#i feel stuck and afloat at the same time

[endymions]

feeling awfully displaced this evening. there’s a longing in my heart for home, but i don’t know where it is. i don’t know if i’ve been there, or if it’s even somewhere i’ll ever go. i know i have so many years and there are so many chances to come that will bring me where i need to go, when i need to be there. but that doesn’t stop the fierce ache for the place only my soul remembers.

[ctrlhope]

Bound By Blood (m)

synopsis: A servant to the state since birth, forced to work for the royal family until you die. These are the conditions that have granted you life, yet are they are the same ones that can take everything away. He can take everything away. But he would never, for you are his future, his eternity.

k.taehyung x f.reader

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: wc: 16.0k

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: genre: royalty au, soft yandere, fluff, smut, smidge of angst

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: content: soft yandere!prince!taehyung, maid!reader, power imbalance, talks about death/violence, blood, slight predator/prey dynamics, manipulation, misunderstandings, dom!tae, tae calls reader lamb, oral (f.receiving), marriage related dirty talk, virginity kink/loss of virginity, size kink, praise, reader is fucked dumb, implied kissing reader while she sleeps, implied offscreen somno, implied stalking, ownership, tae is rlly sweet and adorable

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: notes: hello!!! this was meant to be a drabble but as you can see it spiralled out of control lmao. i got a little hyper fixated (and grew a really bad crush on this taehyung) so it ended up being way longer than i initially thought! regardless, i hope you all enjoy it as much as i did writing it!!

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni

The Kim Empire. 

Your home, your family, your livelihood all wrapped up in those three little words.

They practically brandish your mind, have been since you were no more than a babe. Stuck in the clutches of everything Kim since you were born. Your mother a maid, your father gone from the face of the earth. At least as far as you are concerned he is, anyway. 

He is better off dead. The alternative of him living scott free in some far off land, meanwhile you have to serve the hand and foot of the king sets no more than the bitter taste of coffee beans against your gums. 

Bedding your mother, no more than a fresh-faced maid at the time. Outcasting her the second after when he had to have known the rules of the palace. The demise it would cost both her and her future daughter. Perhaps every generation that followed as well– if there were to be any, that is. 

Housestaff are not meant to have relationships. They are meant to serve the king and his bountiful family. How are you meant to do anything else with a child bouncing at your hip, a husband grabbing at your ass. 

You’ve heard the speech plenty of times. The words ingrained in your skull just as the brand you received when you were far too young to remember the pain of it. Evidence that you are bound to the palace by blood until the very moment you take your last breath. 

The punishment for becoming pregnant within the walls of the palace are simple: your child belongs to them. For anything within the Kim Estate is their rightful property, given to them by the grace of god. 

You, a gift from god to serve the empire. You would snort at the notion if training from a young age prohibited it. You are just a result of your mothers kindness, her naivety. 

You could never find it within your heart to blame her. She was just a girl who thought she was in love. Fired for her love. Had her daughter taken from her to serve for her love.

Love is something you will never be granted the property of. 

You will be granted an allowance to send home to your mother to keep her afloat. You will be granted a room to sleep in, clothes to wear, food to eat. A secure job in which you can never be fired– well. That is a lie. Though, your termination would come at the end of an axe, rather than a piece of paper. 

You used to muse at the thought– when you were a young girl, no more than 11 or 12. Going through your melancholy years, hating the rest of the world for simply existing. For putting you in a position where you could not change your fate, instead had to endure your present. Feeling like a  girl trapped in a tower just like the bedtime stories had always prescribed. 

One time you had caused such a ruckus in front of the oldest Kim son you really did think you were going to get the axe. Hell, you were even prepared for it. Locked away in a cell for two nights, brought before the executor. 

Right before the swing was meant to be brought down against your neck the head maid ran into the room, gave some sort of letter to the man. She apologised profusely, gripping your ear and dragging you away from the scene. 

You hadn’t acted ary since then. It taught you your place. Made you realise the need to survive buried deep within your bones. In the innate way some sort of wildcat would lash out until it was bloodied and on its last breath. 

You would not die at the end of a knife. You’d live your life, acting a maid until you could die peacefully of old age. Even if it meant surrendering yourself to servitude for the most annoying brat you’ve ever laid eyes on. 

A quiet sigh slips past your lips at the mere thought of him. The sound would get you punished if anyone were to hear, especially in respect to the coveted crown prince of the kingdom. Few share the same opinion as you of him– but then again most that work here aren’t forced. 

It is only when the stars are strung high in the sky that you allow yourself to feel such things. When you stay awake past the beginning of rest hours, most of the staff (save for the night shift) falling to sleep hours prior. Only then when you’re out in the gardens do you allow indignation to satiate your brain. 

For the few hours of freedom you may hold dear until the next morning begins and you are forced to live the same day once more. Over and over again until the end of time. 

Your fingertips reach out as you walk, bruised from the scrubbing of floors, to find purchase against the walls of flowers rimming the maze. Rough fingertips dance against the gentle petals of roses, lulling in the feeling. Picking themselves against the thorns without much of a thought, not withdrawing. Only pausing feet to observe. 

How can something so delicate and beautiful wish to cause harm? It does not. It simply desires a way to survive. You could never fault it for that. 

“Pretty, are they not?” A dark, husky voice sends cold down your spine. Hairs become on edge, back straightens taught, ears perk just as if you are an obedient dog. Fear flashing through your entire being.

You do not wish to turn around. Do not have any want to face the man that has caught the air in your lungs. The one catching you in the garden without any proper attire in place. Though you must. You must bow, grovel at his feet for forgiveness for allowing him to see you in your nightgown. For not being in bed as you should. 

Prince Kim has never been known for being kind. 

Your body acts for you while your mind sets on pause– taking several steps forward, bending your body at the hips to give a proper 90 degree bow. Your hands clasp before you, hair coming down in front of your face. 

“Prince Kim–” You rush, suddenly out of breath, “Please forgive my insolence. I-I am not of right attire or mind to be standing in front of his excellency right now. Nor should I be excused for touching the property of the palace. I have no proper excuse and any punishment you decide will be deserving. Please forgive me.” The words recite from your lips like a bible– instruction of them being heard time and time again. 

Cold night air whips at your ankles, fluttering the gown around your ankles. The chill only adding to the cold sweat you’ve discovered has perspired. Making your hair dance around your shoulders.

You expect something, anything really. A slap, a single word. Though there is only silence in response. Silence that extends far too long and feels far too pungent for your taste. If he was going to do something, you rather he just get it over with. 

After what feels like an eternity, you finally hear the baritone of his voice once more.

“Pretty, are they not?” He asks again, repeating the same sentiments as before. Confusion bristles through as a kite in the summer air. Why is he asking you this? Is he not annoyed he caught a maid in such a level of disrobement? What is he trying to gain? What does he want? 

All the questions you do not have any hope to answer rush through you causing you to feel confused and incomposed. Every boring lesson you were forced to sit through never taught you how to deal with this exact situation. You aren’t sure what he wants, nor your place in the garden. The thought scares you. 

Against your better judgement, you allow your chin to tilt up only slightly. Only enough to look at the man– to try and read the expression on his face so you can better analyse your next action. 

The shock you feel when you find his face is only inches from your own, frame bent down to make his eyes level with yours is something you cannot explain in words alone. 

You would prefer to scream and run, however that is not an option at this moment, or so it appears. Instead, your eyes only widen in shock, in trepidation. Your mouth opens into a small ‘o’ as you stare.

Never before have you made eye contact with a member of the family. Never before have you had the luxury to view one so close. In any other circumstance, you suppose, you would surely be punished for such a thing. Someone lower should never view a future king in such a way.

You wish you could say he was a heinous, ugly beast for hatred of the palace alone. Yet you can’t, for he isn’t. He is beautiful. 

Sure, you knew that already. Paintings of him are plastered across the walls– his face is everywhere eyes are able to reach. Yet this close, at this angle, you can’t stop the way your heart skips a beat. Can’t help but admire every facet of his complexion before being thrown in front of the lion again. 

A gorgeous, blinding smile wipes across his face the moment you face him. Lips forming into an adorable box after he finally has your attention fully drawn on him. You’re startled back once again, sending your brain into a further whirlwind than before. 

He desires an answer.

“I um… Yes. I suppose they are.” You nod slowly in response, following in his footsteps as he returns to full height. 

You must follow his lead– it is how you will survive. 

You usher a stray lock of hair over your shoulder, trying to stop it from hitting your face. The air starts to become stale again, feeling empty in the lack of his reply. It is awkward, and the way he stares at you, eyes darting around your face– your figure, has you feeling in some sort of girlish, embarrassed way. 

You think you dislike the feeling. 

“Are you a fan of roses?” His arms are pulled behind him, wrapped together as he bounces on his toes in something that looks like… boyish delight? The muddle of your brain can't help to understand a single thing. He is making no sense, trying to make conversation with you. Trying to find a morsel of companionship in someone who is meant to bow to him like he is the true god of your mortal plain.

You will have to oblige until he allows you to depart. 

“I suppose so.” 

He frowns. Try again.

“I adore them, the palace always has the most gorgeous petals all year round.” You smile at him, hoping it masks any discomfort you feel. 

The smile returns to his own lips as he begins to walk. Tilting his head to you as a cue to join him. You try to keep your paces a few behind his own, a maid should never walk beside a member of the family. Though he only slows in response, matching your gate even though it is obvious he hates having to slow down. 

Why is he behaving in this manner? It makes no sense to you. 

“The flower of devotion.” He nods, breaking the silence once more and keeping his eyes straight ahead. 

You almost want to admire his profile– the gentle curve of his nose, yet you refrain. Training your eyes ahead, keeping your fingers laced in front of you. Trying to look as put together as possible at this moment. 

“Is it?” You quiz, unable to take the awkward silence anymore. He doesn’t seem to mind it. Unbothered, tucking his hands into the pockets of his loose, flowing sleep pants. 

“Of many other things, as well.” He nods, sending a slight smile at you. 

“I don’t know much about the language of flowers.” Though it feels wrong to be talking with Prince Kim so casually, you try your best. The more you give in, mayhaps the sooner he’ll bore and the faster you will be able to run from the cage. 

“Tell me your favourite, maybe I can tell you its meaning.” He pauses and you find yourself at the foot of the gazebo. He reaches out his hand, offering to help you up the small stairs of it. 

All over again you find yourself taken aback. The prince is requesting that you touch him, not for his service, but your own. He desires to help you. Is for some reason treating you like a lady. 

You don’t understand it, yet with great hesitation you oblige. You place your hand on his much larger one, allowing it to encase it. Help you up the stairs.

“I don’t know many…” You hope he cannot hear the hesitation in your tone, “Though I’ve always been fond of lilies.” You tell him, attempting to pull your hand away from his own as you reach the top. 

He doesn’t allow it, keeping your small palm tight in his own. Fear trickles in once more, circling around your heart, constricting it. 

You knew you shouldn’t have trusted him in the slightest. It is here where you shall face punishment for all the previous misdemeanours committed. White stone shall be painted with red and you will be left to your own devices to clean up the mess.

Your lungs start to take in more air, though of course you try to disguise it. Turning around to face him, to discover why he has kept you held firm, air is leaving your lungs for another reason entirely. 

He holds your hand close, examining your fingers. Tilting it back and forth, smoothing his thumb over the back of your skin. If he takes note of the little dots of red, he doesn’t make comment of it. He only curls his fingers upwards, hooking against your own. Bringing your hand up to his lips as if it was the most delicate thing on earth. Staring at them with a passion you doubt you’ve ever seen before.

“Rebirth.” His breath fans across your knuckles, slowly lowering to place a gentle kiss against the skin. His lips are soft, so gentle against your weary flesh. So full of safety, so full of song.

When he retracts, he pulls away no more than a millimeter, though his grip tightens. 

“Purity.”

Your first meeting with the prince had left you with a flurry of emotions, none of which you could hope to syphon through. For hours he kept you in the gazebo, sitting with you. Talking until it appeared the sun was cresting over the horizon. 

He refused to release your hand the entire time. His fingers playing with your own, perhaps obsessed with the feeling of your tiny hand laced with his own pristine skin. Did not pay any attention the several times you tried to excuse yourself, only changing the subject of conversation to try and keep you in place.

It was strange. Confusing. You did not understand the reasoning or cause behind any of his actions. 

Well, at least until the next morning while you were scrubbing the floors. Your friend Annabell cleaning right by your side. Catching up, gossiping about the new recruits found in the manner. It is only times like these when you actually get the chance to talk, to giggle with someone meant to be your equal in both age and house status. 

The only chance you’re truly able to forget about the fact she is able to leave once her contract expires. But it does not matter– any small amount of spite you hold is slashed away by her kind smile. The understanding in her eyes as she treats you like just another maid set to work for the king instead of a captive. 

It is only after the 7th yawn of the morning she asks about the poorly covered bags under your eyes. You had gone to bed with the rest of the girls, there is no reason you should be so tired. You never appear to be, at least it is not shown around others.

You struggle with yourself for a moment, trying to decide whether the night before was meant to be kept as a closely guarded secret to your chest. Yet one look at your closest confidant had you spilling everything. 

The entire night– the stars, the flowers, the way he prattled on. How tight he gripped your dirty, calloused hand against his pristine soft ones. 

You feel strange speaking of it, remembering it in any way. It causes your cheeks to heat and a fury to settle below your ribs. 

It is a strange feeling, yet not an entirely unwanted one. 

Your eyes train to the floor as you spill your soul, unable to keep it in once it starts pouring out. You try to keep your tone as neutral as possible– to tell her about the night as if it was a simple news story you heard from a guard. Though, you’re unsure of your success in the matter. 

A poised laugh leaves the lips of your counter, her eyes cresting into half-moons. 

“You cannot be serious right? You tell stories.” She giggles, shaking her head before continuing her assault on the floor. 

You simply shake your own. 

“It happened, I was as shocked in the moment as you seem to be now.” She lets out a small bellow of giggles once again. 

“No, no. I believe it happened entirely. I’m only talking about the fluster of your face.” She giggles, lifting her rag and shaking it for dramatic effect. You roll your eyes, cracking a small smile.

“There is no such thing.” You laugh knowing that there is. 

“Oh my heavens. Y/n, you cannot tell me you’ve grown fond of the Prince, have you?” Her words are hushed now, much more so than before. As if someone may be listening to the conversation. 

You tense in reply, unsure of the answer yourself. The closest you’ve ever felt to fondness of another man was a stable boy a few years back. Only 17 at the time, head wrapped in romance novels that you didn’t entirely understand. He was handsome and he was kind. However just as you were starting to become closer to him, he was sent away to work at another palace. 

You had not been optimistic since then.

She takes your silence as an answer in itself. Moving towards you, gripping your shoulders and hauling you to sit on your haunches. Forcing you to look at her face as she speaks. 

“You cannot be serious.” She repeats again, hoping for any sign of doubt. All she receives is bewilderment in reply, “Y/n. You can never trust Prince Kim.” 

You sigh, “I know, Anne, I–” You’re cut off with her own voice again.

“No, not in the way you’re imagining.” She sighs, letting her hands drop from your shoulders to continue scrubbing at the floor. Making work of herself as she speaks, “The other maids don’t tell you of much, do they?” 

You can’t deny it. Your seclusion within the castle walls is only partly of your own design. 

Other maids do not feel as though they can trust you, seeing as you are full property of the crown. In their eyes, you hold not a crumb of loyalty to your own kind. Few maids speak to you like Annabell does for fear the second they say anything wrong you are going to tell the world. 

You would never, though your word is worth its weight in feathers to them.

“They don’t care for me as you do… no…” You admit, continuing to clean as well. She already knew the answer, letting out an exhale before she speaks.

“Prince Kim has a pension for… debauchery… I shall say,” She flinches at her own words, yet doesn’t know a better way to put it, “The variety in which he uses pretty words to seduce young ladies to bed with him. Royalty from other lands, general’s daughters, maids. It matters not. He likes them for the night then pretends they shall never exist again.” 

Each word she speaks sends another stab into your gut. A dull pain blooming from the same places which a swirling was forming before. 

Ah. It all makes sense now. 

“Oh.”

“He has a particular fondness for the other maids, you know. Bedding them without a second thought.” A grimace forms on your friend's lips, scrubbing harder into the already shining floors, “There is no reason to form any sort of affection for that man. It will only end with his seed inside your core and a knife in your heart.” 

Yes, everything she is saying makes perfect sense. You feel almost stupid to not see it before. Maybe you just didn’t want to see it– want to think about it in any sort of fashion. But this makes much more sense than the crown prince wanting to speak to you for any other purpose. Explains why he was acting as a true gentleman to someone so much lower than him. 

However, you find that it does not take away the cavernous pit that has formed in your gut. 

“I see, I have no desire for either.” You nod your head in understanding, not sure of what else to say. “I don’t understand why he’s taken an interest in me, though.” 

She gawks, “I don’t understand why it has taken him so long to in the first place.” She shakes her head.

“Nevertheless, it doesn’t matter. Y/n, you must promise me. You will not fall for him, nor give any part of yourself to him. He is not someone that will care for you like you deserve.” She states, blue eyes piercing icicles into your own. She is determined and will not relent until you agree.

“I do not wish to. Not after hearing all of…” You make some sort of motion with your hand, “that. Anyone would be a fool to like him.” 

You nod your head while Annabell smiles in agreement. 

“Good.” 

Those are the last words you exchange with anyone for hours. The rest of the day passed by with lightning, an endless turnstile of things to take care of. A ball was to be held soon meaning the castle would be a wreck for the next few days. Too much planning, cleaning, sewing, coordination had to take place before anyone could rest. 

Honestly, you were grateful for it. A break from thinking was much needed. As is a good night’s rest. 

You sigh, already imagining how lovely it would feel to pull off your shoes for the day. Peel the cotton off your body and replace your dress with something more comfortable. 

Oo! Hopefully enough warm water will be left for a quick bath. That would be just wonderful, your muscles would be able to unfurl. The perfect thing to lull you into a glorious sleep.

Your arms stretch over your head as you finish descending the staircase into the maid hallways. Bones in your back pop from the pressure, causing a sigh to make its way from your lungs. Your nimble fingers make their way to the ribbon holding your hair in place, untying it and allowing the tresses to fall. 

Soon you would be in the maid resting quarters– your appearance would matter not there anyway. 

You send small smiles to other staff members passing you, those that have either just woken for the night or those who still have work to do. Yet in return, each one of them just stares at you with an incredulous look. Turning and whispering to their friends as if you were not still in front of them. 

You can’t help to understand why. Those around you may not have considered you a friend, but they were never rude. Always polite when need be. It has you feeling strange, some type of nervousness as you get closer and closer to the hallway extending to the maids personal rooms. 

Rounding the corner, you discover exactly why. 

His frame looks entirely out of place standing there. A perfect, pristine picture in a hallway of drab, illuminated only by the lanterns hanging on the wall. Royal blue tunic draped on his shoulders only emphasising his status. 

He looks as though he was never meant to be here. Like a mistake was made along the cobblestone walls. No, he looks as though he is meant to be among the living. Not in your dreary, windowless life. Nothing could change that. 

You stand there frozen, a deer caught in the lanturn of a hunting party. A pounding of your heart, as well as the dark swell of your gut coming back to life. Why is he here? Why the hell does he have a bouquet of flowers?!

You wish to scream, but you don’t. You have already been caught. 

His eyes look up from where he created a small pile of dirt on the floor. His face coming alight in an instant, pushing himself to full stature from where he once leaned against the wall. Long legs making their way towards you while he suddenly has the decency to hide the bouquet behind his back. 

Annabell certainly did not mention this method of Prince Kim’s seduction. You had never seen him down here before. 

“Hi.” Is all he says once he is finally face to face with you. His face bright and youthful. Excited.

It seems all formalities have been dropped in his mind, though you refuse the notion. 

“Prince Kim.” You simply reply, lowering yourself in a curtsy. 

He pays no mind, almost pretending you never did it in the first place. Instead, he simply rocks back and forth on his heels, bouncing slightly in delight. Wanting something, unable to voice it. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, hoping to end the encounter swiftly to stop all of the prying eyes leering into your being. 

“I brought you something.” His eyes do not break contact with yours once and you can see his hand twitch by his side as if it wants to reach out for something. You're glad he has the decency to hold back, so you shall do the same by pretending you never saw the flowers in the first place. 

You choose not to ask yourself why he brought you a present. It must just be a trick of seduction.

“I am honoured to accept such a thing.” You send a small smile his way, something between real and fake. It seems to make him beam. 

His arm comes out from behind, holding the flowers between both of your bodies. You look down at them, shock written across your features. 

Sure, you had noted them as flowers before. But you think these may be the prettiest ones you’ve seen in your whole life. Petals of orange, white, and purple cloud in your eyes. Stomatas filled with the sweet pollen.

Lilies. All different kinds– ones you’ve never seen before.

They’re out of season, at least you think they are. How did he get these? Why is he giving them to you? Why is he trying to get the butterflies to return? Why is he trying to make your heart explode?

“Prince Kim…” You’re not sure what to say– instead gently reaching out to feel the velvet of a petal. Staring intently at their colours, unable to pull your eyes away. 

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” His voice is a husk of a whisper, as if you’re the only two in the hallway. As if other maids are not passing, as if they are not staring at the two of you.

“Yes… I… I’m not sure what to say.” It is all so hypnotic. 

“Thank you would be a good beginning, no?” His smile is soft, a light chuckle present in the tone.

You pause, tilting your head to look up at him fully– a large, real smile donning your lips.

“Yes. Thank you.” 

You feel as if you are floating, just as you would when reading those romance books in your late teen years. Like the world has stopped moving save for the prince in front of you slowly passing the flowers into your arms. 

Your hands brush against each other and you feel his fingers twitch, tightening ever so slight. Wishing to grab onto your hand just as he had done the night before. Wishing to insect every line that traces over your fresh once more.

However, he refrains. Allowing his ringed fingers to sink themselves into his pockets.

“I was just going to have them delivered. I’m not really meant to be down here, you know,” His smile is shy, “But I didn’t know your room. That, and I wanted to see you again.” 

You look down, unable to keep the eye contact he presses you for. Prince Kim is too much for you. You don’t understand how he couldn’t be too much for anyone. 

“Oh…” You’re a flush, “Thank you for saying that.” 

“It is nothing to thank me for.” He chuckles, bangs dimming the hues of his eyes, “I’m sure I bored you with all of my ramblings.” 

He did, partly, but that was more discombobulation for the situation and a sense of tiredness creeping into your bones. You shake your head quickly.

“Of course not. I had.. Fun.” Mayhaps fun isn’t the right term, yet there is no word that exactly describes your emotions of last night, nor the ones of today.

“As did I.” His lips are tight in a smile again, feet bouncing on their heels once more. He’s nervous, wants to say something again but isn’t sure how.

You’re not sure how to feel about learning what that habit means. Not sure how to feel about what any of this means. You have not had a moment alone to truly dissect what all of it is. 

“I would love to spend the night talking to you again, if you would allow me.” You don’t think you would love anything more, yet you know you would not be able to function. Would probably make a fool of yourself, too. 

“I-I think it would be best if I were to get some rest… I had not even an hour before I had to start working last night.” 

He frowns, “That’s not good for your health…” He pauses, searching your face for any signs of distress, “Then let's talk in your room. I will only stay until you sleep.” 

You pause, air drifting back into your lungs.

Ah. Right. 

The words of your friend sink in once again, breaking you out of whatever trance he had put you under. Whatever spell he laced through both of your ears to have you singing songs of praises for him and the crown. 

He wants you as a notch in a bedpost. Nothing more. It is clear as day and you are a fool to think anything other than that. This is all just a cleverly rehearsed show. You will not fall victim like your mother. 

All royalty is the same. Use use use. Beat a dead horse until it stops coughing up any sort of reprise. 

Your posture is suddenly tense, fist gripping the flowers so tight your knuckles appear white. 

How dare he think so low of you. How dare he think he might be able to fuck you for nothing. 

“Men are not allowed in the women's private quarters.” Your voice is staunch, though it is not as if he can tell nor cares. 

If he does, he doesn’t show it. 

“Ah,” The lilt is still evident in his tone, the cat playing with the mouse, “But I am not any man, am I?” His body leans a bit closer, pulling his face parallel to your own. Smirk playing on his lips. 

Beauty is a deceptive thing, isn’t it? “When I am king I’ll make it so I can see you whenever we both desire.” Something heats in your gut at those words, yet anger quells it just as fast. 

“It is a shame that you are not King yet, then.” You nod politely in his direction, trying to excuse yourself. Yet your words only seem to excite something in his eyes, lighting a fire behind them. 

“My, I didn’t know you felt that way.” He smiles coy. A flustered sensation overcomes you as you realise the double meaning behind your words. You had made it sound like you wanted him in that way when that could not be farther from the truth.

“I do not.” You state, your voice ice. Though once again, it seems that it does not pierce him. 

“There is no reason to be so cold, Y/n.” He sing songs, tapping one of his long fingers against the side of his head. 

“I am not being cold! You are just not listening.” You sigh in exasperation. Exhaustion and annoyance make you forget yourself, causing your volume to rise just as his own does. This only seems to excite him more. 

“I have heard enough.” He giggles, boyish and what others would describe as cute. Right before you’re able to argue back once again, he cuts in with his own voice once more.

“I will leave you for now. Find a pretty place for the flowers.” 

He smiles generously at you, beginning to walk away, “Have a good night. I’ll see you soon.” 

In your shamble of a disposition, you’re left stuck there. Staring at his back as he retreats down the hallway. 

The shock of everything that had just transpired coming over you all at once. How poorly you had behaved. How you spoke to him. He could have you killed for any one of those things however instead he left you with a bouquet of flowers and a promise for another night. 

You scramble to find yourself, to move yourself from out of the eyeline of every other maid. To make your way to your room, your one sanctuary as quickly as possible. 

It is only when you’re in those walls, hard oak door shut firmly beside you that you have to remind yourself of your promise to your best friend. Remember that the prince fights his battles with words and emotions. 

Your second meeting with the man had left you even more confused than the first. Thousands of questions and emotions real through your bones at a pace your brain can’t manage to understand. Leaves you fuming, trying to form a single coherent thought as you analyse the last two nights with a ferocity unimagined. 

In your state, however, you neglect to think of the one question that should be dancing before you, held on a string just out of reach. 

Why did he know your name? 

It is apparent that since that night, Prince Kim has located which room you find habitance in. 

This morning, another letter has found itself slipped under the base of your door. They have become commonplace now– letters detailing apologies for why he was unable to visit, what he had gone about on his day, his regrets that he has not heard back from you in what feels like ages. 

He’s tried to speak to you a few times in the palace when you work. His eyes always trained on you with something you’re unable to describe when you clean nearby. 

You wish you could say it was perverse in manner, but it was nothing of the sort. 

Every once and awhile you would catch a lily pinned to his breast pocket. He would send you a secret smile whenever it caught your attention. As if it was a tale meant for only the two of you to know. As if he wanted to carry a portion of you with him.

You may be naive in saying so, nor do you have much experience in the matter, but these do not feel like the actions of a man who simply wishes to find home under your dress. These feel more personal. More extravagant than anything else. 

Nevertheless, you ignore every single advance. Annabell made you promise, and it was a promise you were intent on keeping until your dying breath. 

Put the letters away in a box, never to be responded to. Avoided looking at him whenever he was near. Rushed out of rooms when it appeared he was intent on  making his war for you.

Icing out the prince is what is best. Whatever lilies he will wilt and die and you will be able to continue on with your hatred of the Kim family as well as your blood pact with the throne. 

You only wish it was that easy.

“Y/n!! Miss Y/n!!” There is a scramble outside of the door, voices hailing for your presence. You don’t know why– you’re on wash duty. Anyone, unless they’re extraordinarily new, would know that. 

The voice grows more erratic, more panicked. As if their life depends on finding you in that very moment. The other maids in the quarters send their glaces to you, urging you to go yet not one opens their mouths. 

At least one bonus of endenturing your entire life to the palace is that you have grown in rank. More than 10 years has granted you a decent position. 

A hushed sigh slips past your lips and your hands find themselves forcing the pile of sheets into the washing tub. Your hands quickly wipe away at your apron, ridding them of any moisture before pushing open the door. 

Stepping into the hallway lined with stone you notice only a single girl. Her entire form shaking as she paces the hall– panicked. Blonde curls bouncing with every step, cheeks a fluster. 

A new recruit, indeed. Celley is the name she wears. 

She had just entered with the last batch of new maids, starting at the palace no more than 2 months ago. She was a recruit you were unsure of– not having a lick of grace or balance, nor any experience with serving. But you suppose there are many reasons maids are chosen. 

You do not like to think of them.

Her feet are suddenly clamouring over to you, noticing your presence for the first time since you’ve stepped in the hallway. Her small, shaking hands grip your shoulders, holding you with all the will she seems to possess. 

“Excuse me have you seen–” She stops herself, tiny pants pausing as her eyes go wide, “Oh my days! Miss Y/n! You must hurry!” She rushes, hand gripping your wrist as she tries to pull you away. 

Though your face twists in confusion, your feet remain firm. 

“What’s the matter?” You ask, both sympathy and concern entering your frame. You can admonish her later for her lack of manners, however now, the girl seems truly frightened. Her large steel eyes looking back at you, pleading. 

“The crown prince! He’s!” She’s out of breath once again, continuing to try and urge you on.

This time, the second the word prince is muttered, you begin to follow her pace, “He’s lost his mind! He’s going on a firing spree! Locking up anyone who tries to calm him!” 

“What? Why is that? Did something happen?” You ask hushed, urging the girl to keep her voice down. Though you both are similar in age, it is apparent who has experienced this type of thing before. 

“He got into some kind of spat with his father. His instructor was fired when he tried to continue on with their lesson.” It seems she understood your message, continuing to hurry you down the halls. 

“And what am I meant to do?” 

“I-I don’t know!” She lets out a quiet yelp, pulling you closer as you exit the maid hallways and enter the palace ones, “His personal maid is away visiting family. She said to leave everything to you if something were to happen! I-I didn’t know what else to do!” 

Damn Eleanor and everything she stands for. Why the hell did she have to bring your name into this?! Shouldn’t the head maid be called in times like this?! Not you, someone who wants nothing to do with any member of the royal family. Especially the crown prince himself. Sure, there must be rumours spreading around but you had managed nearly three weeks without speaking to him!

You let out a sigh, squaring your shoulders in an attempt to appear more confident, more put together. You will do this, and you will come out victorious. Every battle before has left you victor. What is one more?

“I understand. It will be dealt with.”

The least you can gain is the idyllic picture of the prince to be shattered forever. That would be the most ideal outcome, something to truly force him out of your heart for good. You will not fall prey to him and his earthly desires. He will not win your heart. 

At least that is what you hope. 

The throne room's doors stand before you, delicate lacings of gold worth more than your entire being etched into its surface. A glittering picture for what is sure to be a bloodbath behind its contents. 

A deep inhale of warm air fills your lungs, hand pressing against the door as you force it open. Face someone you have not wanted to see nor extinguish the flames of in nearly a month. 

He stands before you, 20 paces ahead. A broken bottle in his hand as he heaves, shoulders rising and falling with the passion of ten thousand suns. The look of murder in his eyes as he stares down at a maid, her form on the ground. Bowing with as much might as she can possess, looking for any exit possible. Few other maids stand around the room, keeping their heads low, avoiding any eye contact possible. 

Though he looks like a mad man– mayhaps a god of war himself, not a single hair is out of place on his head. He is still the picture of sovereignty. And though your breath spikes, you find that you are not afraid. 

What a strange feeling it is.

The creak of the door sends single to him, has him whipping his head to face you. Anger etched into his features, a new target befalling his sight.

You stand tall, moving towards him. You will rise to the position given to you, even if it shall mean your inevitable downfall. As long as the new staff are safe.

Only, when he looks to you, no wrath is found. No anger or deceit. The second his eyes meet your own, his expression drops along with the bottle in his hands. More glass littering the floor in its wake. 

His eyes soften, his lips turning from a sneer into a gentle frown. His shoulders automatically lower, and suddenly it appears that there is no one else in the room. His legs move automatically, carrying themselves to you with such a hurried pace you would have thought he had seen a long lost friend. 

Oddly, this scares you more than when he was angered. 

You start into a bow, “Prince Kim, I’ve come in place of–” 

His arms wrap themselves around you before you can speak another word. Pulling you in, wrapping you into his scent as you're pressed against his sturdy chest. Strong arms keep you in place as he tries to make his body become one with your own. 

His face buries itself into the crook of your neck, one hand raising to tie itself in your hair. It forces you to stay in place, stay attached to him just the way he wants you to be. Allows him to inhale, breathing in all of you. Finally delving into the scent that he has been craving.

Your eyes only widen, hands staying firm at your side in shock. Heart beginning to race, head becoming lost in the soaps that only a member of a family could possibly own. 

You’re not sure what to do. How to behave. As far as you are concerned or aware, this is something that no other has had happen before. At least not so openly. Not so brazenly in front of a myriad of other people. 

But, it seems to calm him. To placate him in a way you’re not sure anyone could explain. 

You try to make a small twisting motion with your hand, try to urge everyone else to leave while they have the chance. 

They seem to take it, exiting the room as fast as possible. 

You’re sure word of this will spread throughout the castle quickly. You hope the consequences will not be dire. 

“Prince Kim–” You begin to speak after everyone has cleared out, after he holds you for what feels like a lifetime. You can’t find it in you to want him to pull away, no matter how embarrassing this seems. 

“Shh,” He quickly silences you with a gentle press of his lips to your pulse, “Let me stay like this for a moment.” 

You are unable to move. Unable to breathe after he kisses you. War could begin in that very moment and you’re not sure you would have noticed in the slightest. You are stunned into obeying his whim as he simply inhales and exhales. 

The umber in his voice only comes after a millennia, after his shoulders have completely sagged. After all the tension is removed from his body. 

“You didn’t respond to my letters.” He still doesn’t pull away, his grip on your hair tightening a fraction. 

You pause.

“I…I didn’t know where to send them.” You lie and his hand loosens. The correct answer. 

“My study. Put them under the door to my study.” He instructs like a king would. 

You’re not sure why the tone of his voice sends shocks to your gut. Pooling into something you only find in your dreams.

“But if someone were to see them–” 

“Let them.” Mumbles in your ear to you and you alone, a growl practically spiking through his voice, “I want them to know.” 

Oh. This is new. This is definitely new. This is not the same way you felt with the stable boy years ago. This has become something entirely alienating. A completely different beast. You know that now as his baritone voice sends waves straight through your gut. 

You simply nod in reply, your mouth unwilling to say anything back. The arm around your lower back grows more firm.

“Tell me where you will put your replies.” He commands into your ear. 

“Under the door to your study.” Your reply is automatic, years of answering to the kingdom evident in your tone. 

He sighs, unfurling his fingers from your locks to gently pet the top of your head, “Good girl.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, soft as he touches you.

“Good lamb.”

You sigh, fingers deftly searching through your wardrobe for just a single pair of underwear. But once again, you turn up empty. It seems like every day that passes, another pair disappears without your knowledge. 

Perhaps one of the new girls is causing a fuss, messing up the laundry for everyone else. 

That is the only logical solution, at least. 

But logic doesn’t seem to make much sense at all anymore. You couldn’t hope to understand why few of your other belongings have come up indignant as well. 

Your favourite perfume, one of your stuffed animals, even your toothbrush! All have magically vanished from thin air over the course of the last week. 

It is too bad that you haven’t had the time to think about it, either. Preparations for the ball have been raging throughout the palace. Everyone has been on their toes, unwilling to face the wrath of the planners as they try to make everything perfect. 

You have had not one moment alone to think, either swept up in cleaning, decorating, or well… recently you and the prince have been going on walks through the garden at night. Though that doesn’t matter much. It doesn’t mean anything– just another thing he made you promise to. Claiming he wishes to spend as much time with you as he can. 

His recent fixation is trying to get you to call him by his true name. 

You would never dare, nothing is more inappropriate than such a title. It is something only his most beloved is meant to call him, and that person is certainly not you.

You try to force any thoughts of him out of your head, though it is clearly a fruitless endeavour. Especially with the dream you had the night prior. 

His hands finding themselves between your legs, touching you in a way no other has. 

You flush, quickly shaking all thoughts of the night away. 

The tea! Your tea, yes. A prescription from the doctor for this very thing.

More often than not, you wake to find a mess between your thighs. Sticky arousal between them in a perverse fashion. The region sensitive and overstimulated combined with a mess of dreams. More sexual in nature than ever before.

Embarrassed, you had turned to the only person you could trust. The palace staff’s doctor. 

She had told you it was normal– that you were simply having what she described as ‘wet-dreams’. The title alone made you feel embarrassed.

Nevertheless, she prescribed you a tea to help calm your nerves. It was meant to be passifying in nature, calming any lush desires you may have beginning to form. 

You were not sure how it functioned, however you trusted her. Found that it quelled whatever fire burned inside of your heart for the time being. 

Perhaps just a new oddity to add to your reality, you suppose. 

Finally, you find a proper set of undergarments to pull over your legs. Letting out a breath in relief now that you finally have them. 

Today is going to be busier than the last month combined– the ball is tonight. You know for a fact you will be rushed around the palace all day, fixing everything into an acute sense of perfection that only the Kim family is known for. 

You reach to spray your second favourite  perfume across your skin, only to find that the bottle has gone missing as well.

Your hairs stand on edge, a dark pit forming in your stomach.

It is all too strange for you to want to understand. 

Okay, now you’re sure Annabell must be wrong. She has to be, right? There is no other conclusion possible. 

The thoughts run through your head as you pace the small confines of your room. Thumb between your lips, biting the skin feverishly. Contemplating what it is exactly that you should do. A heavy box sitting on your bed, a letter laying next to it along with a single lily.

A month ago, you met Prince Kim in the gardens. A month ago you spoke to him all night long. A month ago he brought you flowers. He has been leaving you letters ever since. Three weeks ago he held you in his arms, made you promise to write him back. Made you promise to meet him in the gardens as many nights as you can. 

But this, you could not accept. You could not possibly think this is real. Why has he gifted you something like this?

A dress lays on your bed. The most gorgeous dress you have ever seen, in fact. Lined with crystals and gems, many layers of tulle poof from the underskirt. It must’ve cost a fortune, but it was not meant for you.  It is a dress meant for a princess, not a simple maid of the palace. Not… Not someone the prince simply wanted to bed. 

So why did it lie here, along with a lace mask and a pair of shoes. Why did it come with a note from the Prince, telling you to put it on for tonight's events? Is this why the head maid dismissed you so early?

No. You could not. You will not make a fool of yourself. You do not belong up there, dressed as a princess when you are far from the thing. That is your decision. It will be the one you stick to.

Even as hours tick past on the clock, even as you can hear the night in full swing, you stay locked in your room. Feeling the same as you did when you were a girl locked in the dungeon all those years ago. Helpless, indignant, stubborn. 

Lost in your thoughts as you try to piece together a puzzle that has several spaces missing. Feelings for the stable boy– life with him, it would have been easier than this. You’re sure of it. 

You allow yourself to imagine what life could have been like if he stayed. It would have been a cosy, peaceful. A straightforward one that didn’t leave so many questions in your head. Jungkook was always like that, spoke his mind without leaving anything to be guessed. You adored it, wished you could revel in it now. Wish you could kiss him under the cherry tree once more.

A pounding wakes you from the dream you were just beginning to weave. Loud, angry knuckles against the firm oak of your door startling you to your feet in an instant. Chills running down your spine as if your body already knew who was behind it. 

You wait too long to reply, another series of rapts following in quick succession. You’re in trouble. You’ve angered the prince in a way you’re not sure you’ll be able to find your way out of, but you have no choice. He knows your inside. You know you must face him. You must be brave.

Right before another series of knocks can echo against the walls, you finally pull the door open. 

There stands the man you knew would be there all along, sculpted like the lord had made him himself. You wish you could behold him properly, to stare at his beauty in the suit specially prepared for this night. One he asked your opinion of several times during its construction.

But you are unable to, not when his shoulders heave like a bull planning its charge. Not when his eyes are narrowed into a glare that enters your soul without consequence. Never before had you felt his anger directed at you. 

The future king would be a fearsome thing. 

“It appears you are not dead.” He states, cold and detached in a way you have never heard before. It makes you feel small, feel weak. Though by now, you know he wants an answer. He will not accept the lack of one from you anymore. 

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, “I suppose not…” 

“Then what do you suppose.” You flinch. You’re not sure.

“I– Prince Kim…” 

“Taehyung.” He interjects, though you ignore him. Only his future wife is meant to call him by that name.

“Prince Kim, I could not possibly accept this gift. You have to understand.” The way he looks at you makes you want to shrink. To appear as small as possible to placate the lion you’ve wondered into the den of. 

“I do not. You are to accept any gift I am to give you.” He is stern as if lecturing the ground beneath him. He looks massive in your tiny room, taking up much more space than you wish to grant him.

You begin to grow frustrated, annoyed. Does he have no sanity? Does he really think it is okay to play with the hearts of women so carelessly? It is disgusting. Repulsive even! You do not deserve anything like this. You begin to grow tense, grow firm like a wolf cornered. Ready to lash out with no remorse. 

That is what you are, anyway. A cornered animal with no hope to escape. 

“I won’t.” You raise your shoulders, stand taller and stare him straight in the eyes. If this will have you sent to the axe then so be it. 

He grows just as tense in reply, his lips forming a sneer as he takes a step closer towards you. 

Never before has Prince Kim been opposed like this before, you’re sure of it. The way his irises become darker is proof. 

“And why is that, lamb?” He mocks, and the fire inside of you only begins to glow brighter Of course, you’re just the lamb that's wandered into the lion's den. The lamb being prepared for meal. 

Steam clouds around your head, jaw becoming tense as you try to hold back your rage. Rage for your mother, rage for the life she was taunted into the same way the prince is trying to do to you now.

“I will not become another woman you bed and then lay waste to!” You practically shout, unable to hold back your emotions anymore. 

His nostrils flare, “Excuse me?” 

“You heard my words.” You state back, indignant, “I will not be an idiot. I will not become another woman who you use for your own pleasures!”

You hear him scoff, head turning away from you for the first time as he looks around your room. 

“You think that little of me?” His eyes make their way back to you, his face having the expression of somewhat… hurt? 

Suddenly, you’re unsure. You feel stupid all over again though you’re not entirely conscious as to why. You hurt him? How could you possibly hurt the most powerful person in the country? 

You falter in your stance, and it is obvious that he takes notice. Uses it to his advantage as he takes another step closer, makes his hand find your own. His thumb brushing soothingly over the knuckle. His hands are always so soft. 

“What else am I meant to think? I’ve heard the stories, Prince Kim.” Where once was fire lays blistering coals. Hot to the touch yet unyielding in their passion. The air in the room has changed in much the same way.

“Tell me of them.” He asks you, his voice now gentle, soft. 

It is strange, the complete change he’s had since first entering your room. Has your brain going a little haywire. Especially with the way he stares at your hands. Like they could be locked forever. 

“I…” You feel flush, embarrassed to mutter the words in front of the prince, “I’ve heard you seduce women… princesses, noblemen’s daughters, maids… the lot. Then you abandon them the next morning with your seed in their core and a knife in their heart.” 

You keep your eyes to your feet, face feeling hot by repeating the words of your friend. You refuse to look at him, you cannot take the embarrassment. 

A light chuckle leaves his lips, a hand coming up to attempt to muffle them, “Sorry, sorry.” He shakes his head, a playful glint in his eyes. You’re baring your soul to him! How dare he laugh! 

He coughs to muffle the rest of the sound, returning to the moment, “I apologise. I just had the realisation. You’re jealous of them, aren’t you lamb?” 

A mess of flutters takes up your stomach, your shoulders raising in alarm. Your lips open to try and form words, to try and deny the allegations made your way, yet you are entirely unable. 

Especially with the way he moves closer, crowds your space with such ease. Leads close to you, whispers words in your ear, voice lower than before. 

“You wish it to just be you I lay with, is that so?” You can practically hear the smile in his voice as another, more erotic chill finds its way down your spine. 

“Th-That isn’t–” You try to speak, but your voice sounds as light as air. He moves closer, arm carrying itself around your back, pulling you flush against him as he speaks sinful words. Words only for you. 

“Ah…” He sighs in relief, lips practically touching your ear once you’re finally connected to him, “You don’t like it when I go fuck your friends then come to spend my nights talking to you… writing to you… touching myself to the thought of you.” 

You cannot take it. You cannot take this, take him. Your head is spinning, clouding with the drug known as Prince Kim. Your knees feel weak, your limbs feel all too heavy. How can someone so pretty say such sinful words without a second thought. It’s too much. Far more than your poor little heart can take.

Your arms come up, press as firm as they can against his chest despite how weak they feel.

“Mmm…?” He asks in response, pulling back to look down on your face. Mock confusion spread across his features. He takes a step back, pretending to look you up and down. Like he is just playing a game of poker while all of your tells are as clear as day. 

“Or is that not what you wish?” He asks, head tilted to the side like a confused puppy, “You would like things to remain the same?” He smiles, drawing conclusions all on his own. 

He pauses, waits for you to say something, anything before continuing. But you do not, so he will keep playing this game by himself. 

“Then I shall go find someone to keep me company for the night. Mmm..” He taps his chin in contemplation, turning on his heels, meanwhile panic and dread fills every facet of your being, “What were those ones you’re friends with again? Celley? That pretty blonde? Oh, or maybe Annabell. I’m sure she would be prepared to go for a second round.” 

What? What? No, No! What is he talking about? Why is he starting to walk away?! Wait, Annabell, second time?! She has before?! 

Oh heavens, oh gods. 

“Anyway, I'll be sure to write to you after. Have a good night, dream of me.” You begin to hyperventilate as he takes one step out the door. No, he can’t leave. You don’t want him to. You don’t want him to be with anybody else. You can’t let it happen. You can’t afford such a thing! Ever! That is not where he is meant to be! 

Your body carries you before your mind does. Hand slipping out, gripping onto the back of his coat with all of the strength you can muster. Feet planted firm in your room, doing everything in your power to not let him leave.  

It is really too bad you do not see the sick smile that forms on his lips. Maybe then the pieces of the puzzle would have finally clicked in place. 

Instead he only tilts his head backwards, painting a complexion of boredom.

“N-No! I don’t want that!” You finally manage to stutter out, knuckles turning white with the strength you hold onto him. Afraid if you let go in the slightest he will pull away and disappear forever. “I don’t want you to be with other women!”

The silence that follows your confession feels a mile long. 

“Then go put on the dress.” Out of any response there could be, that certainly was not the one you were anticipating. 

“What…?” 

His chin tilts in the direction of it, urging you on, “If that is the truth, then go put on the dress.” 

“I…” You hesitate for only a moment, but scramble to motion once the prince turns to leave once again. 

You make quick paces to your bed, keeping your back to him. You feel his eyes on your back, intent on giving you no privacy to ensure you follow through on his order. 

In fact, all he does is close the door behind you. Making sure no one will be able to see in. No one will be able to watch you save for him. 

You slowly peel off the cotton of your nightgown, trying to appear brave even though his eyes are trained on your form. Even if your slip still remains on, you have never been this uncovered in front of a man before. You feel entirely bare. 

You do not look at him as you finally find your way through the tool, slipping the garment over your head with struggle, yet his face is practically predatory. 

You don’t know his plans, or what he wishes to gain. You never do. 

As the fabric settles over your hips, half of you wants to question how the size is perfect, but you refrain. Too embarrassed by everything else to even consider it an option. Your hands reach behind you to attempt to lace up the back on your own, yet another pair are already present in their place.

When did he get so close? How did he get so close without you hearing a thing? Your heartbeat must be the only sound in your ears, that must be it. 

His fingers work down your spine, tightening the dress so it fits you perfectly. Tying it off with skill you did not know he had. You feel his breath on the back of your neck. A fire begins to grow in your core. 

“I was going to present you to my father tonight.” He admits, placing a gentle kiss to the base of your neck, “The ball was meant to find my bride.” 

“Oh.” Those are the only words you can say when he is so close, arms enclosing around your waist. Pulling your back flush with his chest. 

Only words you can manage at the revelation.

“Imagine his disappointment, more so my own when the girl I had been speaking to him about did not show.” He grunts, almost as if it hurt him. Guiding your body to stand in front of the full mirror in your room. Asking– telling you to look at yourself. 

The sight is strange, yet incredible. The crown prince of the entire nation standing in your bedroom, in the maids quarters. Surrounded by squalor and chaos. Arms wrapped around a maid dressed as if she could be a queen. 

You look up at him to the best of your ability, regret plastered across your features, “Prince Kim–” 

“Taehyung.” 

“--I’m so sorry.” He does not look you in the eyes. They stay trained ahead, not straying once from the mirror. One hand rubbing small circles into the fabric covering your stomach, the other sliding to your waist.

He touches you without care, without reason. Feeling you against him for all that it is worth. 

“Actions have consequences, that is all. They can come later.” He states plainly, “For now I just wish to indulge in you.”

He brings his face down, placing it right next to yours. His hand rises, making your chin face the mirror as well. 

He forces you to make eye contact with him through it, forces you to understand each of his words clearly. 

“You’ll let me do that, won’t you?” 

You take a deep breath, gulping down all the air you can manage. You don’t think you’ve wanted anything more. 

With no more than a nod, his lips are on yours. 

Spinning you around, pressing your back against the mirror. His hands cupping your cheeks with such intensity you fear they may become etched into your skin forever. Keeping your lips closed against his own. 

His body cages you in, pressing entirely against you. Forming against you in perfect harmony, feeling two souls become one. Feeling each other fully for the first time– no pretence or public eye in the way to stop it. 

His teeth nip at your lower lip, biting in a way that has you opening them in pain. He takes the opportunity to lick his way inside, somehow pushing even closer to your body. 

Something hard presses against you and the discovery has your knees wishing to collapse. 

The prince can’t possibly be this big. He simply can’t.

The kiss has you reeling, unsure of anything. Unsure of what to do at all. It is nothing like your first kiss under the cherry tree with Jungkook. That was soft and sweet, docile as two people discover something new.

This, this is nothing of the sort. It is hungry. It is a beast that has been starved, finally getting its first meal. It is intoxicating. It is needy and desperate in a way that has your fingers trying to press themselves even deeper into the glass. It has your breath being robbed. Your lifeforce wilts away to satisfy only the prince. 

The groan he lets out as you finally give into him, finally allow him to take control of the kiss as arousal pools in your gut. It is one of the most deadly siren’s calls you think you’ve ever heard. One that would have any woman throwing themselves overboard for just a taste. 

“Finally,” He grunts, pulling no more than a millilitre away from your lips, wetness still connecting them, “My whole life I’ve been waiting for you.” He mumbles, hungrily connecting his mouth back to your own. 

Before you know it, you’re lost in the man once again. Allowing him to move you, to guide you to your bed without withdrawing from you once. Tangling your fingers into his hair, trying to make sure he doesn’t pull away. Making you drunk off of his taste, off of him. 

When he kisses you like this, you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to live without him. 

Your knees hit the frame of your bed and all of a sudden you're falling backwards onto its plush lining. Panting, trying to regain some of the air he stole from you.

For the first time you’re able to look up at him, to discover the mess that he has become. Cheeks red, lips swollen. Eyes dark and twisted with lust. Hair ruffled messily from where your fingers laid. Shoulders rising and falling with effort as he catches his breath as well. 

He looks gorgeous and you can’t help yourself hoping this will be only a sight for you forever. 

He leans down, pecking your lips once more, “I couldn’t stop myself from imagining this. Since the moment I placed an order for your dress.” 

He huffs, dropping to his knees in front of you. You sit up on your elbows, face twisted into confusion as you look down at him. 

God. It is too dangerous to look at him right now. You know that as another wave of heat runs straight to your core.

“Pushing up the future queen's skirt.” He groans, hands gaining purchase on your hips, pulling you down so your waist sits at the edge of the bed, “Letting myself have a taste of her while everyone else at the party danced.” 

O-Oh. Oh. He sees you as, oh god. 

His fingers bunch in the material of your skirt, drawing in a shaky inhale as he holds onto any drop of sanity left. 

When he sees no hesitation from you, he slowly begins to push the material up your legs. Eyes trained on your own, looking to you for any sign of discomfort. 

“Have her come undone on my tongue while no else was the wiser.” He groans as he finally comes face to face with your panty covered core. 

Your brain moves at a snail's pace, trying to keep up with every tiny movement the prince makes. Trying to process his words while your head becomes fuzzy with your own arousal. 

You feel like mush, so pliable in his grip.

His large hands slowly begin to part your thighs, to look at what he has been craving for so long when your brain catches up with you, embarrassment overcoming your being. 

“Y-You can’t! I-it is dirty to do such a thing.” At least, that is what you had been taught. Though, the look in his eyes and the growl from his throat tells you the opposite.

“You could never be dirty. No part of you could ever be.” The sound he lets out is more akin to an animal than anything else, and suddenly you feel like a schoolgirl. Flustered and embarrassed beyond anything else. 

The muscles of your thighs untense, the look on your face blushed and biting. 

“You will let me?” He asks again, and despite your embarrassment, you nod. He is going to be king… his word is rule afterall. He wishes it, so it will happen. You could not be more pleased to oblige. 

His grip on your thighs is more firm than before, blunt nails digging into soft flesh as he pries your legs apart. He lets a groan resonate from the back of his throat at the sight. Panties sticking to your center, wetness pooling just behind causing the material to almost become transparent before him. 

You did not know it was possible for a man to have such an effect on you. 

Without a second thought, he pushes the material down your thighs. His tongue licking a long stripe up your cunt, savouring the flavour for every cent it is worth. 

He moans at the taste, not wasting a second before he dives back in. Lapping against you like it is his last meal. 

A mewl leaves your lips, too many feelings crossing you at once for any of them to be worth anything. 

Embarrassment, shame, fear all vanish the moment his lips wrap around your clit, sucking against the small bundle of nerves in a manner that has your back arching against the bed. Fingertips digging into the sheets to find a second lease on life. 

You try to look down at him, to find him between all of your small pants of pleasure, however he is gone. Disappearing until the layers of fabric while he brings you sensations you never thought were possible. 

His tongue moves like it is made to pleasure only you. Taking turns flicking your clit to lowering into your center. Licking up any bit of arousal he can make out. Trailing up once again to press flat against the bundle of nerves.

All of it has your legs kicking, your breath melting. 

He is not quiet either, letting you know exactly how much he adores this. Adores the feeling of your thighs wrapped tight around his head. Adores every little sound and reaction you have to give him. Adores the taste of you on his tongue. It was only meant for him.

It feels like he has been wishing to do this far longer than you would ever know. Consuming you whole from the inside out. Causing you to become addicted, to desire him just as much as he carnally craves you.

His nails dig into the flesh of your thighs as your hips begin to rock against his face, seeking out every ounce of pleasure that he is willing to give you. Your adorable mewls and whines grow louder, peaking every time he sucks on your clit. 

A coil has begun to form in your gut, feeling as though it could snap at any second. You wish you could see him, to look at his face and see the crazed gleam in his eyes. Observe the exact look on his face as he licks your cunt. 

You try to picture it. Try to imagine the way he would look up at you from between your legs. The dark umber his eyes would become, the gentle circles he would rub into your thigh as you finally make eye contact. 

Your walls clench around his tongue, sending a new waves of whines out of your mouth. He somehow moves faster, more precisely with every movement. Like he is able to hone in on the exact things that have your thighs quivering. 

His tongue moves up, takes your small, worn clit into his mouth. Alternating between sucking against it, flicking at it, and pressing against it firm with the flat of his tongue. 

Without warning, nor any reprise, one of his thick fingers is thrust into your wet heat. Filling you in a way you have never been able to do to yourself. Stretching you. And all of a sudden, you’re flying off the edge of a precipice.

“Prince Kim!” Your back arches off of the bed, head thrown back against the mattress as you let out a moan. Your hips jolt, cunt squeezing around his fingers, heels digging into the floor as you come undone before him. 

He works you through it with ease and grace, finger slowly thrusting in and out. Tongue firmly planted against your clit to ride you through your high. 

It would not be your last of the night. He must be gentle. 

Slowly, you relax against the bed, chest heaving from exertion. He pulls away from you, standing to full height before leaning over your shaking form. 

Your arousal coats his face, a sheen from his lips and chin evident against the soft yellow glow of the room. He looks down at you, concern and adoration written across his features. Though in his eyes, it appears that the beast has yet to be quelled. 

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. You taste yourself against them. 

“You are delicious. I wish to eat you every night until I die.” He mumbles against your lips, his knee sliding between your legs. Muscle pressing against your swollen cunt. 

You try to flinch away, yet the hand on your hip keeps you in place. 

He will not have you running away. 

Not now. 

Your cheeks flush at his words, wide eyes looking up at him like he is all that matters. 

He is. 

He presses his knee further against your pussy while his lips trail down the column of your neck. Urging you towards the headboard with no words spoken until your head is against the pillows. 

Your arms wind their way around his neck, keeping him in place, “I-if we were married, I would let you.” You manage to speak, your voice shaky.

He only smiles in reply. Fingers digging deeper into your waist as if he is holding himself back.

“Then we shall call this practice for our wedding night.” He smiles, sitting back on his heels. 

Marriage, wedding night. You allow the thought to ghost through your mind, willing it to be reality. 

He smiles down at you, taking note in the way you seem to gleam at the idea. A small chuckle leaves his lips, you really are too cute for your own good. 

His voice is no more than a whisper, forcing you to stay enrapt, “You will let me, right?” He asks, eyes glancing down to where his pants strain against his hips, “I wish to make love to my future wife.”

Your mouth practically waters at the sight, his hard cock pressed taught against the expensive material. You swear there may even be a wet spot where his cum has leaked through. 

Your pussy clenches, wanting nothing more for him to find his way inside. For him to claim you for himself. Destroy you so no other man can have you in the same way.

You struggle against yourself for no more than a moment, but the way his hand reaches down, grips at his cock. Brushes his thumb over the surface has you moaning in want. 

“Please.” 

He smiles, the motion following swift. All at once his hands unbutton his pants, pushing the material down his thighs just enough for his cock to spring free. He groans at the feeling, thick length hitting his stomach. Pretty pre-cum dripping down the side.

Your eyes go wide. If you imagined him to be large before, seeing it now looked impossible. He is thick, long. Far too big to ever hope to fit inside of you. 

But the desperate groan in his voice, the hungry look in his eyes only has you spreading your legs. Wishing nothing more than for him to destroy you.

One hand wraps around the base as he moves closer, the other forcing the skirt of your dress as high as it will allow. He makes space for himself in between your thighs, slotting himself in. Ready to do what he has been waiting years for. 

Not yet.

He sees the hesitation in your eyes, the worry. So he leans down, planting a gentle, soothing kiss to your lips. One filled with years of time behind it. 

He knows he must be careful with you. Knows all of his patience will have been worth it when he is finally able to take your virginity. 

“Will it hurt?” You as quietly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close. You find comfort in him. Find a sense of safety within his eyes. 

He nods in response, “Only for a little while, I promise.” He mumbles against your lips, placing a soft kiss against them once more. 

He slowly rubs the fat head between your folds, coating himself in your arousal. Your hips buck slightly in response, and he can’t help but smirk. 

So sensitive. So ready for him. 

As much as he wants to be rough, he can’t. He can’t scare you away just yet. 

He looks into your eyes once more, “Ready?” He asks, giving you one final chance to back out. You only nod your head, pulling him close, hiding your face in his neck. 

His head catches on your opening with the final drag of his length through your lips. His hands practically shake in excitement, as he guides himself inside. Letting go only once the tip is buried within your walls. 

He feels your teeth sink into his coat, your body burning with the stretch of him. He only has the first inch inside, yet you think it is more than you could possibly take. 

A choked cry leaves your lips as he continues to slowly thrust inside. Your arms cling to him as tight as possible. Tears prick in the corner of your eyes as he fills you, forming your entire body just around him. Just around his cock. 

He pauses only once half of his cock is buried in your needy cunt. You feel his hand come up to caress your cheek, to bring you back down to reality from the pain you feel digging at your core. Trying to bring you some sense of comfort. 

You pull back from his shoulder to look him in the eyes, expecting to see them soft. Filled with concern. Though there is nothing of the sort there. 

Behind his bangs is only the look of pure insanity. 

Though he tries to be compassionate, he really does.

“Are you doing okay?” His voice is strangled, coming out in only desperate cracks. He shakes, wanting nothing more than to fuck himself inside. Fuck himself deeper and deeper, until your cunt is shaped for his cock alone.

But he holds restraint. Just enough.

The way he looks at you, the way he speaks has a wave of pleasure rushing through your  skin. Your walls clamp around him, tightening even more. 

He is falling apart before you, because of you. 

He has gone mad because of you.

The feeling only makes you want to urge him on. See just how far the prince can fall.

You nod your head, looking at him with all the affections in the world, “Don’t stop.” 

He groans at your words, mind losing itself as he snaps his hips forward, forcing his cock inside until his hips are firm against your own. Teeth digging into the fragile skin of your neck.

You cry out in pain, your walls squeezing around him in shock. Pain coursing through your entire system as you are filled to the brim. Walls stretched as wide as humanly possible. The head of cock so deep inside you swear you can feel it in your lungs. 

“Shit.” He groans, mouth falling open, “This pretty thing is wrapped around me so tight, lamb. So fucking tight I can’t think.” 

He slowly tries to move his hips, though you only shout in response. Your legs wrap around his back, doing their utmost to keep him in place.

“Hurts!” You whine, shaking your head quickly. 

Fucking hell. What is the point of a pussy as sweet as your own if he can’t use it properly?

His hand moves between your legs, growl of impatience slipping past his lips as his fingers find your clit. They work with urgency, with need. Rubbing tight circles into it, trying to get you to feel the same pleasure he does.

You whine, overstimulated. Shots fired in all directions leaving you messy and confused. 

With every circle, a mewl sounds from your throat. Slowly your legs behind him loosen, the pain from before mixing with pleasure to become something wonderful. Something that has you whimpering for him to not stop. 

“See?” He grunts, slowly slipping out of your heat until only the tip remains, “We were made for each other.” 

He forces his cock back inside, fucking you open just for him. Only ever for him. 

Your nails dig into his back, heels digging into the mattress as you moan for him. As your cunt becomes addicted to the feeling of him filling you so perfectly. Addicted to everything he has to offer.

He moves too fast, too hard for you to even hope to keep up with. Hips pistoning into you, forcing you to take everything he has to give and more. Forcing you to be the perfect little doll for him, give him all the pleasure he can want and more. White mixing with red around the base of his cock.

Your back arches off the mattress to try and get closer to him, to try and keep up with him in any hope of the sentiment. Hips trying their best to keep him as close and as deep as possible, knowing they crave one thing and one thing alone.

“Prince Kim!” You moan, yet he growls in response. A sharp slap to your thigh sounds throughout the room as his hips pause, fingers removing themselves from your clit.��

“That isn’t my name to you anymore.” His voice is low, menacing in your ear. One more poke of the bear and you will be punished. “Tae–Hyung.” 

He emphasises the words with a sharp thrust of his hips, one that brushes against the bundle inside of you. One that leaves you crying out for him. Clinging on to him. 

“Say it.” He grunts, animalistic and desperate. Yet you’re too lost in yourself to realise how debauched he’s become. Looking less and less like a man, more like a demon come to lay waste to your soul. 

That is close enough to the truth, anyway.

“Say it until it becomes the only word you know. Every question I ask, every time I fuck myself into this sweet little cunt. Your only reply should be my name.” He grabs your chin, forcing you to stare at him. 

Your fucked out little features as you bob your head in compliance.

“I-I” You swallow, trying to understand his words as he pounds away at your core, “I understand!” 

He smiles, almost proud of the work he has done today.

His hips only move impossibly faster, impossibly harder in a way that has that knot in your gut tightening once more. 

“We’ll start simple then. What is my name?” He asks, angling his hips to press against your sweet spot with ever slight movement. Breathe panting, his mind falling deeper and deeper into the thralls of your body. 

“P-Prin–” You stop yourself, a pinch coming down on your skin, “Taehyung!” 

He groans, almost coming undone as he hears your name fall from your  lips for the very first time. The pretty sound your voice makes with every letter. 

It could be the only thing he hears for the rest of his life.

“Who are you going to marry?” 

You whine, your head thrashing around slightly. He smiles. You must really enjoy the idea of that, huh?

“T-Taehyung!” You manage to stutter out again, feeling your release coming closer and closer as the seconds pass by. 

“Who is the man you have fallen for?” The answer to the question is easy, especially when he is fucking into you like you’re the only woman that matters. Nothing matters except for him. 

“Taehyung!” Your brain is too fuzzy to process anything else. Anything other than the way his cock fills you. Anything other than the one word he told you is your gospel. 

“Who is the boy that kissed you under the cherry tree?” You don’t even know anymore. 

Does any man exist beside Taehyung anyway? You doubt it.

“Taehyung!” He smiles into your neck. 

“Who was the boy that was going to have you killed? That saved your life?” His words don’t process through your ears, yet you know what you are meant to say anyway.

“Taehyung!” He groans, his hips stuttering, losing their pace ever so slightly. 

“Who do you belong to?” 

“Taehyung!” You whine, your thighs shaking. The coil so tight you think you may just die if it doesn’t come undone in this very moment. 

His breath is quiet, only a rough whisper in your ear, “Cum.” 

Just as your king commands, you fall apart around him. White dots in the corner of your eyes as you clamp down around him, your legs pulling him close. A cry of his name leaving your lungs as if it is the very air you breathe. 

You feel him paint the inside of your walls white, his hips stuttering– fucking himself as deep into you as he could possibly manage. If you had any sense left in your little head you would have told him to pull out, yet your brain is so high. Filled with pleasure that only Taehyung can provide. 

Waves of arousal crash around you as he slows his hips, ensuring that you ride out your orgasm to its fullest before pulling away. You wish he could stay buried inside of you, just like that. Yet you doubt that would be very wise. 

“Was that good for you, little lamb?” He asks, slowly helping you into a sit. You’re not sure how to properly answer– mouth feeling dry. Your head has not yet come crashing back down, though that is probably a good thing. 

Facing reality is too scary right now. Especially when Taehyung is so warm. So caring as he removes your dress. Slips your nightgown back over your soiled body. 

“Very…” You nod, unable to take your eyes off of him as he moves around the bed. Tucking himself back into his pants, removing his shirt and dress-coat. Placing them over the back of a chair. Neatly hanging the dress on a hook, taking care that it is not damaged in any way.

Your arms find themselves reaching out to him, trying to pull him closer to you. He smiles once he takes notice.

“Would you like me to stay the night?” It is clear he was already planning on it, but hearing the words make you smile oh-so bright. 

“Yes, please.” You nod quickly, eyes already feeling tired. You did not know how he had so much energy, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Right now he is meant to be in your bed, arms around you. In fact, you become annoyed that he isn’t already. 

“Alright.” He smiles, slipping next to your form. Wrapping his arms around you, pulling you as close as possible.

You feel so safe. So warm with him. So protected that you can’t stop yourself from falling asleep.

“Goodnight my lamb.”

The Kim Empire. 

His home, his family, his livelihood all wrapped up in those three little words.

Yet, the only thoughts that seem to brandish his mind since the young age of 15 are about you. 

When you first stumbled in front of him, carrying a tray of tea. Spilling it all over his shoes. That quick curse that left your lips before looking up at him. The wide, doelike vision you had once recognition had set in. One the realisation of error set into your bones.

He will never forget the way his heart began to race in that very moment. The way he felt a cloth of sickness overcome his whole body at the mere sight of you. Looking so serendipitous below him.

At first he thought it was hate, how silly he had been back then. Ah, the way he sent you to be killed was just funny to him now. He is grateful he talked to his mother before your execution date. Spilling his soul to her, detailing how he could not seem to remove you from his brain.

Ah, he was lucky he managed to get the letter to the executioner in time. What a pity that would be if he couldn’t. Then he wouldn’t have been able to lay next to you now. Wouldn’t be able to play with your hair, caress you like he pleases. 

It is truly too bad that was not his only trial on the road towards you. It was really a pity he had to send Jungkook away. Taehyung quite liked the kid. He was fun to play with and wouldn’t shy away from his games. 

But he just had to try and seduce you. Poor thing. You really were too innocent at the time. More than eager to kiss him for no reason. To give him even a peace of your heart that was meant for Taehyung alone.

He remembers as clear as day, the rage he felt as he watched your soft lips press against another mans. How terribly he wanted to go out and strike Jungkook with a sword. Of course he didn’t though, that would have scared you away. He would have hated that.

He thanks god every day he was really your first kiss, even if you didn’t know it. 

Patiences was the hardest battle of all, and he will admit, he has faltered a few times over the years. Kisses stolen while you sleep, a few of your belongings robbed to keep him satiated. Mayhaps a few trips to your room in the night. 

But who could blame him? He was a man in love. There was nothing that could stop him when he was so hungry for you. 

Ah, and then of course his father. He wanted to separate your love as well. A maid could never possibly be suited to be queen, blah blah. He doesn’t care. And at least that fight allowed him to hug you for the first time. 

God. You felt so perfect in his arms, then and now. You have always been meant for this. Meant for him.

If his father plans to keep standing in the way, he will simply have to remove him from the equation. His bonds to the man are as thick as water. He cares more for you than he possibly could anyone else.

You’ve belonged to him since you were born, anyway. If a maid becomes pregnant while working for the castle, her child becomes property of the state. Of the crown. Of him. 

It only makes sense that you are meant to be with him until death. It is the path lined for you. Your fate since birth. 

He knows it as his delicate fingers trace over the small patches of blood dirtying the sheets. Evidence of the hours before, of your virginity robbed. Of your promises to him.

You are bound to him by blood after all.

© all rights reserved to ctrlhope 2019-2024 ; do not copy, plagiarise, or translate.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

The Art of Persistence

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: After a long day, you return home to the comfort of your two favorite boys.

warnings: swearing, brief misogyny, Frank being adorable

a/n: For the lovely @zomtart who wanted to see something with Frank and a dog! As always, reblogs and comments fuel my writing!

w/c: 2.1k

“The art of love is largely the art of persistence.” Albert Ellis

Walking through the doors into the bakery, your heart sank. It was going to be a long day, you could smell it on the air. The humidity seeping through the cracks in the doors had made the atmosphere purgatorial. You could feel the heat clouding around you, the air laden with moisture only made stickier by the ovens inside. Blowing a frustrated breath out of your nose, you gave a pleasant nod to your manager as she slunk past you towards her office.

“Good morning to you too,” You muttered, stalking into the back to set down your bag.

You were rapidly approaching your breaking point. Each inhale flooded your senses with the aroma of toasted sesame and melted butter--the combination turning sour after a week of beligerent customers and stressful shifts. If you didn't need the money, you'd have called out. Unfortunately, those precious wages and tips were keeping you afloat right now.

Tossing a thin canvas string over your neck, you secured the flashy red apron around your waist with a tight knot, not minding the line of pain that encircled you as you yanked at the ends. Pinning your worn name tag to your chest, you spun on your heel and headed for the counter.

Today was a new day. It would be busy, Mondays always were, but that didn't mean it would be bad. Right..?

Lamentably, by the time the morning rush had ended and you were finally able to slip into the break room for a moment away from the chaos, you were confident today would be the same as every other day. In a period of three hours, it had all gone to shit. Two of your coworkers had called out, throwing you and the one other reliable employee to the wolves. One particularly aggressive customer had thrown a cup of scalding coffee at you—claiming it was burnt after the tiniest sip you’d ever seen. And, the cherry on top of the crappy day you were having, you'd burnt the shit out of your hand pulling a bagel out of the toaster for a family that wouldn't stop nagging you. Fuck your well-being, they had places to go.

The circulation to your legs was slowly being cut off by the tourniquet you'd accidentally tied your waist in, but you couldn't be bothered to fix it. Staring wearily at your bandaged hand your body trembled with fatigue, discomfort, and residual adrenaline. Pulling out your phone, you positioned it in your good hand, selecting the proper contact and crossing your fingers.

Please pick up, please pick up, please—

“Hey doll, did you need somethin'?” Frank's gruff voice crackled over the line, relief crashing over you as it did. Your body sagged at the question, the idea that you weren't handling it all alone.

“Um, yah, I was wondering if you could take Wes out for me? A handful of people didn't come in so I'm stuck working a shift and a half.” You nibbled at the skin on your bottom lip, hoping Frank wouldn't be annoyed that you asked him to care for your dog again this week.

You'd gotten Wesley as a puppy about a year ago, after a friend found him and his siblings abandoned in a nearby park. He was the last to be adopted, but you just couldn't deny his sweet little face. Unsurprisingly, the pair of you got along swimmingly.

The only problem arose at times like these, when your manager demanded that you stay past your scheduled end time to fulfill someone else's obligations. Wes was a good boy, but he could only hold out for so long without needing to pee or expend some energy. When you weren't there to play fetch or run around the block, you often turned to your partner for help.

You knew Frank adored your rambunctious pup, but the thought of adding more to his plate for any reason always made you guilty. He was busy, he had his own life and job and shit to do. Wes was your responsibility. Frank hadn't signed up for this, nor was he being compensated for his time. You really needed to hire a dog walker or something, that just wasn't an option given your slim budget right now.

“Not a problem, sweetheart. I’ll head to your place when I can. You know when you'll be home?” As always, Frank accepted the burden immediately, without so much as an irritated sigh. His readiness to care for you and your four-legged roommate never failed to sweep you off your feet.

“Around 6, if I'm lucky. I know that's late—” You rubbed at the back of your neck, grimacing as your fingers were met with warm, clammy skin.

“Don't worry about that, doll, you ain't the reason for that.” Frank reasoned, his patience only fueling the flames of guilt swirling around you.

“I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who could be at fault.” You laughed bitterly, swallowing the despair coating your tongue.

“No, you aren't.” Frank protested firmly. “Ain't your fault your boss wants you to stay, babydoll. You're just doin' whatcha can to stay employed. No shame in that.”

Your eyes fell closed as you let out a breath you hadn't meant to hold. Frank's response was tender, effortlessly caring, as if he was there rubbing your back and calming you down. Soothing your doubts with every syllable. He understood the pressure you were under and he never blamed you for it.

“Thank you.” You whispered, the longing you felt to be with him only intensifying as he comforted you from a distance.

“No need to thank me, honey. Just get home safe, yah?” The concerned edge that perpetually lined Frank's words tipped the corners of your lips into a smile.

“Ok.” You promised, bidding him goodbye.

The rest of your day slogged along like a fish attempting to swim through jello. Slow, awkward, and unbelievably messy. Each interaction corroded your dwindling social battery, wearing your patience thin. It took every fiber of your being to not scream right back at the customers as they demanded ridiculous things from you.

Oh your espresso isn’t coming fast enough? Why don’t you come around the counter and make it your damn self. 

Rolling your eyes at the annoyed tone of the customer begging for the drink, you pretended not to hear him as you steamed milk for another order. 

“Geez bitch, are you deaf?” 

You barely registered his muttered comment, but it struck you like a blade anyway. Fist clenching around his cup, your fingernails punctured the cheap, waxy paper, splattering the freshly brewed espresso over your work station. 

“Oh no!! I’m so sorry sir, I’ll make you a new one.” Shooting the fuming man your best try at an innocent, I’m-simply-so-ditsy smile, you tossed the ruined cup into a nearby trash can gracefully. With growing satisfaction, you took your sweet time restarting the beverage, hoping the asshole would burn his tongue the second you handed it over. 

Shoving the tiny cup across the counter, you cemented your beaming smile in place as the dude snatched it from your grip without a word. 

“You’re welcome, asshole.” You muttered as he slammed the door on his way out. A glance to the clock quickly lifted your spirits. 

Ten minutes. Ten minutes and the shift from hell would be over. You’d collect your tips and bolt before your supervisor asked for something else. 

Behind you, your next problem cleared their throat. Whipping around to face the uptight, blazer-clad woman, you raised an eyebrow. “What can I do for you?” 

Fumbling with the keys on your ring, your fingers hadn’t even lined the correct one up with the lock when the bolt thunked, the door sliding open. Standing on the other side of the frame, taking up most of your frame of vision with his broad stature, was Frank.

Tumbling into him, you groaned happily as his giant arms engulfed you, his stomach shaking with a brief laugh.

“Missed you too, sweetheart. We both did.” Pulling back slightly, Frank jerked his head to the wiggling golden retriever who was barely containing his excitement a few paces away.

Squeezing through the door past your hulking boyfriend, you knelt before your ecstatic canine, opening your arms for him to clamber into. Hugging your dog as he wriggled and chirped happily wasn't easy, but it made your heart swell with adoration every time you tried.

The way your dog reacted when you came home from work was nothing less than an ego boost. Poor Wes could never seem to keep still, too overwhelmed with joy and love that his tail swished wildly, shaking his whole body. Once you were within kissing distance, Wesley was determined to slobber all over you, reminding you just how much he'd missed you while you were away. These moments made all the hardship worth it.

Crouching behind you, Frank's hand slid beneath your raised elbow to scratch at Wesley's back, crowding in until you were fully leaning against him. You exhaled, sinking into his chest as he tugged you impossibly closer. Trailing kisses down the side of your face towards your shoulder, Frank rumbled with a chuckle as your dog plopped over the pile of legs, rolling belly up with an open-mouthed smile.

“Try as I might, I don't think I'll ever be the favorite.” Frank remarked, giving Wes a firm rub on his stomach.

“Well, I do feed him.” You snorted, scratching at your dog's ear. “Seems to be the key to both of your hearts.”

“Got that right,” Frank agreed, squeezing you tightly until you giggled. “Did your shift go ok?”

Puffing out a breath, you shrugged, turning your head so he could see your face. “Only got called a bitch once so, I'd say that's a win.”

Scoffing indignantly, Frank scowled. “Gimme a name, sweetheart.”

“Frank,” You groaned, not unhappily. “If I let the Punisher loose on every asshole that came through the shop, we'd have a massacre on your hands.”

“I'd do it anyway. They deserve it, treatin' service workers like that.” Frank grumbled, nuzzling your cheek.

Your hand slid up to the base of his scalp, twisting the edges of his hair in your fingers. “I appreciate it, handsome. But I'm ok, promise.”

“Did ya make good tips at least?” His question was genuine, his expression almost hopeful, but you barked a laugh anyways.

“Take a guess.” Your voice was bitter, thinking of all the ungrateful patrons you'd had in the last twelve hours.

“Hmm,” Frank pondered. “Twenty?”

“Fuck Frankie, I wish.” You rolled your eyes. “Two bucks.”

“You're shittin' me.”

“Unfortunately, my dear, I am telling the god's honest truth.” You laughed humorlessly.

“Two bucks. Fuckin' hell.” Frank scrubbed a hand over his face, clenching his jaw as his anger roiled deep within. “I'm so sorry, doll.”

“Me too, Frankie.” You pouted, feelings of inadequacy mingling with the fear of being utterly stuck in this dead-end job. “I hate asking you to help with Wes every damn day. You deserve better.”

“Hey now, don't you go worryin your pretty little head about me,” Frank scolded gently. “You're the one who don't deserve to be treated this way.”

“Don't have much of a choice, do I?” You wondered aloud, shoulders curling in as you descended back into hopelessness. “I need this job.”

“Then you'll stick with it for now,” Frank proposed. “And I'll help ya find somethin' better in the meantime.”

“You don't have to do that Frank,” You objected, letting him slip out from under you and offer you a hand up.

“I know I don't have to, darlin'. I want to.” Kissing your lips tenderly, Frank cupped your cheek as heat rushed to your face.

“Thank you.” You murmured, chest tightening with emotion.

“Anytime, gorgeous.” Frank winked at you, bringing a smile back to your face.

A piercing squeak caught your attention, drawing it towards the floor where an impatient Wesley displayed a plush toy you didn't recognize.

“Did you buy him a toy?” You asked Frank, knowing grin creeping over your face as the man blushed bright pink, shrugging one shoulder. Bending down, you tugged at the arm of the wooly sheep, pretending that you were grabbing it for yourself until Wesley ran off, squeaking it victoriously.

“Needed somethin' to do and he seemed bored, so we took a walk to the pet store on 45th.” The embarrassed man mumbled, rubbing at his nape and averting his gaze.

“Aw, Frankie,” Winding your arms back around Frank's tree trunk waist, you peppered kisses across his face. ”That's so sweet of you.“

“It's nothin', really,” Frank stated matter-of-factly.

“Sure, tough guy. It's nothin',” You smirked, clenching your arms one final time before gripping his hand. “Come sit, we can order dinner and play with Wes.”

Planting a firm kiss against your hairline, your scalp tickled as Frank smiled. “Sounds like a plan.”

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @pone21 @ignore-mp3 @screechingphantommaker @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @paradox-brody-chase @msjb2002 @vsplanet @pigeonmama

[mins-fins]

hold me tight

&&. yes it took you a good couple of years, but it's nothing making out in a pool can't fix!

pairing: na jaemin x gn!reader

genre: fluff, sorta kinda sorta suggestive

warnings: kissing (is that a warning?)

word count: 1.4k

notes: this is a snippet from a longer form thing that i have given up on, but anyway, who else loves na jaemin?? if we ignore the fact that i only learned how to swim like one week ago….. i really like pools now that im not almost drowning every few business minutes 😁 i also really like na jaemin, and my last nana work was angst so i have to make it up to you all ⭐️ also, sort of kissing writing practice, it's terrible, don't focus on it pls xoxo

your arms are crossed as you slide the glass door open.

"jaemin".

"hm?"

you sigh, a heavy breath leaving your lips. he giggles, escaping your scathing stare by diving under the water. your corresponding groan gives him yet another thing to smile about, even when he's attempting to hide from you in chenle's pool. "how the fuck are you swimming at eleven pm?"

when jaemin rises again, he snickers, somehow able to keep his composure after almost inhaling a bunch of chlorine. "it's fun, y/n, why do you nag me so much?"

"i'm not nagging, i just need to make sure you don't get hypothermia".

he pouts like a child being punished. "your boring y/n" he sings, smile still tugging at his lips as he lays on his back, basking in the water that keeps him afloat.

you again sigh, rolling your eyes as you sit down at the edge of the pool, legs crossed. "and you act like a child, jaemin".

though he would usually feign offense at such words, it seems a switch flips in his head, and he swims his way over to you, leaning his arms against the ground you sit on. "you love me, though".

you chuckle, now that's amusing. "do i?"

jaemin hums, nodding, smile unmoving as traces shapes into your leg. "you do, that's why you aren't snitching on me to chenle".

you scrunch your nose at the feeling of his wet finger on your body. "what are you gonna do if i don't follow that?"

"strangle you, maybe".

the threat is said with such certainty that you laugh, because there's a hidden sense of playfulness behind the warning. "you can't strangle me, you need me".

he scoffs, pinching your knee and chuckling at the yelp he receives. "you sound like jeno".

"is that an insult?"

"you two are just as desperate as each other, so.. yeah!"

your eye roll is stuck to you at this point, maybe you simply expect such words from your best friend, because it doesn't exactly furrow your eyebrows as much as it makes you giggle. you slap jaemin's hand away from your leg, childishly sticking out your tongue at him. "your a bastard".

"i'm being honest, come in with me?"

now it's your turn to scoff, listening to the rhythmic whistles and silent splashes of water. "no, you're crazy".

"oh come on! you aren't leaving me to entertain myself alone, are you?"

"i can entertain you while being dry".

he narrows his eyes, arms crossing over his chest underwater. "you are boring".

you click your tongue; "how sad".

"y/n!" he's quick to whine. "how are you going to come out here to nag me then not get in the water?"

"well i didn't come out here to swim".

"then you should leave".

he pouts again, and you sigh again. it's always like this with na jaemin isn't it?

you roll your eyes as he starts staring at you with that look. "okay fine, i'm sorr— AHH!"

your statement is suddenly cut off when he uses his superhuman strength to pull you down from your place, and you fall face first into the pool with a huge splash.

when you finally come to, jaemin only stares at you with that same shit eating grin. "oh you assho—"

"hey! you can't punch me in chenle's pool!"

"and whose gonna stop me?"

you yelp again when he splashes water in your direction, just barely closing your eyes in enough time to avoid the water attempting to enter them. "you think your sooooo funny huh?"

"hilarious, even".

you grimace, shaking your head aggressively back and forth in an attempt to get some of the water out of your hair. "fuck you".

jaemin frowns again, but he can barely hold in his snicker, and now it's your turn to cross your arms underwater. he moves his hair strands out of his face, staring at you for a weirdly long time. "i mean.. you look pretty like this".

you deadpan, cheeks just barely flaring up at the words. he says it all the time, y/n, it's not weird..

but na jaemin himself is weird, so you shouldn't be thinking all that into it.

"are you flattering me so i don't murder you?"

he snickers, looking down, seemingly as nervous about it as you are. "oh so i'm not allowed to compliment you now?"

"you're a weirdo, i always have to question what you do".

jaemin gasps loudly, clear offense in his tone, you can barely hide your smile as you see his reaction. maybe it's a bit strange how his eyes linger on your smile, but what can he say? it's pretty, he needs to make you laugh again.

"y/n".

you blink, staring at your best friend with eyes full of desire. did the outside air just turn up in temperature? it can not be this hot in early march. "yes?"

he hesitates for a moment, as if contemplating his words, which is probably the strongest sight to ever meet your eyes, because when na jaemin wants to say something, he says it. you sometimes forget he even has a thought process with how abrupt he is.

"can i kiss you?"

maybe it's the way it falls from his lips so naturally, or maybe it's the way his lips press together, they do look particularly soft, his constant use of lip balm clearly paying off.

you stare, the air getting significantly hotter, the water should be combatting that, right? your super attractive best friend who you totally harbor no romantic feelings towards just asked for permission to kiss you.

you chuckle. "in chenle's pool? really?"

your stalling, trying to correctly collect your word as your wondrous, beautiful best friend, na jaemin himself, stares at you like you're the only person in the world. has his gaze always been that heavy? when did your hands begin getting so clammy? what if you simply trust fall back into the water and drown? maybe it would be easier to avoid the awkwardness of this situation then..

"hey, when you have a chance you take it".

you laugh again, he really is something. you don't say more, simply pull him forward by his shoulder, finger itching to trace the skin of his bare chest. not before the kiss y/n, have some composure.

jaemin traces his fingers over the line of your jaw, and he pulls you in. his other hand slides down to your right hip, drawing a small squeak from you as your hands move up to his hair.

he wants to savor the moment, take a picture of it and hang it on his wall, there's a certain hunger in the way he groans against your lips, thumbs caressing the sides of your cheek. your arms are quick to wrap around his neck, still feeling the hairs on the back of his neck.

"you're so eager".

"you're the one who asked" you breath, gritting your teeth. "and besides—" you lean forward to take his lips again, the heat of his body transferring to yours. "—you wanted this as much as me didn't you?"

your desperation is quick to manifest, it manifests in the way you exhale sighs and whines, it's just something with na jaemin.

you two slowly.. swim(?) backward, your back hitting the surface of the pool wall. "oh chenle is going to kill us".

jaemin snickers. "why? it's not like were fucking in the pool".

you stare at him incredulously, of course he had to bring that up out of all things, but your face still heats up, and his lips turn up. "oh? do you want to fuck in the pool?"

"no you— pervert! we are not going to fuck in the pool!"

"okay okay, it was just a suggestion" he rolls his eyes, squeezing your hip.

you scrunch your nose, splashing water in his direction. "hey, let's just make this easy, go out with me?"

your jaw almost drops. is this man really serious?

"are you really asking me out in chenle's pool?"

"not as romantic as i wanted it to be but.. it works".

you would punch that smile off na jaemin's face if he wasn't absolutely adorable, oh, and you also really enjoy kissing him down. "okay stupid, but make it a good first date".

"i always keep my promises!"

and if you kiss him again? well that's no one else's business.

[readychilledwine]

Kissed by Fire pt 1

Summary - Amelia Archeron, the oldest of the made sisters, sacrificed more than her sisters would ever understand, and more than she would ever allow them to know. Now, they want her to sacrifice her one chance at happiness, too.

Warnings - rhysand is kind of a dick, signs of depression and PTSD, trauma, implied EDs, kind of poisoning

An - and we begin 💜

Part 2

Rhysand tapped his fingers on the desk next to Amelia, his eyes narrowed as the oldest sister stared out the window.

She had been the last to wake up. She was withdrawn from them, constantly sat in the cushioned window ledge and wiping tears from her face.

He had expected more from Amelia. She was supposed to be a rock, a strong influence, yet here she was, mind lost in her grief, in her confusion, her longing for their father. “You need to get up,” he commanded. “You need to stand on your feet and be strong for your sisters. They need you.”

Amelia sighed deeply, that familiar weight of being the oldest pressing down on her shoulders once again.

It felt like carrying the weight of the world. It felt like being forced to sacrifice her own health and happiness for her sisters again.

It reminded her of nights spent in a brothel laid beneath some man she had no interest in for a small amount of coin. It reminded her of hiding the coins with Feyre's earnings so no one would ask questions or ask if she was okay.

“If my adult sisters are making the choice to hide in a room and refuse to eat, how exactly would me going and demanding that of them make a difference?”

Rhysand rolled his eyes, scoffing at the question. “You never cared for them while you all were starving in that cabin,” Amelia flinched at the accusation. “The least you could do is pretend to care now.” She looked away from him as the first night spent in the whorehouse, handing her virginity away to a complete stranger twice her age came forward.

She didn't see Rhysand's face fall, his eyes becoming sympathy as you stood. “Right. I forgot about Feyre's pretty story of how she kept our family afloat.” The true sentence should have been, “I forgot she didn't know,” yet Amelia stuck to her self defense. “I will try. Do not expect me to join you, though.”

Nesta, Elain, and Amelia ate in silence in Amelia's room. If you could call what the three of them did eating.

Nesta pushed the food around. Elain stared out the window. Amelia sat there, shivering despite being the closest to the fire and in heavy wool socks and a sweater provided by the House.

She could feel a chill deep inside of her. Like the Cauldron had left a reminder deep inside of her of what happened. “Have you two been cold since-” she couldnt even finish the sentence, but she didn't need to.

Elain shook her head softly. “No, just. Lost.”

Nesta also shook her head before smiling sadly. “Have you tried to bathe yet?” Amelia paled at the idea. She had several times. Hoping the hot water would melt the ice settling in her veins and bones. “I had the same reaction,” Nesta sad softly.

Elain also nodded, tears streaming down her face, “It's like bathing takes me right back there. I cam feel it burning my skin all over again from how cold it was, I feel myself struggling to breathe, i-” Amelia silenced her younger sister with a hand on hers.

“Don't, little tulip. Don't talk about it unless you're ready to.” Elain leaned into her, closing her eyes as Amelia ran her fingers through her soft hair. “I'm sorry I can't fix this.”

Nesta smiled for the first time in a week. “You aren't a miracle worker, Lia. We don't expect you to fix it.”

Amelia's dreams that night had her transporting to a cabin. It was warm with a soft fire crackling in the background as she looked around. She could hear the voices of two males in another room. One was deep and smooth, although somewhat sarcastic as he spoke to a deep familiar voice. Shadows trailed through Amelia's fingers and the voices stopped. A door opening and footsteps coming towards her.

Amelia shot awake, her eyes adjusting to the darkness to a figure sitting on her bed. Rhysand had his hands holding his nose, his eyes glazed over slightly. “Do you know where you just were?” She shook her head, take a few deep breaths and then the tea he offered her. “I need you to drink that. You followed Azriel on a mission. In your sleep.”

He looked up sighing heavily. “You didn't fully transport your body there. Just your soul and mind. I need you to drink that so you don't do it again.”

Amelia sniffed it, eyes watering at how bitter it smelled. “What is it?”

Rhys looked at her, eyes cold as he distanced himself from what he was asking her to do. “It's faebane. It'll put whatever the fuck the Cauldron did to you to sleep.”

Rhys laid Amelia down, having watched her finish the cup and fall into a drug induced sleep. He sensed Azriel landing at the house and waited.

The Spymaster pushed Amelia's balcony doors open, looking between her and Rhysand. “How? That cabin is heavily warded to protect-”

Rhys held a hand up. “Amren is looking into it. Until we have an answer, we keep her on a low dose faebane to keep her powers locked down and quiet.”

Azriel looked at him, slightly shocked. “So poison her instead of helping her control it? Rhys, we know better than this. Her powers will eat her alive.”

“We will figure it out before than, Azriel.” Rhys looked at Amelia, watching as she shivered. “Did he have any ideas for helping her stay warm?”

Azriel nodded, pulling out a heavy sweater in a cream and another in burgundy, and then a soft fluffy pumpkin colored blanket. They reeked of cinnamon and apples, the fabric was unnaturally warm after having been enchanted. “He says we owe him.”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “Of course we do. The snake doesn't do a single thing unless it benefits him.” he took the blanket, thanking Azriel softly before tucking Amelia in and listening as she released a soft content sigh. She snuggled deeply into her new blanket, shivering stopping almost immediately. “Did he say what he wants?” Rhys moved her hair out of her face. Guilt eating him alive as he saw how peaceful she looked in this forced state.

“He'll call us when he's ready.”

Taglist : @justdreamstars @coralseacourt @kemillyfreitas @impossibelle

[courtingchaos]

This was just a little blurb I wrote the other night for a prompt competition thing however, I was stuck at a concert and wasn’t able to actually participate like that! So y’all can have it! Though I must say, @fracturedarkness has already claimed him as their boyfriend, so the slimy boy is off the market. Sorry ladies.

A/N and Warnings: It’s monsterfucking. I don’t know what else to tell ya. Mentions of said monsterfucking. Go cautiously, have fun, don’t complain about it, it’s just river monster Eddie, he loves you.

You can hear the chittering before before you see the flash of his eyes hidden under the mossy brown hair. The river is murky enough to keep the rest of him hidden until he wants you to see him, until he’s ready to pull you down the slick embankment. His hand is smooth and scaly, fingertips rough when they shoot up out of the water and snatch your knee, pulling you waist deep. You gasp at the cold, at the feel of his cool skin sliding against yours, waterlogged eyes curiously searching your own for recognition.

He can feel your heartbeat pressed up against him, can feel the rush of heat between your legs where his hand rakes up further. The pointed tips of his claws scratching lightly against sensitive flesh.

This is a game you two play, ever since you found him. Alone the way he thought he wanted to be until you came along, tromping through his underbrush and disturbing his peace. You smelled like sunlight and dry earth, things he rarely occupied. He’d only been curious at first but then you’d cut yourself on the rocks and he could taste that sunlight in the water. It hadn’t taken long to track you downstream, follow you up the rocks you’d climbed. His den wasn’t far and he thought he could have his fun with you before pulling you under the current, but something was different. You didn’t scream like all the other humans. You didn’t try to fight out of his grip on your bleeding ankle. You’d watched with wide, curious eyes. Run your mouth at him like he couldn’t understand you but when he pulled you close abruptly you’d stopped, watched his pale lips form around familiar sounds. Watched those sharp teeth move in closer to you.

He’d had his fun though, had let you go that first time to slink back to your civilization but you’d slunk back to him. Found him in his home, bringing that sharp sunlight with you and he was fascinated with your missing fear and warm skin.

You’d kept coming back and he kept playing along, tracking you down when he’d catch a whiff of you on the wind. He liked how you tasted after a trek through the woods, long tongue laving up the side of your neck to gather the salt there while you moaned. He’d drag his claws up your sides, pulling at useless clothing hiding you from him. His favorite thing was to get you laid out on the mossy rocks under his stars, nose buried deep in your cunt where you tasted the most like earth. He’d make you scream like the cicadas in the surrounding pines and then pull you down into the water, big hands keeping your head afloat and pinning you to the edge where he could fuck you, knows this is why you keep coming back to find him in the dark. He fights the urge to pull you under the surface, wants to fill your lungs with the same cool water and mate you but he knows he can’t. Not if he wants to keep chasing you, keep finding you. So he pins you and ruts into you hard, holds you in place until you’re clawing at the wet earth and getting it under your nails and in your hair. He wonders if you hold on to his scent like he does yours when he bites down on your shoulder, long row of sharp teeth breaking that fragile skin and filling his mouth with sunlight when he comes. He marks you in a lot of ways, ways he knows don’t matter to where you belong. Ways that matter to him though, and to you too. So he’ll pull you out of the water and bring you to your things and when you’re finally conscious enough to get dressed and leave, he’ll watch from under his rocks and wait. Wait for you to step on moss and leaves and mud again and bring him his taste of sunlight.

(Sacrifice for the read more)

[everythingelseisextra]

Everything Is Fine

Request: No Description: Tired of being stuck in the same life every day, you decide to face your anxiety and go into town. You spend hours going unnoticed, until someone, finally, speaks to you. Warnings: idk there's mentions of alcohol? also the reader has anxiety? Word Count: 1547 Author's Note: This will be a multi-chapter fic slow burn Tommy x horse trainer reader. I am absolutely begging people to read it. I'm putting a lot of myself into this and hopping people like it. I'm a little nervous to post it, to be honest. Please lmk whether I should continue or not.

It’s been weeks. You do your work, lifting bales of hay and dragging buckets of water to and from stalls. You exercise the horses and deal with the insanity that comes from off-the-track animals. You go until you’re dizzy and sweating and then finally take a break to breathe and drink and eat. And then you go home, and you sleep in your tiny bedroom, and eat breakfast in the gray light of dawn, and it’s fine. Everything is fine. And your whole life is just a constant cycle of fine. Trying to shake it from you feels like trying to swim to a shore you don’t know exists, while the sea expands around you, endless. There’s nothing wrong with it, you think. There’s nothing wrong with the act of treading water, unless you start to drown. But you can stay afloat. You can always stay afloat. And everything is fine. 

It’s been weeks since you moved here, and, for the first time, you decide to go into town. You take your time, body heavy, weighed down by the faint storm in your mind, and duck your head as the cab pulls up. You can’t afford a car. Silence fills the small interior as the driver moves off, heading towards the faint outline of the city on the horizon. The countryside looms, pale green hills cut through with brown and gray paths, and you’re small, insignificant, because there’s so much around you and so little inside you. Soon, the hills smooth into flat, paved sidewalks and roads, and the car wanders through the wreckage that is Small Heath, the closest town to your property. Around you, shouts and the murmur of other vehicles, flashes of dark-dressed people, children running amuck on the streets. 

“Where to?” The driver asks, their voice quiet. 

“Wherever’s closest and serves alcohol.” You place your hands in your lap, staring out the window at the black and gray around you, the shadows dancing across stone walls, the flicker of lamps as being lit as night draws close. 

The driver nods.

After a few minutes, you’re greeted with a dark exterior, matching the rest of the city. Nothing special, but you didn’t ask for anything special. You asked for alcohol. You pay the driver and step out of the car, looking up at the words The Garrison resplendent in gold above the entrance. Some light in this city of devils. You shake your head, questioning your own sanity in setting foot in a big city like this. You’re from the country. You’re made to live small days and dream small dreams, stay in the quiet outskirts. And, yet, here you are. 

You enter, with some trepidation, and quietly make your way through wooden tables to take a seat at the bar, eyes on the grayed photos decorating the wall in front of you. You close your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, and let your thoughts flow freely, trying not to judge yourself. The chatter of voices surrounds you, and the creak of chairs as weights shift, the clatter of glasses on tables. You’re dressed differently than everyone else in this bar. You hadn’t changed after work. Jodhpurs and a tight, tucked-in shirt, no overcoat. You release a tense breath and look up as the bartender approaches you. 

“Gin, I guess. Last Word, if you can do that.” You hate how shy you make yourself sound. You can face off a twelve-hundred pound animal with no fear, but become timid at any form of social interaction anywhere but your property. It makes you cringe. 

The bartender, a young blond woman, smiles faintly and nods at you. You go back to looking down at your hands in your lap, ears tuned to the noises around you. You catch phrases from conversations, little sayings, the chatter filtering in and out like a badly tuned radio. You receive your drink and sip slowly, waiting for the alcohol to find its way into your system and calm you, if only a little. The hair on the back of your neck raises; there are eyes on you.

As the night goes on, you find yourself in a cyclorama of constant movement, with you in the center. People come in and out. Shouting, standing on tables, making drunken toasts. Chairs get knocked over, thrown, laid on. The bartender calls to some of the men, smiling her little smile, and, at one point, sings a lilting tune that you faintly recognize but don’t know the words to. All the while, you’re still, silent, your own anchor in the blowing storm of the sea. 

No one sees you. No one cares. You finish your drink and sigh. Maybe part of you hoped someone would notice you, come over and speak to you. Maybe part of you wanted something more than fine. Maybe part of you thought you were some kind of special, some kind of chosen, the main character of your own story. Maybe part of you—

“Never seen you here before.” A voice next to you, low and gravelly, but soft enough that you don’t jump. 

You open your mouth to speak. The words are on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t seem to let them out. You shake your head, frustrated. The words are there. You can feel them burning on the inside of your throat; never been here before. You can’t speak them. You can’t even look at the man beside you. 

“Who are you?” His accent is different than yours, stronger. The softness starts to dissipate from his words and you grow tense, trying to breathe, trying to hold it together. 

Again, you try to speak, but can’t find the words. 

“I asked you: who are you?” He steps towards you. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch icy blue flicking over you, dark, high-quality clothing, and a cap held loosely in his hand on the bar, glinting in the golden light. That gets your attention, and you turn your head slightly, trying to get a good look without actually looking. Slim slivers of silver line the brim of the hat. 

“When I ask a question, I expect an answer.” Now there’s a threat in his voice and you pointedly look away. 

“I’m not from around here,” you say. You don’t want this man to know you. You don’t want a man who carries hidden weapons and threatens on the first meeting to know who you are. 

His head lifts slightly, so he’s looking down at you, and his mouth opens a bit, his tongue at the inner edge of his lips. Thinking. When he speaks, the threat is gone, the faint burn of his words completely erased. “You race horses?” 

You shake your head. 

“Why are you dressed for riding, then?” His arms cross, the cap on his left side. You track it silently, still not looking at him.

“I train them.”

“For racing.” He nods to himself, starting to look away from you, seeking his next target.

“No. After.”

He looks back, those piercing eyes back on you. Half of you wants to shrink into nothing, and the other part— well, the other part is fascinated with the idea of being someone else for the night, slipping into someone else’s skin and walking around, of being brave and social. His eyebrows raise slightly, a request for more information. 

You sigh, turn yourself in your seat, and face him. Brave. “I rehab horses that injure themselves on the track. Instead of shooting them, they give them to me.”

“Never heard of that.” You’re caught in his gaze, trapped there, and the most you can do is stare back. He sounds dismissive. 

“It’s real. You can come see it for yourself.” The words escape you before you ask them to, before you have time to think them through. Inviting a stranger to your property, where he could do anything he wanted to you in the middle of nowhere, where your screams would travel over the hills and reach no one. 

“Who are you?” He asks again. 

You shake your head. “I’m no one.” 

“Where are your stables?” 

You bite the insides of your cheeks for a moment. There’s no way of getting out of this. You already invited him. “A straight shot into the Northern countryside from Small Heath.”

He gives you a single nod. “Expect me tomorrow morning.”

You close your eyes, a faint burning sensation in the back of your throat. “Okay.”

You hear him start to walk away, heavy footsteps on the wooden ground, then, they stop, and your blood goes cold. 

“Thomas Shelby,” he says, and you open your eyes to find him looking over his shoulder at you. You get your first, non-panicked look at him. Small, well-muscled stature, with the posture of a man who doesn’t mind taking up space. Pitch black hair, shaved in the typical anti-lice style, with pale, porcelain skin and sharp cheekbones. And those eyes. Those eyes that look with such pointed intention, like every glance is a web of planning and strategy. 

“What?” So distracted by his appearance, you don’t catch his words. 

“My name. Thomas Shelby.” His head turns away from you, and his next phrase is faint. “Remember it.”

Part Two: Commit to the Bit

[guess-that-ship]

S12 Round 2*

Dad's little successor

A single father and his daughter. It's no doubt that family is the main thing keeping the man afloat. He's straightforward and serious, but whenever he's around his kid, you can finally catch him smiling. On top of everything, they bond over the same… hobby? Kid has a huge interest in her dad's job, dreaming about being like him when she grows up. And it's very likely, since she puts a lot of effort into following her goal. One problem is that the job may be pretty dangerous at times, and her dad is one of those parents that worries about every single detail in their kid's life, especially when it comes to their safety. Still, he wouldn't be able to bear hurting her feelings, so her talent and enthusiasm thrive as dad lets her take a look at real work he has to deal with, with the exception that he always stays near to be in control of any potential danger. One big problem is that the father hates his job. It sucks life out of him, and it's the actual reason for his strict personality. Outside of work, he's a loving parent always thinking about spending quality time with his child, sometimes doing embarrassing things for her enjoyment. However, at work he often deals with people's worst side. Aside from that, it leaves little to no space in his schedule for rest. All of this means that watching over his daughter participating in his job is a rare chance to spend time together. Not allowing his personal experience break daughter's dreams, he still can't help but stay focused at work. Sometimes it may seem like he's too cold about her achievements, but in the end he will always and let her know how impressive her work is and that he's proud of her.

Old(ish) men one-sided yaoi

cw: spoilers

They are childhood best friends who swore they would always work together and never let the competitiveness for the job they both wanted get in the way of that… until character B gets a girlfriend and gets her pregnant and decides he will give up on that dream for his new dream: marry his gf and be a family man. Character A gets really hurt by this and cuts all contact immediately, swearing he will never forgive him.

Years later character A gets the job they both wanted and goes on to live his life wishing him and character B could meet again, but still being incredibly stuck in the past and hating him all the same. A then meets B's grandson due to work-related reasons and they end up working together but A is so petty that at the first disagreement they have he tries to beat the shit out of him. He later realizes he's just a nice, honest kid who is honestly kind of insane and it reminds him of B, so he let's him leave and decides to visit B.

B is really really exited to see A, who in his head is like "I hate you but I love you and I missed you but fuck you", and then they have a nice hug where A thinks about how gentle and kind B is and feels dumb for how he acted… until A tries to beat the shit out of him. They semi-reconcile and end up meeting up more tho, and B makes it abundantly clear again that he is very happy to reunite with A.

They later team up because they're worried about B's grandson and have a very meaningful talk where B reassures A that overall he has made a good impact on society and is doing a good job. A also realizes that he can't keep dwelling on the past and that B was not evil for deciding to change his plans for the future and go after the love of his now dead wife.

*Ship does not have to be romantic.

[meraki-yao]

I get that feeling too. I'm so excited for m&g and I can't wait to see Nick shine in that role, I swear I'm so emotional for anything the boys will do but there's this part of me that just thinks everything and everyone will move on from rwrb while I'm still stuck here because I need it badly and it's something that makes me feel alone and abandoned (none of this makes sense, I'm aware of it but it's simply my emotions that I'm trying to overcome)

We're in the same boat here. I don't really worry about everyone moving on from RWRB because I know for a fact that my mutuals and the friends I made here won't, and when the time comes I'll probably talk about M&G too because it genuinely looks promising, but for me there's a feeling of the bigger environment moving on. Even though I know that Alex and Henry will always have a significant, irreplaceable position in Taylor and Nick's hearts, the thought of Nick going on to talk about George when he barely had a chance to talk about Henry makes me feel a little bitter.

Also the Glaad Awards that RWRB got a nomination for will be held in mid March, in the middle of M&G playing, so I don't know how that will go down, and whether it will be a catalyst for more RWRB content or not.

But I think, as mentioned by my friends in the replies to my original post, the best thing we can do to stay afloat is keep talking and posting about it. And even just from a profit perspective I'm like 75% sure Prime has something planned, so in the meantime let's hang on and keep sharing our love <3

[gracethefoundfamilyfan]

Adrien hates walls.

His prison of a house? Walls.

His father’s closed office door? Wall.

His mother’s room? Oh, look, more solid walls.

The garden? Don’t even TRY.

He escapes through Chat Noir, but then—

Ladybug. Wall. Wall upon wall upon wall. At first it was just their secret identities. He could manage one more isolation.

But now it’s hundreds, layers upon layers of mistrust and lies that pile up until they’re almost more oppressive than the bars that close him in for real.

Any friends? His own secret identity is a massive, glaring, ugly barrier.

Maybe, just maybe, they’re never going to move. Maybe he’s meant to stay walked in. Hidden. Forgotten.

“I love you just the way you are,” he says. One wall down. Only it’s not, because apparently Marinette has walls too, and they’re going up faster than he can stop them. He’s hopeless, helpless, alone. Walled in.

And he’s starting to get claustrophobic. He’s stuck, in every way imaginable. He can’t move. He can’t fight for one love without ruining another. He can’t fight for one life without leaving a gaping hole behind in the other.

But he can’t keep filling all these gaps. His existence is like the plug in three dams, all connecting at one point—

His identity.

The same thing that’s keeping him afloat is also crushing him, leaving him gasping for air and floundering for a foothold even as the walls close in.

His father asks about his ring, and in that moment, Adrien makes his choice. Trembling, clenching his arms tight around himself to hide it, staring his father (his creator) in the eyes, he plants himself between the window (freedom) and his father (the cause of all of his heartache, really, although he doesn’t know it yet.)

“You’d know I’ve been wearing this ring for a long time if you paid any attention to me, father.” He snaps.

His father leaves.

He’s shaking. His mind is spinning. He feels an ache of ‘wrong, wrong, wrong’ growing deep in his gut. Maybe he throws up, he doesn’t know for sure. But he’s done it.

The first step.

Was it Plagg who told him even the smallest force can start the biggest quake?

Maybe, Adrien thinks for the first time, destruction isn’t something to be feared. It’s something to be celebrated, used, enjoyed. It’s catsclysming the iron bars slamming down around him. It’s fighting back. It’s freedom.

Destruction is freedom. (How had he never seen it before?)

Sure, this time it was out of pure fear. Part of him never wants to speak again. A large part of him still nurses the idea of running away, hiding, where there’s no one to hurt and nothing to fear. But the larger part of him (by a small margin) is shaking not from fear but excitement. Thrill. Adrenaline. He’s realized, for the first time in his false life, that he can rebel.

This first crack in the facade was made out of fear. But the rest will be planned, in a beautiful cascade of reckless emotion and anger (that he now lets himself embrace for the first time, lets it fill him, swell in his soul, give him strength) and love that will bring the world tumbling down so that he can recreate it in the way it ought to be.

(It’s not until Ladybug breaks down and he crumples with her, eyes red-rimmed with frustrated tears and an aching loneliness that never leaves, that he learns of the other implications of such thoughts. What he could become, did he not love the right people.)

But no matter. Because he does love the right people. And he believes they can best the odds.

And Ladybug, somehow, with her trembling lower lip and fearful doe eyes, gives him the strength (he has to protect her at all costs) to fight for the future he sees for both of them. It’s her and him against the world.

She trusts him, somehow.

What does he have to lose?

[sunlightwoo]

feather

pairing: hueningkai x g.n reader

genre: comfort fic, almost bff2l, slight angst warnings: mentions of running someone w a car rating: 13+

wc: 654

a/n: originally this fic was supposed to be posted in july as a gift but happy late late (like literally 3 weeks late) birthday @fairybinie <3 i hope that your birthday was spent so so well and i feel like it's been such a pleasure to call you one of my close friends :(( i also wanted to say happy birthday to hyuka as well!! this fic is for both val and our favorite maknae so i hope you guys enjoy reading this!!

“I can't take another moment with him.” You groaned before tossing your phone into the backseat of the car and slumping down even further into your seat. 

It was another one of your late night drives with your best friend, Kai, when you had been distracted with the sound of your buzzing for the past 2 hours. The individual that you had been texting, or at least trying to cut off, was someone that you thought would reciprocate your feelings but it ended like any other situationship that you found yourself into. The only thing coming from them was just the same three words that you weren’t looking for. 

‘Send a pic.’

“Am I allowed to run him over with my car?” Kai asks but you sigh to yourself, shaking your head at his question. 

“I think you should be, at this point.” But you always wondered why it was so hard these days to find someone genuine. 

It had been over a year or so since your last relationship, and to say that you were still in your healing process was a bit more extreme said than done. You wanted to find your inner peace at some point, but it was hard when every other person was just like the last, making you want to rip your hair out and never be in another relationship again. 

“Why can’t I find someone that actually wants to know more about me?” You mumbled to yourself quietly and stared at your fingers that were in your lap, but what you failed to notice was the latter’s glance that was focused towards you. 

For the past three years that Kai has known you, he could’ve mistaken all of the supposed platonic dates and actions that you two have done together as purely platonic and just that. He never had thought of you in the light before where you had meant much more to him than a friend. But ever since the start of you looking for other guys to date and find love in, he realizes that he was stuck as the friend that comforts and heals your broken heart at the end of the night. 

Even if it had meant running some of them over, hypothetically, with the car that you both were sitting in right now. 

“I always like knowing more about you.” He speaks up with a small smile, making you turn your head to look at him as a playful scoff leaves your lips. 

“You’re obligated to say that, you’re my best friend.”

Right, he was stuck in the friend zone. 

Maybe someday he will tell you how much you mean to him, in terms of wanting to protect you against the world. The way that love should feel as though you’re a feather floating around in mid air, letting it take its course with ease from the moment that you have found that right person. Maybe that one day will be the day that he tells you about how he wants to be the soft summer breeze that helps keep you afloat in happiness, if you were a feather.

But that day isn’t going to be for today, as he knew that you needed him more now than any other day. 

“Then as your best friend, let’s just go home and watch some Netflix, hm? No more being sad, and let’s just take our time debriefing ourselves at home.” He suggests while holding up a french fry as an offering, a silent one that definitely has more meaning than it should at this moment. 

Another day, Kai tells himself, as he watches as you take the fry with a small smile and eat it, while nodding your head towards the direction out of the parking lot.

And when that day comes, he promises to himself that he’ll be there to keep you safe at all times; to be happy like a feather.

permanent taglist: @viastro @wooyoung-a @pwttychannie @sunwoahkim @karsohn @escapewriter @awfullytiredbuthealing @fylithia @i4deonu @flrtsbin @whereisgyu @myluv-yeonjun @allorysayshi @nlnkm @jannine00742 @rebsmoonn @jjhmk @ilvaussie @idontwanttobehereanymore @beomgyugyu @99cyj @butterflx @theoskies @biuebinnie @ja4hyvn @ilovechanhee @wccycc @invuwrld @ahnneyong @bambi-vixey @soobprised @comic-wanda @ksunwooqt @black-rose-29 @jaysbestie @glyxiebear @strawbrinkofdeath @vatterie @marsophilia @soonyoungblr @jinjccns @rosymetal @justalittlwtooshy @ineedsomezzz @serendipityjaemin @lilactangerine @baekberrie @theskzvibe @watanabehan (add yourself to my permanent taglist here!)

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[fromtenthousandfeet]

I'll keep this brief. BTS Army - the members of BTS never asked you to get involved in the MHJ vs. BSH battle. They never publicly threw their support behind one side or another, so why are you?

Army is such a bizarre fandom. It's as if they feed off of the underdog/victim narrative and actually go so far as to look for reasons to battle with others - either within the fandom itself or with other fandoms. Honestly, it's so weird and I actually feel bad for the members of BTS - do their fans even care about their music at this point?

The reason I started this blog in the first place was to try to explain how Bang Si-hyuk and his team of (not so competent) executives squander the revenue BTS has generated, HYBE America being the biggest waste of money to date. So I struggle to watch the fandom drone on and on about how NewJeans and Ador are using and wasting BTS' money when they are one of the few labels that are actually turning a profit.

Why is this important? Even if I dislike HYBE, I don't want it to fail simply for the sake of the members and the staff. And if it's going to stay afloat, then they must have more than one profitable product. Putting the onus on BTS to be the sole revenue generators is short sighted and frankly cruel to the members. The more reliant HYBE is on BTS, the less freedom the members have to pursue their own interests and move in their own directions artistically. They'll be stuck touring forever. They'll continue to release drivel songs written by western songwriters in the hopes of recapturing the commercial success of Dynamite. Other groups being successful is good for BTS and good for the company. Why is that so controversial?

Even if they continue down the pre-chapter 2 path, the reality is, BTS' fandom is aging. Older fans are less likely to spend big bucks on endless merchandise, multiple copies of the same album, and expensive concert tickets because they tend to have more financial responsibilities to manage. HYBE acts need to attract younger audiences and build strong brand loyalty. Whether you like it or not, that's what MHJ and NewJeans are successfully doing.

The members of BTS have worked so hard for so long. They've been put on an impossible pedestal, expected to be exemplary human beings, cultural ambassadors, tools for politicians, the keepers of millions of fans' mental health, not to mention cash cows for Bang PD and the company. The burden is absurd and unfair.

Are you picking up with the members have been trying to communicate since their hiatus announcement and solo releases? They've been depressed, uninspired, burdened by excessive scrutiny of their behavior (or lack there of). It's time to let them free. And fandom - stop fighting battles you were never asked to enter. If you feel a need to be mad at how BTS' money is being spent then be mad at Bang PD and his team of executives for making endless bad business decisions.

That wasn't exactly brief. Sorry.

[pbs-theundeadmaggot]

Stay

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

[a/n] sorry for the lack of posts for valen-cries I’m still working on my requests but I thought I’d finish this wip. Also if it wasn't obvious this is a songfic based on stay by Colorblind

[warnings!] self deprecation, metaphorical abuse? Implication of drugs but not actually taking any cause it’s also metaphorical. Its just angsty and ambiguous, feel free to interpret the ending how you wish.

Valen-cries masterlist available here!

Abuse me, I like the punishment

You keep me focused, I don't need no Ritalin

I like when you keep me guessing, its alright

Its alright

It was only supposed to be one night but one night turned into two., two to three until there were too many to count. It had started with just some light flirting and the odd touch yet it quickly became so much more, so much so that you weren’t sure where you stood anymore. 

Steve was so persuasive with his sweet whispers and cheeky looks, how could you refuse? It didn’t help that you had a major crush on him back in high school and the moment he’d so much as looked your way, you’d fallen again. 

How pathetic, here you were fighting off your feelings for a guy who only ever saw you as a fuck buddy. Just another toy to warm his bed like numerous others before you, as if you even stood a chance. However, saying that you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Can we turn our feelings off?

I need you baby, just for one night,

One night

He’d call at the same time every night you spent apart, his gravely voice sending chills down your spine in the silence of your bedroom, where the boundaries of friendship and romance blurred across the distance. Some nights you’d talk for hours and hours, others simply bask in each others silence finding the need for words overrated.

In the darkness of the night you’d find yourself tracing over the freckles and faint scars that kissed his skin, trying to memorise every inch of him as if he would disappear at any second. If you could contain this memory forever you would, alas that would only make the pain harder when you inevitably parted.

I know what you’re looking for,

You make it feel like its the first time, every time

Every time

Coming down from the high was always difficult, doubt crippling you as you lay cold and empty. You tell yourself it will be the last time and it never is, the unhealthy hold he has over you enticing you back again and again. Unsure of wether you could do this anymore and chest tightening with every breath, what other choice was there but to run?

I don't really wanna fight right now,

I don't really see the point right now,

And if the love wasn’t real enough what the hell we gonna do when the truth comes out?

Steve wasn’t really one for commitment, you both knew that, so why did it hurt so much watching you leave each time? Would you stay if he asked? Or were you only in it for the sex? He had no right to ask, his reputation made sure of that but that didn’t stop the conflicting feelings threatening to spill with your presence. 

I’d rather start it on a blank page,

I think I like it with a new face

You dont wanna wait for me, its safe to be

Stuck inside this place where we keep faking things,

Running in circles looking for an end that didn’t exist seemed pointless but anything was easier than confronting your feelings, even uncertainty felt more stable than the mess you were floating in, head barley above water and still refusing to swim. You hadn’t realised that in the ocean of your mind Steve had been searching for you, begging you to stay afloat with him. 

I think you’re finally breaking me,

The way it seems you’re making me,

Stay 

[joanquill]

SFW Alphabet

Fred Porlock

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Fred's shy and awkward with affection. At first, he usually only stands near you and tries to hold your hand, but he always pulls away before you know what's happening. He usually shows affection by giving you flowers or gifts he thinks you will like, asking if you want to help with the gardens, or if you need help with your chores. If you're going to the market or the city, Fred always asks if you want him to accompany you. He's not the best at showing affection, but he really does try in his own way.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

While he usually keeps to himself, you get to see more of his cheeky side, especially when he's the one getting you out of trouble. He's more open with you, sharing sharp quips and inside jokes when you're alone, and he's not afraid to express himself to you. While he's sassier with you, he's still caring and looks after you, and he has no problem fighting whoever hurt you. You most likely approached him first. You were a new recruit to the Moriarty gang, and he was the closest one to your age. In other words, you were the extrovert who adopted him and basically pestered him into a friendship.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He likes to cuddle but has a hard time initiating it. Like if you were the one to cuddle him, he opens it with open arms and pink cheeks. He usually just sits close beside you, feeling your presence and warmth during meetings or a regular day in the manor. He's also a sucker for tangling your legs together while you're both sitting at the ends of the couch while you're talking. When he's had a hard day, he usually looks for you and sits beside you, resting his head on your shoulder. He doesn't really have a preference, but it will take a while until he relaxes and naturally goes for it.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Considering he's still young, I don't think settling down has ever crossed his mind. Unless someone older than him suggests the idea, then he will just look at them in confusion. You're both in a relationship and live under the same roof anyway, and he was happy with that. While he's usually in the garden looking after the flowers, he also helps Louis and Master Jack with chores. Because of that, his domestic skills improved gradually. He's better at cleaning than cooking and usually just assists with simple tasks in the kitchen.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

This poor boy wouldn't know where to begin. If he were to enter a relationship, he'd see it last in the long run and try to keep the relationship afloat, even if it started to hurt. But sometimes people aren't meant to stay in your life. He would try to talk to you somewhere private, preparing a script so he wouldn't say something that would hurt you more. But when he's in front of you, the words get stuck in his throat, and he'll only be able to say sorry. Everyone could tell the boy was heartbroken with how much more quiet and gloomy he's been. He would only talk when spoken to and just reply with short answers.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Marriage never really crossed his mind, considering he's still pretty young to think about it. You two also live in the same house, so he doesn't really want to rush into things. He just wants to enjoy the present and what you have right now. Maybe after three to five years of dating and things are stable, he'll start seriously thinking about it. Or when you start a conversation about it, seeing you look at white dresses and rings when you pass by stores.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He's very gentle and maybe takes a little more time to get used to being in a relationship. Even with simply holding hands while walking through town, you could feel him slightly trembling and barely holding your hand. When you ask for a hug, he'll be surprised at first but still agrees and probably awkwardly pats your back. He might get teased by Sebastian and Bonde for it. When he notices you're in a bad mood, he takes his time to listen to you and stay by your side, offering whatever support he can give you.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

You're most likely the one who initiates it. Like at first, Fred will do a ghost hug, barely touching your skin. Slowly, he'll get used to it and hug you tightly, sometimes snuggling into your shoulder. When Fred wants a hug, he'll usually start by pulling your sleeve or holding your hand, grabbing your attention, and asking for one. He prefers when you hug his arm while standing or walking together. That way, he can quickly shield you when danger comes.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

You'll most likely say it first. I don't think Fred's the type to say it and more on showing it, like spending time with you or giving you small trinket gifts and flowers. He'll still say how much you mean to him, like "You're special to me," "You're my best friend," "Please stay. I need you here,". The first time you say it, he'll probably freeze and look at you in disbelief. He'll try to say it back, but just say something like "You too," which he will beat himself up for it. He'll most likely say it when you've dated for some time, things are quiet, and you two are just enjoying each other's company, and he'll say it while looking at you.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they're jealous?)

Not really jealous, but very protective. Fred knows firsthand how brutal and cruel people can be, so he doesn't really want you talking with some stranger. If you're out with friends, he doesn't really have a problem. However, he will miss you. Especially when you spend a lot of time with someone else. When he catches someone making you uneasy, he doesn't hesitate to pull you away and let them know they're making you uncomfortable. If someone is just being friendly and you like their company, he doesn't make a big deal, but he does stay by your side, most likely just wanting to feel you close while you do your own thing.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His kisses are short, sweet, and shy. He mostly kisses you when you're alone, whether in the greenhouse or an empty room in the manor. He loves kissing you on the cheek or your shoulder while he hugs you from behind. If he's feeling bold, he'll quickly kiss the back of your hand before you go your separate ways, whether on the mission or off to do your chores. He likes to be kissed on the cheek and gets extremely flustered when you kiss him on the lips. He always gets smiley when you smother his face with kisses.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He has a soft spot for kids. He acts like an older brother to them, especially the kids he sees on the street. He'll probably treat them with food he bought from a bakery and play along with them. However, if there are like ten or fifteen children around, he might feel overwhelmed and keep to himself. Now, while he likes children, this doesn't mean he wants some of his own. Maybe if you were married, but that would be years from now.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

I reckon he's an early riser. First thing in the morning, at the break of dawn, Fred takes care of the plants and flowers. But like clockwork, as you wake up, he always has your drink in hand or breakfast ready as he brings it to bed as you enjoy the morning together. When you did try to wake up as early as he did to help him take care of the garden, you would always nap before breakfast, sometimes missing it.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

You can usually find him still tending to the flowers, especially the ones that require special attention during nighttime. Whether at the greenhouse or with everyone in the dining room, you always eat dinner together. You two might also take your time strolling through the garden after he's done with work, talking about your day or random topics. However, sometimes he's out getting information or requests for William to take, so he usually bids you goodnight before he leaves and lets you sleep. Unless you wanna join, then sometimes you go on late-night talks on rooftops.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He likes to keep things to himself and is not that good at expressing himself-- but he is learning! As the relationship progresses, he becomes more open about things. He doesn't really keep secrets from you unless it puts you in danger, but he is pretty quiet. It is also pretty difficult to read him. Unless you ask him, he probably won't mention it. It might take him some time to reveal his past and where he came from since he's not sure how you would react. But after a while, he becomes more expressive with you and starts sharing bits about himself.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He is pretty patient, but he has a tendency to bottle things up until it overflows. He would keep quiet when he's in a bad mood and try not to snap at anyone, but a simple mishap like his tools getting messed up or his flower pots are suddenly on the floor in pieces can become the straw that breaks the camel's back. It is pretty easy to see if he's in a bad mood. He would be quieter than usual, give short answers, and glare at people. If you try to make him angry and tease him, he just plays along to your antics, not understanding what you're trying to do.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He remembers a lot. He most likely remembers a lot of small details and short moments you had that even you don't recall ever happening. If he sees you looking at something in the store, he tries to save up and buy it for you. Or if you mention something about your favorite flower, he surprises you with a bouquet of it, maybe even a small spot in the garden full of it if the Moriarty brothers allow it. However, special occasions and anniversaries creep up on him. He'll remember the date but doesn't realize how close it would be unless he's looking at the calendar.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

His favorite moment was when he caught you playing with one of the cat's kittens while he was buying cat food. You even brought toys while the mother and other cats ate the fish you bought, which Fred found endearing. He didn't want to ruin the moment, but when you saw him and got embarrassed, he was a little disappointed when you stopped playing with the kittens. Ever since then, Fred tried to catch you playing with the cats when you two were feeding them. He wanted to bring the cats to the manor since the beginning, but after watching you play happily with them, he wanted to bring them home even more.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He is very protective. Especially when you're out on a mission. He prefers when you are both on lookout duty, away from the fight and danger. But if you're on the battlefield, he keeps an eye on you the whole time. Making sure no one is trying to hurt you. If someone tries to sneak up on you, he'd already have a blade on their throat before you turn around. If you two are both on the battlefield, you two work as a pair most of the time, having each other's back, and he trusts you completely. He'd also get flustered when someone talks bad about himself, and you defend him, listing the good qualities he has and why you love him for him.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He puts in a lot of effort. Especially when you two barely had some time for yourself. He tries to surprise you with a rose every day, but he prepares a special bouquet during your anniversaries and dates. He tries to save up and buy you a special gift, but he usually makes a personal one since it feels more heartfelt. After his chores, he tries to help you with yours when you still have some to do. However, if he finds you knocked out on the couch and you still have shores to do, he wraps you in a blanket and finishes those tasks for you.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He has bad communication skills. But he is learning and trying his best to become better at it. He also has a bad habit of keeping things to himself, thinking it would just bother or burden you if he opened up about them. He might also put a lot of focus and time into the gardens, especially with how William and everyone compliment his hard work, and he just loses a sense of time when he's working.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

I don't think he really cares what he looks like, as long as it doesn't hinder his costumes for missions. As long as he's presentable and clean, he's good to go. But if you compliment a certain style on him or suggest a change, he doesn't mind trying it out. However, he can be a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to how he looks in a costume. He wants to make sure every detail is correct and precise. He also takes very good care of his costume and wigs, making sure they're stored correctly and in good condition.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Even though he keeps things to himself, I think if he falls for someone, he falls for someone. It may not look like it, but he always searches for you. His day doesn't feel complete if he doesn't see you. He might adjust his everyday life to you. He would make a little nook for you in his greenhouse, prepare flowers for you every day, adjust his chores so you'd bump into each other, and even ask for your help with gardening or making costumes so you'd spend time together. He might even try doing your hobbies, reading your favorite books, trying your favorite food to get to know you better.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He likes slow dancing with you when you're alone. Sometimes it's with a gramophone he borrowed from Herder, or you'd just be humming a random melody. Since he's usually on lookout duty, he would see nobles dancing with each other and thought of doing it with you. When you both first tried it, both of you were clumsy and would accidentally step on each other's feet. Now, you two would do it effortlessly. He also thinks some flowers resemble you, whether by appearance or meaning, so they now hold a special place in his heart.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn't like, either in general or in a partner?)

Someone who is ignorant and oppressive or looks the other way when something unjust happens. He also doesn't want someone who is judgemental or treats people differently based on their status. He also doesn't mix well with someone who is too clingy or needs his attention 24/7 considering his job as a gardener during the day and informant during the night. He also doesn't like someone impatient or easily annoyed, especially when they scold him for speaking softly and tries to make him speak up when he doesn't want to.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Out of the Moriarty gang, he has one of the most sane biological clocks. He's an early riser and goes to bed at a reasonable time if he isn't out at night gathering information. If he has been out all night, Fred goes straight to bed and still wakes up on time. If he doesn't get enough sleep, Fred naps during his free time. If you two are sleeping together, Fred has a habit of hugging you, which makes him wake up and jump away. He tries to break this habit, but he sleeps better when he knows you're with him.

[aleniksimmer]

Hello.

Kinda of sad (expected) news: I'm no longer a featured artist on TSR.

I guess being inactive for 5 months is a good enough reason. And I understand that, and I agree with that, but it still hurts.

This was one of the few things I was able to achieve during my tumultuous years through university, it felt special, being recognized for something I learned by myself while my life was falling apart. It kept me afloat both mentally and economically, and I am extremely grateful for it.

I just have to accept that "loosing that title" doesn't mean I'm no longer able to create things in 3D. What I learned is still here, it's just that my life has changed, my routine has changed and nothing can stay the same forever. It's kinda bittersweet but it's life.

You know since I started the new job I basically stopped creating. To be honest, I don't have the time and energy to be able to create big projects like I used to, nor the inspiration to create smaller stuff. Job is full time, but it takes me 9h of staying in the building plus 3 hours in total to prepare things in the morning, go there and come home. 12 hours of my day are basically gone for work. When I come home I'm exhausted (for various reasons) and three days a week I go to the gym (other 2 hours), the other 2 work days are spent on meeting with friends or shopping for things I need. I still have troubles falling asleep at night so my usual sleeping time is 4 hours. Due to this on the weekends I'm extremely tired and fall asleep constantly (morning and afternoon).

I would love to be part time, just to have time for what I really like (3d modeling, I wanted to enroll in a school dedicated to it this November but with the job is impossible), but by the end of the year I "should" have my uncle's apartment and it needs to be renovated and finished, and I need lots of money for it. Money that I don't have cause I noticed that half of my salary goes on gas, medicines and the rent I pay to my parents (which is used to pay bills and groceries). If I was part time I would basically work "for free" cause I wouldn't be able to save any money.

Tbh at this point I don't know what to do. I'm happy with the job, I'm happy with the salary I guess, I'm happy I found people I can call friends and I guess I should be fulfilled with my life, but at the same time I feel like I'm missing parts of me, that I gave up on my dreams and hopes. I keep saying myself that I just need to get used to the new routine, but it's almost a year and every day feels the same to the point I feel stuck again similar to what I felt when I was in university. But the sense of oppression is morphed into exhaustion. I should be grateful for how things are going but at the same time I feel like I'm losing myself even more. It's hard to explain.

[justaprismolover]

WARNING! This rant is a very subjective and hot take about Prismo [Adventure Time] & how the modern fandom treats him. This is a personal and emotionally driven rant. if that doesn’t sound good to you, please do not read this rant.

⚠️Please read the full post before you say anything. Context is very important in this post! ⚠️

hello to anyone reading this! you probably don’t know me or you don’t know much about me, but i’m justaprismolover. i’ve been obsessed with prismo for a very long time, about three years or so. he was this major interest of mine that i would constantly think about 24/7.

he was this huuuge obsession of mine that i consistently was enamored by. the phase seemed to never wear off. i drew him, animated him, wrote fanfictions about him, i had elaborate daydreams about him, i started making an album about him (which i only discontinued because all of the songs suck lol), i posted about him and ranted and raved to my friends, said his name many times every day, made AUs for him, and i even started archiving every drawing i saw of him. you see, prismo drawings back in the day were very rare, so i was constantly starving for tha goods (fanart). i would always look him up on deviantart and google to see if anyone posted art of him. i followed and subbed to anyone who showed interest in him. i had looked him up on youtube and deviantart and pinterest countless times. i started seeing the same prismo content over and over again, which is reasonable, but i, who at the time started to archive every piece of work of prismo i could find, had this crazy goal of archiving every work i could find of prismo. so i started making social media accounts for the sole purpose of archiving content containing him and dipping.

i made a tiktok account (which was banned after one day for some reason?? i didnt comment or have a trashy username or anything idk) i made a twitter account (total waste of time i couldnt find any prismo stuff) and i made a tumblr account, the only account i kept. i originally wasn’t going to at first but tumblr sorta stuck with me. there were a wee amount of prismo fans who loved him just like me! so i stuck around and started posting art just for fun.

then something interesting happened. a new fiona and cake show was coming out, and a depressed looking prismo was right there in it! i was excited to see more prismo, but i was also kind of worried. i was scared the prismo ‘fandom’ (it was literally like 5 people at the time) wouldn’t be the same after fiona and cake came out. what if prismo became a tumblr sexyman and they started humanizing him and making him act super out of character? what if he was downplayed as a “silly blorbo”? what will happen to my archive? will there be too much art to archive?

i know that it might sound selfish to be saying stuff like this, but i’m sure everyone has felt it before. that feeling when something tiny you like became popular and you just sat there thinking “i was here first!” its petty but its valid as long as you aren’t putting anyone down for getting there later than you.

so i comforted myself by telling myself that it won’t be that big of a deal and prismo probably wouldn’t play a big part. its not like there was a huge prismo craze in 2012 when he first was introduced or anything like that. there’s going to be so much new cool artwork of prismo made by so many cool people that will all put their own lil twists on him, and in a month most of the prismo likers will move on which means it’ll be me and a bunch of dedicated prismo enjoyers, but not too many, and it’ll be like one of those teeny cool fandoms. yep, that’s what i told myself. it’s not like i was fully convinced by this or anything but it kept me afloat. i just kept on doing what i usually did until the show came out, and…

boy, was i wrong.

prismo played a huge role! he CREATED fiona and cake! he had new characters to interact with! there was new art! new fanfiction! a huge brand-spanking new prismo fandom flooded into tumblr. prismo playlists! prismo cosplays! prismo crafts! i was flabbergasted. totally enamored by this wave of content. do you know how insane it feels when this character that was forgotten by everyone but you and some others suddenly gets extremely popular?! it’s like you’re dying in the sahara desert of dehydration when suddenly you trip into lake baikal. it was insane. and, it wasn’t THAT bad! yeah, there was some headcanon stuff and “sillyposting” that i didn’t like, but hey, most of the prismo stuff kept him looking the same and drew really neat looking art of him! i was ready to embrace this new prismo epidemic with open arms if it wasn’t for one teensy weensy itty bitty minor problem…

Scarab.

ya see, scarab and prismo to this new era of prismo lovers are absolutely inseparable. you cant have one without the other. they’re treated akin to simon and betty, where if you draw one, you must draw the other. pink, yellow and blue is no longer prismo including his lil blue pupil, but now its prismo, the wall of the time room and scarab! pretty much what i’m saying is the new prismo fandom was almost ALL prismo x scarab shippers. hell, most of them joined BECAUSE they liked the pairing itself. the prismo fandom pretty much became the prohibited wish fandom, which to someone like me who doesn’t ship it… was… something. yeeep. it was totally something alright.

i know its easy to make fun of me for being sad about a ship that everyone else in the fandom ships, which i mean, fair enough, it’s pretty funny, but i hope you get my point of view as someone who doesn’t ship the ship and doesn’t really care for scarab. i’ve been so dedicated to doing my weird little prismo stuff for so long, just me and sometimes me and a few others, and suddenly, this humongous wave of people come who start drawing all sorts of ship art with this… bug dude thingy that i didn’t even care for. and its only. ship art. which made me feel so left out of all the fun. i can’t force myself to like the ship, because, well, not only is that near impossible for me but i don’t like the tropes and its a ship that’s pretty lustful and often puts the characters in sexual scenarios with one another.

you see, the ship alone isn’t the whole issue. it’s the way the ship is portrayed, and especially the way prismo is portrayed.

back in the day, prismo was characterized by most people (including me) to be this super chill yet awkward guy who was funny and cool yet lonely and kinda clingy (which was proved to be CANON cuz hes obsessed with jake in Fiona and Cake HEHEHEHH). he was a side character who was kinda mysterious which left him up in speculation. everyone had their own little prismo theories. the best part about prismo was that nobody really forced him to have a one dimensional trope (ironic).

like, there weren’t any moments in canon that made everyone think he was obsessed with something like, pickles or destroying universes or whatever. you know how so many fanon side characters are often attributed to one singular thing they like or do, and so everyone makes it as if they’re obsessed with doing it to the point where it’s more of a lifestyle than a hobby to that character? prismo didn’t get that treatment! many people who liked him UNDERSTOOD that he wasn’t some guy who sat around in his hot tub all day manically making pickles or messing around with the lich. (true ogs remember prismo x lich. RIP that ship you sucked but the art was delicious)

so many people understood that below the surface he was lonely and just needed somebody to talk to, how he could never leave the time room. we based our drawings more on the character himself, his internal struggles and external battles. and yeah, most prismo fanart… WAS JUST PRISMO! and the prisjake art was (and still is) almost ALL wholesome and cute, because, well, prismo never came off to anyone as a sexual person!

and the just prismo drawings were unique too! so many of them explored different concepts and ideas, which is something i rarely see nowadays, cuz most of the art is just him calling scarab petnames and writing fanfics.

warning: the following paragraph contains mentions of art of sexual harassment. please skip this paragraph if you are uncomfortable with this topic. please note that this is my main reason as to why i do not like the modern prismo fandom.

the biggest issue i have with the modern prismo fandom is that they portray him as a very lustful person, someone who openly talks about doin’ the deed towards scarab as soon as he sees him. so many depictions of this pairing will show prismo telling scarab he’s hot whilst scarab is trying to kill him, or saying things like, “please do” when scarab makes genuine threats to end his life, which in turn makes scarab angry and uncomfortable. other depictions include prismo GRABBING SCARAB WITHOUT HIS CONSENT! and i hate to break it to some, but that is harassment! what surprises me is how common works like these are. i constantly see them on my dashboard. people just seem to love the idea of prismo going, “now that we’re in the same dimension, i can do whatever i want to you.” i would show examples so yall can see what i mean, but that’d be really stupid of me to go showing around peoples art and giving specific examples. so, just look out for it, and you might start seeing it more. (these types of drawings have died down as the time goes on but they used to be a lot more common in the early f&c days). all i’ll say is, prismo grabbing or saying sexual stuff to scarab is not cute if scarab looks uncomfortable or is telling him to cut it out or leave him alone. this is harassment. i thought modern fandom was supposed to be more progressive than this. c’on, guys. (alsooo, prismo just. isn’t a sexual guy. like at all. when prismo and scarab meet he just seems like hes freaking the hell out the whole time and never stops to check scarab out at all. people are being gaslight by fanart or something lol okay sorry i know people can have headcanons)

if you skipped the last paragraph, you can continue here!

another lil thing grudge i have is the whole fanfiction thing. y’all, he made an action based genderbent world. he’s not writing omegaverse smut fanfiction. okay, i get if you wanna headcanon him with that, i think its funny, but like, don’t make him writing fanfiction his whole personality!!!

so yeah, all of the prohibited wish and new characterization of prismo i don’t agree with has made me feel so left out of something that i’ve partaken in for so long. all of this over time has lead me to not be able to enjoy prismo as much. yes, i still love him, and drawing him still brings me immense joy, but it just isn’t the same. i just feel so left out and it really hurts. even if it is laughable, i hope anyone reading this, if anyone at all, could at least understand that bit.

so, TL;DR:

the old prismo fandom was full of different headcanons and theories, different ships, rarepairs even, and all sorts of unique and awesome ideas and art.

the modern one is (mostly) either two things: scarab x prismo or prismo writing smut fanfiction with some other character (but its usually scarab).

and guys. please, please, please. THIS IS MY SUBJECTIVE OPINION! people can headcanon whatever they want and draw whatever they want! i have never, ever harassed anyone who drew something i don’t like. this is honestly my first time opening up about my extremely hot take. it’s not like i’m an ultra petty bully who hates every piece of prohibited wish (my likes are public and you can see that i actually have liked prohibited wish stuff, you can see i have a preference for wholesome tho) please continue to ship what you ship and do whatever you want to prismo and whatever other characters. i’m honestly so scared of getting hate and getting attacked by people. if you read all of this, first of all, thank you SO much, i’m so happy someone actually took the time to hear me out!, and second, you are likely not the problem, and i’m sure i’d love your art of prismo, even if it’s prisxscrabby. just. please, don’t attack me. (i’m aware this post probably has 2 notes or less this is just in case)

quick Q&A:

Q: are you asexual?

A: i don’t really know? im probably demisexual. i know that i’m pansexual. but i do ship characters that partake in sexual acts or are lustful towards each other. i personally don’t think that Prismo is a sexual person. i don’t think of him as ace either, i just don’t think of him as someone who often has lustful thoughts.

Q: are you neurodivergent?

A: i think i might be. i have a therapist and we’re working on getting me a diagnoses. she��s very positive that i have autism. we can’t say for sure if i do until i get my diagnoses, though. please keep in mind that my extreme obsession with prismo and my unwelcomeness for change may be the result of my potential autism. but like i said, i haven’t been officially diagnosed and i do not like the idea of self-diagnosing.

Q: will you keep posting prismo stuff?

A: hopefully. i’m a busy genderfluid, y’know? i have so much social medias to keep track of. this is just a place to dump ma prismo’s, but it gets less and less fun everyday, ya know?

if you’re reading this i love you so so much you’re literally awesome and i can’t thank you enough for it. justaprismolover is outta here bye byeee B)