Her armour shined in a way those Illyrian leathers Cassian wore could only dream of ever comparing.

"I take it back, I wasn't ready" she spoke, panting heavily as she walks over to the couch and collapses on it. "Told you so" She rose her upper body on her elbows, turning to face him. "Hey, you try doing my work out without breaking a sweat, mine is a lot more cardio" Cassian's face scrunched up. "I'm good, thanks"

"Perhaps Y/n should join this meeting, as it is her mission to capture the people causing these disturbances, yes?" She perked up, raising herself higher and twisting her body to face us. "You've heard more about the weapons league?"

"I believe your weapon smugglers are the strange people mingling with Autumn's merchants" Her face brightened, the streaks of blue in her eyes coming to the forefront. There was something about the idea of working with her, of being closer that just pulled me in, I can't explain it, and I am finding that it won't be long before I can't fight it either. That could not happen, I will not develop... whatever this is for her, I need to stop it here and now.

"She is not from here, she can't possibly have a lot of information about them, there is no need for her to participate in this meeting, besides she seems..." My eyes trailed over her body with appreciation masked as disgust "...Occupied"

"On the contrary, these fae originally were causing trouble in her homelands and have stowed away here, she is more knowledgeable on this adversary than anyone we know." Rhysand interjected. I wanted to point out something else, something that would keep her away from this table and more importantly, away from me, but nothing came to mind, so I just tersely nodded my head, accepting her involvement.

"Alright, just give me a moment" The female got up off the couch, making her way to what he assumed was her guest bedroom limping a little. "Is she seriously postponing a meeting with two high lords and a High lady to primp?"

"You have no space to argue about primping, Eris" I knew that, and really, I was glad she was taking the time to get herself ready, unlike the brute who just sat down radiating heat like a second, very unwanted sun smelling of sweat and picking at some of the food laid out.

It isn't long before she returns with her hair down, still wet from the quick shower she took, her scent of caramel with a hint of pine invaded my nose and I couldn't help but notice how well it mixed with cinnamon and earth that I have. What is wrong with me?

Her hair swayed with her movements, blowing a more potent dose of her scent toward me, Y/n sat down beside me and started speaking about the contraband the fae were smuggling. I listened to every word but it went in one ear and out the other, all while I stared at her with intense focus. Before I knew it, everyone was looking at me, expecting some kind of input.

"Why are they in my lands?" I really hope that she hadn't already answered that. "I suspect it is because of the new power shift, there is always a certain acclimation time where mistakes are more easily made, therefore easier for them to work in, the fact that it is a straight line from Elethairia to Autumn is just a nice little convenience for them."

How dare they? How dare they think that just because I am in charge now, they could slip by undetected, I am not weak, and nothing happens in my court without me knowing. "I'd like access to your lands so I can track them down" Her voice broke through my rage, effectively gaining my attention.

"And how would this arrangement work?" Her eyes fixed on mine "I would go to Autumn from morning till evening, then return here until the job is done" I had no idea where my next words came from, they had not received approval from my brain before they were said, laid out for everyone to gawk at. "That's ridiculous, you'll stay in Autumn, track them down and then I shall assist in getting them back to Elethairia" I was seconds away from saying something truly stupid like getting you back to Elethairia, but luckily he wasn't that far gone.

I should have just agreed with the original proposal, that was what I was planning on, but my mouth had other plans, and I couldn't take my offer off the table now, otherwise I'd look like an indecisive buffoon. Instead, I said this:

"I shall await your answer" I then got up, thanked Rhysand and Feyre and winnowed back to Autumn, though a part of me longed to bring her with.

Only so she could get to work sooner and rid my lands of these weapon smugglers. No other reason. None. She would catch them, I'd get her back to her home and these frivolous feelings would end. I would continue to rule Autumn, she would do whatever she does, and our paths would never cross again. That is what I want.

Then why did the thought hurt so bad?

Tag list: @imma-too-many-fandoms @rcarbo1

Chapter 6

A/n: Hope you enjoyed, again, my sincerest apologies about the wait

[haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll]

Tracklist:

Dragonborn • Awake • From Past To Present • Unbroken Road • Ancient Stones • The City Gates • Silent Footsteps • Dragonsreach • Tooth And Claw • Under An Ancient Sun • Death Or Sovngarde • Masser • Distant Horizons • Dawn • The Jerall Mountains • Steel On Steel • Secunda • Imperial Throne • Frostfall • Night Without Stars • Into Darkness • Kyne's Peace • Unbound • Far Horizons • A Winter's Tale • The Bannered Mare • The Streets Of Whiterun • One They Fear • The White River • Silence Unbroken • Standing Stones • Beneath The Ice • Tundra • Journey's End • Before The Storm • A Chance Meeting • Out Of The Cold • Around The Fire • Shadows And Echoes • Caught Off Guard • Aurora • Blood And Steel • Towers And Shadows • Seven Thousand Steps • Solitude • Watch The Skies • The Gathering Storm • Sky Above, Voice Within • Death In The Darkness • Shattered Shields • Sovngarde • Wind Guide You • Skyrim Atmospheres

Spotify ♪ YouTube

[wing-ed-thing]

Foul Creature (Tobirama x Reader) Part IV

Synopsis: You would say that you grew up together. From children, to teenagers, to young leaders, you did nothing but be who you were and Tobirama would forever name his love for you as the reason he hated the Uchiha.

Word Count: 3.5k

Tags/Warnings: @brokennerdalert​ Teen!Tobirama, Teen!Reader, Uchiha!Reader, Fem!Reader, Slight Madara x Reader, Forbidden Romance, Ancient Warrior Society, Timeline Divergence, Canon Typical Politics, Minor Original Characters, Arranged Marriage, Reader Has a Family, Sexism, Mama Uchiha isn’t pleased

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

Notes: This shouldn’t have taken me as long as it did... you know, I had a direction for this and then I saw the troupe on “top 5 worst story troupes that everyone hates” hahaha... we’re just improvising hahaha... ha.. ha...

You returned to the river the next day to make good on your promise, and so started a trend. Each day, you met him early in the morning under the guise of foraging. Then during the day, you were sure to finish your chores with haste and with a rigor that your family had never seen before in order to see him at night. You were sure to smuggle an assortment of freshly baked goods into your basket before running off to comb your hair. No one said a word about your suddenly elevated mood, bewildered by your sudden giddiness you seemed to have developed overnight. Surely, that would pass. But no, your chipper mood was there to stay as long as you were seeing Tobirama by moonlight.

“I am concerned about you.” Madara frowned, crossing his arms as he studied the bags that had begun to form under your eyes. As usual, you were alone in the apothecary. You frowned, dismissing his prying fingers. You turned around before taking to grinding some herbs with a mortar and pestle. His words made a sharp pang reverberate in your chest, worried that someone was onto your nightly activities. “You look very tired.”

“How kind…” You were barely paying attention to your own words as you let out a fretful sigh. You glanced out the window to the sun. To your disappointment, it wasn’t anywhere close to setting.

“You know what I mean.” 

Madara crossed his arms and leaned his back against one of the many counters that ran along the perimeter of the room. He held himself in his usual imposing stature. His presence was tall and dark, ever imposing in your peripheral vision. Even when not in battle, pieces of Madara’s armor adorned his shoulders and forearms. 

It only took him a moment to get bored of his position before he stalked over. You didn’t make eye contact as you continued to focus on your work. Madara paused for a moment before placing a large hand over the end of your pestle. It was only with this physical obstruction that you finally met Madara’s gaze. His face appeared hard, serious, and something else. 

“You work too hard,” he said sternly with a curt nod of his head. “You will be helping no one if you continue to drive yourself to exhaustion.” Your shoulders relaxed with a deep exhale. 

“Madara,” you spoke his name with a patient inflection as you swatted his hand away. “You need not worry yourself about me.” You continued to grind your herbs, somewhat hoping that if you didn’t look at him again, Madara would let the subject go. He leaned the side of his palm against the countertop as he thought. You paid no mind to the process.

By now, you were used to his hovering for Madara had always been a physical being. Physically imposing. Physically unignorable. Excellent in combat, a physical art. Even when he was with his thoughts, he hulked with his large stature as he silently pondered. 

“Is it the war effort? Is that why you are concerned?” Madara’s features softened. You didn’t answer, instead turning to grab a vial from one of the many surrounding cabinets. Of course you were concerned about the war effort against the Senju, but your feelings were more mixed than Madara could ever know. But when you turned back around, you found that Madara was still staring at you.

“Truth be told, I do not want to be at home right now.” You grabbed one of Madara’s hands, unfurled his fingers and stuck the vial right in his grip. He let you, only continuing to gaze and listen as you began to slowly spoon your crushed herbs into the container. “You know how the clan gets. Worried about the future generations and progeny. And with old-man Makihara getting so old in age… well, the apothecary needs more attention than my prospects of marriage.” You corked the vial with a lopsided smile and slipped it from Madara’s hand. “Nothing ever comes of matchmaking meetings anyway, so why bother?”

“Spending your time here all day, every day is hardly the solution to the inevitable,” Madara lectured. You snorted, rolling your eyes at him. You placed the new container of powdered herbs on an eye-level shelf to your left. 

“Is your aunt not also a working woman?” Madara handed you the mortar and pestle. The weight of them made your palm drop.

“She is indeed a working woman.” He conceded with a nod.

“A single working woman?” Madara straightened his shoulders.

“A single working woman, yes. But she never had beauty nor ability that would have otherwise been wasted.” You mouthed his final word to yourself with a roll of your eyes, not completely understanding. Madara didn’t seem to notice as he continued. “Your father tells me that you have been spending a ridiculous amount of your time here. That you have been rising early each morning to forage even before the sun rises.” Your features crinkled in amusement and acute confusion as you leaned down to store away your equipment.

“My father updates you with my foraging habits?” You quirked a brow, chuckling to yourself as you continued your task. But you soon stopped again, your smile disappearing off your face. “Why are you talking to my father?” You shot up from your crouched position, smashing your head on the corner of a half open drawer as a loud pounding came from the front door.

“Madara! Madara!” By the time you recovered and emerged out from under the countertop, the door had already swung wide open. Madara stood alert, ever-physical. —“Senju raid on the east end—!” 

He hardly bid you farewell— let alone an explanation— before he ran out the door.

***

They came close. 

Closer than they had ever before.

The apothecary sat just a few buildings inward from the settlement’s border. Surrounded by a modest herb garden, the wooden ridges of the roof stood proudly pointed towards the sky. You could hear the clattering of weaponry outside. The shouts varied in distance and from your hiding spot curled inside of a tucked away storage closet, you couldn’t tell where they were coming from. 

While you were trained from youth in the art of combat, you knew that if the Senju were to lay the village to waste and you were to flee, you would not be able to hold your own against a strategic attack by yourself. But even so, your skill with the sword was purely ceremonial and nowhere near as trained as your male counterparts. Uchiha women were, after all, expected to be able to defend the home— not participate on the battlefield.

Light from the setting sun projected shadows onto the thin, paper lining towards the top of the closet. Only the thin building paper and a line of wood separated you from the monsters lurking outside. Weaponless, you balled yourself up between some storage boxes, waiting for the fighting outside to pass. You kept alert, eyes glued to the shadows passing on the paper above, praying that you wouldn’t smell fire. 

But then arose a large, dark figure. It traveled slowly from one end of the paper towards the other. You held your breath as the figure grew closer. Time seemed to stop and the Senju warrior stalked outside. You became aware of your sore back and your feet in your sandals. Your activated sharingan followed the figure’s every movement.

A thundering crash came from somewhere behind you. Your mind immediately went to the glass bottles you so unceremoniously shoved into the cabinets in the main sector of the apothecary, but it was too late. A small shriek escaped you before your hands could fly to your mouth to silence it. 

The figure outside immediately pivoted. You could see the shape of a blade as the Senju warrior moved past the paper and made his way towards the back door of the apothecary. You waited with bated breath.

The first step leading up to the back door creaked. Then the second. 

You sat up on the balls of your feet, ready to make a run for it. You never let go of the pestle you were carrying earlier. You gripped it tightly in your palm.

You heard the back door shift in its frame as the Senju warrior grabbed a hold of the back handle.

Time stopped.

The door opened.

And just as you saw light from underneath your closet door, the clattering of swords pierced your ears. Fueled by adrenaline, you shot up and burst out from your hiding place. You shot out the door, ready to make a break for it, when a large, strong arm shot out and wrapped around your abdomen. 

Your momentum made you stumble and you would have fallen to the ground if it weren’t for the tight grip of your robes to stabilize you. You let out a scream fit for the battlefield as you swung several smashing blows with your makeshift weapon. 

“Get a hold of yourself!” Izuna’s familiar voice snapped you back to your senses. He shook you by your sleeve. His sharingan eyes glanced around wildly, looking for any signs of the warrior he had just chased off. Izuna turned back to you, concern swimming in his swirling, black patterns as he gripped onto you tighter. He hauled you to your feet, practically throwing you back towards the direction of the apothecary. “Get back inside. There is no place for a woman out here.” 

You turned towards him as you stumbled backwards. The backs of your ankles hit the lower step leading up to the back door. You gripped onto the side railing. Izuna clenched his teeth, averting his gaze from you as he clenched the hilt of his weapon. 

“Get back inside,” he commanded once more, trying not to let his acute fluster show through his hardened exterior. You retreated immediately into the apothecary, just barely hearing Izuna mutter to himself, “Madara will be outraged…” 

You barricaded the back door with some cleaning supplies, wondering what any of this had to do with Madara.

***

A large, tender bruise appeared on your forehead by the next morning, just on your hairline. Tobirama stared at it with a serious, pensive expression as he traced it gingerly with his fingertip. You sat between his knees, facing off to his left. After a certain amount of rendezvous, the two of you found a hidden grotto just inside of Uchiha territory. You sat together, fingers intertwining. 

“And the powder has a sort of, um, antiinflammatory effect. At least I hope it does. It is probably the quickest I have put this sort of thing together, but I feel as though I am really showing an affinity for the north-eastern herbs.” Tobirama traced your knuckles with the pad of his thumb as you spoke. You glanced quickly at his face from the patch of leaves that had captivated your attention for the past couple of minutes, catching a soft, amused expression around his eyes. “What?” 

“You are absolutely brilliant,” he smiled. You looked off into the greenery once more. “I would be fortunate to call such a brilliant woman mine someday.”

“A working woman,” you almost spat, the words tumbling from your lips before you could even think. They came out of nowhere, surprising you. Tobirama’s slender brows furrowed slightly, his head cocking slightly to the side. 

“Eh, yes…” he said, thrown off by your tone. Tobirama gently caressed the side of your face, but you continued to stare off into space. He tilted your chin to face him and only then were you snapped out of your thoughts. “I thought you enjoyed your time in the apothecary.”

“I do.”

“So there is no issue.” Tobirama started deeply into your eyes. His tender yet confident grip on your chin left nowhere for you to hide as he seemed to silently back you into self assurance. You nodded. Tobirama glanced up to your forehead, brows once again scrunching at the bruise you received earlier. His hand left your jaw and he traced it gingerly. “Although, I will sand down the corners of your cabinets,” he finally said after what appeared to be a moment of thought. He huffed, nodding his head a single time and you laughed at his certainty. 

“Nothing compared to yours.” You swatted his hand away. A playful, boyish smile crossed Tobirama’s lips. He squeezed your sweaty palm with his other hand. You reached up to touch his cheek, brushing your thumb under the deep, dried gash that drew a line from his lower temple to just a few inches under his eye. Your pretty irises met his red ones in jest. “Must have been a vicious cabinet.” 

“Vicious, yes, but no cabinet.” Tobirama glanced down at your lips. You were taken with his vibrant eyes. He kissed you. It was a short kiss, albeit a bit too eager as kisses between teenagers tended to be. Tobirama pulled away quickly, his thumb tracing over the skin on the back of your hand nervously. “You know…” He trailed off, quickly looking downward and off to the side. “I do not fear the Uchiha.” 

The mere mention of your clan made you freeze. You stared at him with wide eyes, wondering if he knew that you were of Uchiha blood. And if he knew, when did he find out? You shifted in his lap, beginning to inch away from him as you turned to face Tobirama. You always liked the seriousness of his face, but now, his stoic looks only served to make you nervous. 

Perhaps he knew all this time, but if that was the case, you couldn’t help but wonder why he picked now of all times to bring it up. It had been, at this point, weeks since you started seeing each other. Or maybe, you considered, something happened recently that would have revealed your secret…

He still had you by the hand.

“For the short while I have been seeing you—” He took your palm in his and held it up to his lips. —“I have only grown more fearless.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. He had to know. You just felt it.

“Do you mean this?” you asked, voice mixed equally with excitement and fear. His words made your face contrast too quickly into joyous relief as a flurry of a thousand different emotions hit you. You wondered if you managed to beat the odds, that perhaps he knew that you were an Uchiha all along and still came to accept you as you did. In your youthful haste, flashes of an idealized future skipped across your mind. A few tears began to well in your eyes.

“It is true,” he said. You let out a shallow laugh. You let another deep sigh escape your chest. Your unoccupied hand came to wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead. Something pounded from deep in your chest, shaking you at your core.

“What a relief—”

“I partook in my first raid today. A raid on the Uchiha.” 

And in a moment your heart dropped. The feeling in your center dropped faster than a rock in the river. 

You went to instinctually move away, but Tobirama raised your hand to the slash mark across his cheek. You felt the warmth of his firm skin under your fingertips.

“I joined my brethren in battle today,” he said with a certain giddiness. He smiled a toothy smile at you, the stretch across his face uncharacteristic and uncanny for his face. “I have fought by my father’s side since I was a boy, but this is the first time that I have been able to participate in a raid.” 

You had to stop yourself from covering your mouth with your hand in horror. Tobirama’s clenched fingers served as just enough resistance to remind you where you were and who you were with. Memories of earlier that day came flooding back to you. Your ordinary conversation with Madara had quickly morphed into hours of hiding in the storage room of the apothecary.

Tobirama’s second hand came to envelop yours.

“What is wrong?” He caressed the side of your face, playing with a piece of your hair between his fingers. “I thought you would be pleased.”

“I despise the conflict.” Your diplomatic words tumbled from your lips, spurred on by nerves. 

“I do as well. Do you know why?” Tobirama shifted to sit directly in front of you. His hands returned to yours, holding them loosely in his palms. He leveled with you and a look of determination settled in his eyes. “Because the Uchiha conflict keeps me from you. When all of this fighting is over, we can be together truly and authentically.” He kissed your cheek and lingered to whisper in your ear. “As much as I love sneaking around with you, I would much prefer being able to see you openly.”

You laughed together, nuzzling his cheek with your own. Only sixteen and not knowing better, you didn’t understand what his words truly meant. 

Light showed through the leaves, and despite being obstructed by foliage, you could sense your time coming to an end. Tobirama pulled away from you just enough to study your face. He did so often, although you never really noticed. Tobirama had always been methodical and pensive, even as young as he was. 

“You are worried,” he stated. The gruffness in his deeping voice did nothing to curb the softness of his tone. “But do take this before you go.” You blinked back to reality as a folded cloth settled in the palm of your hand. Tobirama unfolded the discrete handkerchief. “I am not as knowledgeable about these things as you are…” He trailed off.

Within the wrappings sat a bundle of mixed herbs, all of which resided within the Senju territory. You ran your fingers over the stems, admiring the trimmings as you split your gawking between the greens and Tobirama. Some of the herbs still had a root, as if Tobirama had pulled them from the ground with brute force alone. It is likely, you reasoned, that that was exactly what happened. Others had yellowing spots and they were absolutely beautiful. His cheeks formed deep dimples as he tried not to smile. 

“I have only seen these in books…” You offered him a sentimental expression. And in my childhood, a voice somewhere in the back of your head said. 

You rose from where you were sitting, as did Tobirama. He seemed to grow taller by the day. At this rate, he would soon be a full head taller than you. Tobirama leaned down slightly and placed a kiss on your forehead.

“Know that I will always protect you. Even if it is dangerous territory, I will come to you.” 

As he stood, his sentimental expression quickly morphed into a deep scowl. You stood by his side as he appeared to ponder. Tobirama crossed his arms. You had never known a truly serious Tobirama, you considered. His face was naturally hard with the sides of his lips taking on a natural pout. But the boyishness of his face always offset the growing soberness of his features. You thought about his reluctant smiles and dimples creased into his young face. You always considered him playful in his own way. Despite his piercing eyes, a warm softness always radiated through. But you had seldom seen this Tobirama.

“Be careful.”

***

By the time you returned home, it was already beginning to get dark. Lanterns glowed in the windows of your home, letting off a light that was a similar hue to the sky. You slipped into your own quarters, taking the herbs that Tobirama gave you out from the breast pocket of your robes. You held them in your sweaty palms and held them gingerly up to your nose.

The aroma of them was fresh and subtle. The ends of the stems were bent and just the slightest bit tattered, as if Tobirama had made an attempt to pick them gently. You barely had enough time to admire them before shoving them underneath your pillow. Your mother’s hurried stomp echoed down the hall before she whipped the sliding door of your sleeping area open. You could have sworn the paper at the top of the door ripped.

“Where have you been?” she scolded in a whispered tone. “We have guests! I thought I told you not to run off today!” You scrambled to your feet in alert. Your mother took you by the hand as she hurried you down the hallway.

“What guests?” you whispered back to her, matching her intonation. She didn’t answer. 

You almost crashed into her as she stopped at the kitchen door. She glanced at you from over her shoulder, holding one finger to her lips as she shushed you before opening the entrance into the kitchen. 

The lantern light was a stark contrast to the dimness of the hallway. 

Your breath hitched in your throat, confusion clouding your mind as you saw a familiar face. You met his dark, severe eyes. Even without his armor, he sat ever-physical across from your father at your kitchen table. 

“What is going on here, Madara?”

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: This fic probably has some of the weirdest pacing of anything I’ve ever written

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI

[gettingfrilly]

Out Chapter 3

Hello! Here is chapter 3 of this fic! Beta'd by @fish-bowl-2! Read it here or on ao3! (the format of this chapter looks better on ao3)

The stage is set... next chapter... EVENTS can occur... >:)

Like Ed Soldiers

My story takes place in the ancient Kingdom of Penumbra, a land teetering between the blessing of the sun’s light and the dark abyss of earth’s many evils. It was thought of as only a myth until I was discovered by scientists of the modern age. My discovery proved once and for all the existence of this kingdom powered by the elements of magicks. My body, broken down and long left without the mana that once fueled me, could offer little in the way of information about the history of the once great kingdom. What my shell did provide was an answer to the question scientists had been hoping to discover for centuries: is the manatech of old a possibility, or just a far flung fairy tale? Now armed with a crucial key to the puzzle, they begin to repair my antiquated body with plans to delve through my memory banks and see just what happened in the distant past. Did monsters truly roam the land? Were there still living Gods among us? Did sorceresses and black devils actually doom our land to permanent darkness? Finally, these questions could be answered.

“Ed.”

My memories start the first time I am activated. “State your name and purpose.” Mumbles the skeptical royal technician, distrusting the effectiveness of an android not made by his own hands. I take my first step forward and hear my own voice for the first time.

“Ed.”

“I am unit G V V 3 N. My purpose is the protection of Princess Penelope.” I turn to face the princess and take my first glance at my reason for living. “If it pleases the Princess, she may call me Gwen.” I close my fist over the center of my chest and click my heels together, the salute of The Penumbra Kingdom already programmed into me.  “I will protect you with my life.”

“Edward.”

The princess crosses her arms at me, the distrust in her eyes even more apparent than the technician’s. “Great. A new babysitter.”

“Edward Horace Sempill!”

Ed’s head jerks up away from his notebook, pencil stilling at the end of the incomplete line of his doodle. He had been stuck on this one for a while, eyes straining as he erased, redrew, and erased the features of the princess’s face again and again, trying to get everything just right. After a moment of staring blankly in the direction of the front of the classroom, he rises to his feet, jostling his desk in the process and causing his pens and pencils to drop and scatter along the tiled classroom floor.

“Yes Sergeant Captain Major Colonel Lieutenant Ma'am Sir!” He shouts as he flings his palm up to his forehead, smacking himself audibly. He’s been yelled at for forgetting someone’s title far too many times, so now he just just says all of them to cover his bases.

The teacher up by the chalkboard sighs while surrounding students snicker behind their hands. “Sit down, Ed. And Ma’am is fine.”

‘Oh good, I’m in Miss Bouvette’s class. She’s a nice lady,’ he thinks in relief while sitting back down with a wide grin on his face. 

The entire class falls silent, everyone turning to look at Ed’s tall frame. He glances between the different sets of eyes aimed at him, his smile falling as confusion fogs up his brain.

“... Ed?”

“Huh?” He looks back at Miss Bouvette.

“It’s your turn, Ed. Read the next passage.”

“Oh. Right.” He moves his notebook under his book, looking down at the page to find where the previous classmate left off. Wait, what page are they even on? Dread lays heavy in his sinking gut, forehead breaking out with sweat at the looming threat of his teacher realizing he hasn’t been following along. He tries to look at his neighbor’s page, but he covers the page number with his hand while giving Ed a not so friendly smile. With a sullen pout, he looks back to his own book, chewing dead skin off of his lips as he tries and fails to come up with a solution.

“Chapter three, Ed. Paragraph ten.” Comes Miss Bouvette’s patient voice.

“Oh. Right.” Ed repeats, slowly flipping to the correct page before carefully counting the paragraphs. “Cuhm ill oovrate la bowhch…”

“Next paragraph.”

“Oh. Uh… Voikee. Jeh mapple Jeen Valjeen. Jeh, ah, soos uhn galereen. Jay pace… dicks… uh, knee oof ans awoo bagnee.”

Laughter breaks out again, a little louder than before, distracting Ed and making him lose his spot. He worries at the inside of his cheek, scanning the page in an attempt to figure out where he was.

“That’s enough, Ed. Thank you. It’s your turn, Jack.” Miss Bouvette dismisses him from finishing and Ed sighs in relief. The shorter boy in front of him clears his throat and sits up straight, picking up from where Ed left off.

“Je suis libéré depuis quatre jours et en route pour Pontarlier qui est ma destination. Quatre…”

Ed sulks in his seat, sinking down until his eyeline meets the middle of Jack’s back. He tries to follow along with him, honest he does, but it’s not long before his thoughts start to drift. When he snaps back to, a new classmate is reading, and he’s completely lost where they are in the book. Defeated, he goes to pick up his pencil and continue drawing; except it’s not where he left it. His monobrow scrunches together as he searches for it, but no amount of patting his desk or glancing under his chair shows any sign of it. Defeated once more. There’s no finding something he's lost. He turns to biting his hang nails instead, his usual backup when he’s run out of ways to entertain himself. Fresh blood wells up from his sore and scab covered nail beds, the taste of iron familiar and soothing. He frees his finger of one particularly large flap of skin, chewing it between his teeth before swallowing it down. When he feels the burn of eyes on him, he turns to look at the guy sitting next to him. His face is twisted up as if he’s making a concentrated effort not to barf, meeting Ed’s eyes with a disapproving glare before mumbling to himself and looking away.

“Fucking gross, dude.”

Red hot shame burns straight to Ed’s core, and he stares down at his lap to avoid looking at anyone else. He pulls at his sleeves until his mangled fingers are hidden in his uniform, rubbing the rough fabric between his fingertips as the radiating embarrassment causes him to sweat more. He’s gonna end up with pit stains. He always does.

When the bell rings he waits for everyone else to be finished packing up and almost out the door before he starts putting his own things away into his ratty backpack. The clicking of heels approaches, and Ed packs up faster in response, hoping to avoid a lecture. 

“Ed.”

Oh. Right. He’s in Miss Bouvette’s class. She doesn’t yell at him. Maybe ‘cuz she’s not military. He flashes her a cheerful smile as he slings his bag over his shoulder. “Afternoon, Miss Bouvette, Ma’am.”

She smiles back at him, leaving Ed mesmerized by how her red lipstick glistens under the fluorescent lights of the classroom. “Good afternoon, Ed. How is your day going?”

“Goin’ alright. This is my last class of the day so now I get to go back to my room.” He smiles wider at the very thought of it. Thank golly gee it’s summer and today’s only a half day.

She smiles back, but not big and happy like Ed is. Her eyes actually look kinda sad. “Most of the students are going out to the field with their friends or doing homework in the library together. You won’t join them?”

“Can't join ‘em.” Ed answers honestly. He’s tried and failed too many times to get any of the guys to want to be pals with him.

“I see. I also see that our extra tutoring sessions don’t seem to be helping much.”

Ed winces and looks down at the floor, shoulders slouching in an attempt to make himself smaller. “Aw… I’m real sorry ‘bout that, Miss Bouvette, Ma’am. Learning a whole new language is hard.”

The feeling of her small hand and well manicured nails against his shoulder signals him to look back up, and he is rewarded for doing so with a sweet smile. “It is hard, Ed. And that’s not your fault.”

Her smile is an infectious disease, and Ed’s happy to have caught it. “Thanks for saying so.”

“I say it because it’s true. I just wish our school had more resources for students like you.”

“Ya mean the stupid ones?” Ed asks, then gives his teacher a worried look when red spreads across her face. Maybe she has a disease for real.

“I- no. I didn’t mean that. And anyone who told you you’re stupid is wrong, Ed.”

Ed has to take a moment to think on that, finger tapping his chin as he stares up at his brain.

“Hm… no, I think they’re right about that.” Ed finally answers with a proud grin, satisfied that he got the answer right.

Miss Bouvette just looks sad again. Must be diseased and not feeling well. Because of her disease.

“You have challenges, Ed. Challenges that other people don’t have to overcome. But I have full faith that you could with the right support.”

That’s gotta be his favorite thing about Miss Bouvette, even more than the not yelling; sometimes, she sounds just like Double D. He has to restrain himself from reaching out to hug her.

“Can we still do tutoring together?” He asks hopefully, hugging himself instead of her.

“Of course, Ed. My door’s always open.”

“Oh boy!” His self-restraint fails, arms flinging open and out towards his teacher. She knows him well, though, and is able to step back just in time to dodge the incoming hug, holding her hand out for a handshake instead. Ed takes her hand in both of his, gleefully and wildly wiggling her arm up and down as if he’s attempting to dislocate her shoulder.

“Okay, see ya later Miss Bouvette, Ma’am,” he calls out as he exits the classroom into the squeaky clean halls of the school. Lockers line the walls just as they would in any other high school, but the lack of decorated doors makes Ed feel like they all must be empty inside. Same old fluorescent lights, at least, the buzzing of which reminds him of the insidious insectoid ladies from that one comic where the mad scientist releases fly pheromones into the vents and causes slimy, translucent wings to sprout from the prom queen’s back while bone crunching noises herold the growth of four new arms, segmented black toothpicks coated in fine, oily hairs. Her eyes are the next to change, splitting and multiplying like the cells of new life, spreading across her face as she screams in terror, jaw stretching into fanged manables before she closes them around the prom king’s head, swallowing it crown and all. The rest of the female student body soon follows suit, morphing and screaming before biting off the heads of their own dates as they try to get away, slipping and falling on the blood-slicked dance floor, cries and shouts mingling with the blaring rockabilly music they had all been joyfully dancing to moments before. This is one mess old janitor Rusty will remember cleaning for the rest of his life, and the first time the chess club is glad to be without dates.

Ed is halted in his tracks as he trips over something and slams his face into the door to his dorm room, letting out a weak “ow,” as he slides down to the floor. 

“What just happened?” he asks aloud, sitting up from the floor and rubbing the red mark on his forehead. He’s already at his dorm room somehow, so that’s good; if nothing else, at least his brain has a great autopilot mode. But he fell for some reason. Reason, reason, reason… raison. Season for raison reasons. For what reason did he fall? Finally, his newly bruised brain catches up with his eyes, processing the strewn mail under his legs that he slipped on.

“Mail!” He shouts excitedly, rocketing up to his feet and scooping it all into his arms before rushing inside his room. After dumping the mail on his neatly made, almost too small for him, bed, he sorts through it, grabbing everything addressed to his roommate and dumping it on the bed against the opposite wall. His boots get kicked off and shoved under the mattress as he hurriedly scrambles up onto it, grinning maniacally as he clutches his pink envelope, his overstuffed manilla envelope, and a thin cardboard box in his hands. Chuckling to himself in giddy anticipation, he tears into his first letter.

🝮

Lughead,

Jimmy says hi and he wants me to tell you the big news. We saw Aaron Carter LIVE on STAGE. It was so cool! It was hard to keep Jimmy hydrated and on his feet. I thought he’d definitely pass out, especially with how woozy he got once AC came onstage. Don’t worry, I kept him on his feet. He can't afford another concussion. 

Dad didn’t feel like driving to Michigan, so he bought me and Jimmy airplane tickets! We flew over Canada. It was my first time on an airplane. Have you ever been on an airplane? Before I was born? Jimmy was really scared, but I wasn’t. He threw up like three times. Mom never would’ve let me on a plane without an adult if she was home. We’re all keeping this a secret, k? She’d go double crazy and have to stay at the hospital even longer. Speaking of mom, the doctors said she’s making good progress. They think she should be ready to come home by the end of summer.

I wish you were coming home too. Things have been too quiet around here without you. There’s stuff I wanna talk to you about that I don’t want to do through a letter. Stuff I don’t know how Dad would feel about. I know how mom would feel about it so no way I’m telling her. So stay outta trouble and keep your nose clean mister! That’s the only way you’re gonna get back home.

Miss you dummy,

Sarah

Dearest Ed,

Greetings and salutations! My, how the time flies. A whole year already since you departed from our carefree cul-de-sac. You’re halfway home, my durable friend. Every day passed is another grain of sand through the hourglass, bringing our reunion ever closer. The sooner the better; our quaint little neighborhood just isn’t the same without you and your incredulous imagination. 

My lamentations aside, I hope you are doing well. I was delighted to hear in our last correspondence that you are receiving tutoring from your French teacher. Language has always been your strong suit when it comes to academics, what with your voracious reading habits. Speaking of which, did you enjoy the last Stephen King book I sent you? I know you’re particularly fond of short stories, and Nightmares and Dreamscapes is overflowing with your most beloved genre; horror. A harrowing assemblage to be sure! Please let me know, as I’d love to send you his most recently released collection, Everything’s Eventual. It’s similarly startling. 

As per your letter, I am pleased to answer that I am doing well myself. Senior year is just around the corner, and I anticipate it being the most illuminating year thus far in my academic career. I dearly wish you were here too so we could experience it together. I’m sure Eddy feels similarly; classroom settings have become even more deliriously deranging for his psyche without you here to entertain him. We’re both counting the days until you’re able to return home. Stay safe, stay out of trouble, and focus on your school work, mister!

Sincerely,

Eddward

Hey Lumpy

Here are the comics you asked for. You better be enjoying these cuz they aint cheap. Theres some magazine clippings about those movies you wanted to see the reviews of too. Everythings boring and sucks as usual. All the shit thats fun to do with you is lame as hell without you and god knows mr stick up his ass cant manage any proper entertainment. Kevin and Rolf are ok to hang with but all they ever wanna do is drink beers in the lane or fish in the creek. I dunno how they can stand all the sitting around doing nothing. Speaking of sitting around doing nothing I still have the candy store job. Made enough money to finish paying dad back for the car and I have plenty saved up. When you get outta that shithole you and me are gonna live it up. First thing Im gonna do is take you wherever you wanna go in MY car. Then Im gonna buy us the best time money can buy. I’ll getcha drunk on gravy somehow. Theres gotta be some way to make boozy gravy that doesnt taste gross. Who knows though youd probably like the taste of vodka and gravy together. Or anything with gravy. Your sick like that. Anyway were both gonna be done with school forever and thats worth celebrating. I hope they aint changing you too much monobrow. Tell me youre still a wild animal. I need that energy back in my life. Miss you like a hernia big guy. Enough to almost make me wanna hug you and get a whiff of those stinky pits of yours. I might even shed a manly tear.

Come home already!

From Eddy

🝮

Sarah’s handwriting is neat and easy to get through, whereas Double D’s cursive and Eddy’s chicken scratch take a bit more time. It’s all worth it, though, and Ed lovingly hugs the letters to his chest when he’s done reading them. His best pals and baby sister love him and miss him! Who cares if he can’t make friends here? His heart is already so full with love and kittens and rainbows and bunnies just thinking about his fellas and baby sister back home. There’s no room left for new people in there anyway.

He spends the next couple of hours devouring the comic books Eddy sent as well as the first few short stories in his new book at his desk, a goofy grin plastered to his face long enough to make his cheeks hurt. As absorbed in his reading as he is, he doesn’t even notice the sky starting to darken outside the window between his and his roomie’s bed until his eyes start to hurt. Once he realizes why, he turns on the light that’s attached to the underhead of the top shelf of his school-issued wooden desk. That, and the school-issued bed and school-issued dresser are the only furniture items on his side of the room, not having come here originally with anything other than his backpack full of toiletries and school supplies. The only things he’s received since are gifts from Eddy and Double D, all small enough to fit in a mailbox: there’s Jim Jr., the tiny plastic cactus Double D sent that he keeps atop the top shelf of his desk, a row of novellas and short stories also sent from Double D packed tightly together next to Jim Jr., various comic books from Eddy stacked on the bottom shelf, newspaper and magazine clippings of things Ed likes tacked to the small cork board leaning against the wall behind his desk, and drawers stuffed full with a range of art supplies that Eddy and Double D sent together. His cluttered desk is the only splash of personality on his side of the room, school code demanding the walls be kept barren and the floors be kept clean. 

Ed tries to go back to reading, but alas, he already looked away from his book, and now he has no idea where on the page he was. With a shrug, he puts the book away with the others and grabs Nightmares and Dreamscapes before pulling his reason for not yet writing to Double D about the book out of his top drawer; an unfinished comic book adaptation of ‘The Moving Finger’ starring Double D as the quiz show obsessed protagonist. Ed spreads the page he was last working on out in front of him, wanting to finish the comic and send it with his review of the book as a surprise. He smiles just thinking about Double D’s reaction. He’ll be so grossed out by the multi-jointed finger wiggling out of the sink drain in Ed’s perfect recreation of his bathroom. Happy to be back in the zone, he puts all his attention into inking the last lines of the page before moving on to sketch out the next one.

The thwap to the back of his buzzed head is sudden and unexpected.

“Ow.” He states neutrally before turning around to identify his assaulter. When he sees his roommate Ron, he forces a smile. He didn’t see or hear him come into the room.

“Oh, hiya roomie!”

“Why is there a boot print on my mail?” He asks without greeting, holding up a large envelope in front of Ed’s face. Ed squints at the dirty boot treads pattern, puzzled himself before smiling wide in delight that he actually remembers why and has an answer.

“‘Cuz I stepped on it.” He states proudly.

Ron sneers at him. “Why?”

Ed’s smile falters, but not completely. “Aw, it was just an accident, Ronnie.”

“Told ya not to call me that.” He huffs, taking his mail with him as he stomps out of the room. “And watch where you’re going, retard.”

That’s when his smile fully falls.

He remembers a time he wouldn’t have cared about that; a time when Eddy would threaten to wallop whoever threw that word at him while Double D would scold and scold and scold while wagging his finger until his whole face looked like a ripe tomato. Ed would just chuckle and shake his head. He already knows he’s stupid, so it’s not news to him. But that was back when he had his pals who knew him and accepted him as is. Back when some of the most popular kids in school were cul-de-sac buddies who expected his oddities and took them in stride. Back when people liked him. Back when he was home. Back when he wasn’t alone.

His face feels hot as he struggles to remember what he was doing, tummy twisting inside of him like a maggot ready to pupate. He was reading… no, he put that away. Drawing? Yeah. But this is a new page. What was he sketching? What part of the story was he at again? And what story was it?

His lower lip juts out in a pout when he gives up, putting everything away back in its place. The last thing he wants is to get scolded tomorrow morning during room inspections. Once his desk is tidy, he grabs his new book and trudges off to bed and cracks it open to flip to a story he hasn’t read yet. He can’t actually read it though, not really, eyes scanning and taking in the words without processing them as his mind races with thoughts about home and his friends.

‘Just one more year.’