#lighting got rid of how grey his skin's supposed to be but i did all the color on one layer so Hwat Ever

[unendingexhaustion]

[bvidzsoo]

Darkness prevails

᯽ Author: bvidzsoo

᯽ Pairing: Jeong Yunho x female reader

᯽ Warning: suggestive, cursing, violence (lots of it), maiming/marking, extreme possessiveness, manhandling, blood, beheading, death, dubious consent, morally grey subjects (you'll see what I mean, but I promise nothing like that actually happens), let me know if I forgot something cries

᯽ Word count: 25.6k

᯽ Genre: Fantasy, Royal, Dark Romance, Gore

᯽ Summary: King Jeong Yunho, first of his name, was a ruler everybody feared and nobody dared mess with. Anyone who didn't oblige to his laws, suffered the consequences. Perhaps stealing an apple seemed like a misstep that many would've overlooked, but not Jeong Yunho. Go against the laws: get punished, branded, humiliated, forever outcasted by society, and the King himself. Unfortunately, you were way too familiar with the King's tyranny, having been the subject of his torture more than once. But what happens, when once and for all, Prince San, his brother, finally decides to get rid of the cruel monarch? Will you succeed with your mission? Will you kill King Jeong Yunho? Or will he wrap you up even deeper in his sick web of lies and threats.

᯽ A/N: My wrists are about to fall off and my eyes are dry despite the eye drops I'm using, but here it is my lovelies, the first part of the Beyond the Obscure series! Guys...it's dark, I'm sorry, so yeah, take the warnings seriously, I promise I haven't written them very in detail (imo) but they are there. I think this is my darkest work so far (even worse than San's part in my pirate series) and y'all have no idea what I have planned for Seonghwa and Yeosang's part (clawing at the wall because that one will be even worse NAUR). I'd like to point out a few things before you start reading:

∞ Yunho is continuously mentioned as the King in the story or Your Grace

∞ perhaps keeping in mind the interaction between Mingi and the redhead will come in handy for future purposes *wink wonk*

∞ I hope I did a good job with this story, and I'm sorry if it sucks, I really tried to tackle this beast of a piece...and sorry for any mistakes, I always proofread but some just slip past me *sighs*

Enjoy the story and let me know what you thought of it, I'm always so grateful to all the feedback I get!! Taglist is open, so just comment on the post if you're interested in the future parts (check out the series' masterlist too to understand how the series works, thank you!) (divider)

᯽ Taglist: @seonghwaddict @thunderous-wolf @simpforyunsangho @kitten4sannie

─═☆Series M.list☆═─

            At such an ungodly hour no lady was supposed to be roaming the streets alone, unguarded, exposed to the horrors of the slums. But some ladies had no other choice but to do so if they wanted to survive, to see tomorrow’s sunrise. Not that there was anything to anticipate or love in the Kingdom of the Fallen, ruled by a ruthless and malicious King, who slayed his people left and right whenever he pleased to do so. And perhaps that’s what ebbed me on to keep on walking, made me straighten my back to the point my muscles were straining as I made sure to become one with the shadows as I passed by the long fallen asleep households, headed towards the outskirts of our well-guarded burgh of Aurora. Don’t let it fool you, despite its name, there was nothing beautiful nor welcoming to this place, only terror, fear, and darkness. Our King made sure of that.

I tried to ignore the trembling of my fingers, but it became harder and harder to do so the closer I got to the well-concealed mansion. Large trees loomed over the gravel pathway that led to its enormous marble stairs, not one light was on inside. One would think the mansion was abandoned, but as soon as you stepped foot inside, its well-maintained state gave away the truth. Perspiration had started gathering on my brows, and I realized that underneath my pricey leather glove the skin of my right hand had started itching, begging to be scratched, but I knew doing so would cause my freshly healed wound to open up again. That wound was something I would have to live with forever, maimed, tainted for life. Marked for a wrong doing that cost the life of my little brother. It was hard not to blame or hate yourself when your sickly brother died in his sleep after you failed showing up for three days, begging and screaming to be let out of the dungeons of the wretched Castle, but my pleas fell to deaf ears, unsurprisingly.

King Jeong Yunho didn’t care about his people, and he never would. Famish and crime were at its peak despite the harsh punishments and executions. Despite the King having ears and eyes everywhere, some people managed to get away, escape unscathed, and one of those people just so happened to be Choi San, the crown prince. He fled the night his brother killed King Choi, aware that he would be next to suffer the same faith as their beloved father if he stood in his older brother’s way. Nobody really knew where Prince San went, but upon seeing his most trusted servant and Royal Guard, Sir Jung Wooyoung, around town, it became obvious that Prince San and Sir Jung were still lurking around. And despite what it seemed like, despite King Jeong being awful and vicious, Prince Choi wasn’t like him. He loved his people, he mourned with his people, he laughed with his people, and he lived for his people. Many hated him for disappearing, thinking he had abandoned us and was letting his older brother do however he wished, but many failed to understand that Prince San was powerless if it came down to a war between the brothers. Prince San didn’t have enough men to fight back against King Jeong’s tyranny. And that’s when I was summoned. Barely a day ago, a black envelope with a crown stamp on it had been slipped in my pouch without me noticing. Having opened it, I was rather surprised to find myself being summoned to the abandoned mansion, which belonged to the Royal family, on the outskirts of the burgh.

And when a royalty summoned you, you showed up without asking questions or making them wait too long. The roads were drenched in darkness, mist surrounding the narrow cobblestone streets, and smog escaped my mouth as little puffs left through my lips, heart beating even faster now that I stood in front of the dark mansion. I never fully showed my face in public, but being well past midnight without another soul out on the streets of Aurora, I offered myself the luxury of breathing in the chilly air of the night.  The moon was in waxing crescent, and averting my eyes from it, I stared up at the massive mansion and steeled my nerves, pushing away all the swirling thoughts threatening to turn me back around just to run off in the night, far away from Aurora. But even if I ran, I had nowhere to go. And even if I ran, the King’s men would find me and bring me back. I never had a choice, nor the freedom to indulge in my dreams and wishes. So, I took a deep breath, fixed the sheer scarf around the lower half of my face, and ascended the marble stairs with chills running down my spine due to the biting cold. It felt like it had seeped through my clothes, nagging at my skin, injected straight into my bones. But if I dwelled more on this feeling, I knew it was mostly the fear spreading through my blood system that made me react so strongly. And there was no place for fear tonight.

When I reached my hand out to push the front door of the mansion open, I found it already slightly ajar, beckoning me inside. My heartbeat was loud in my ears as I cautiously ventured inside, closing the heavy door behind myself, needing a second to take in the majesty of the interior of the mansion. The floor and walls alike were covered in white marble, glinting under the moonlight as the large windows had no curtains in the large entrance hall. A sturdy round table sat in the middle of the chamber, a large vase filled to the brim with flowers of all kinds sat on top of the table, in the center of it. There was a sweet scent wafting through the air, and as I ventured further inside, the cold chill present in the entrance hall slowly turned into blush inducing warmth, making me shiver as I finally started feeling my frozen limbs.

I was wandering around mindlessly, having no idea where I was supposed to go as nobody seemed to be waiting for me, my eyes straying to the walls, admiring all the expensive paintings. They were brought from lands far from ours, from a land where life was easier and happier. The Kingdom of Light, much like its name, was ruled by a Queen that loved her nation and thrived to unite the two Kingdoms. However, as long as King Jeong was our monarch, that would never happen. Faint whispers caught my attention as I came towards the end of the hall, a large door separating me from the next room. A huge painting was hung up on the wall to the left of the black door, and my jaw clenched as my eyes fixated on the family portrait, more specifically, on King Jeong Yunho. Despite him looking a lot younger in the photo, the evil glint was still present in his sharp stare, and suddenly the skin of my right hand itched again, prompting me to mindlessly try and scrape at it through the leather glove. But the whispers coming to a sudden halt from inside the room, and the faint yellow glow coming to life through the little gap under the door ripped my attention away from the young King and made me tense up as footsteps neared the door. And then, there was a click and the door was pulled open, an emotionless man, with asymmetrical eyes, stood in front of me, taking me in just as closely as I took him in.

“Sir Jung Wooyoung.” I bowed my head, keeping my eyes on the marble floor until the man made a sound of approval.

“You have arrived,” He said, voice sharp and impassive, “Come inside.”

The door was further pulled open and as Jung Wooyoung stepped aside, I stepped forward, hands clenching into fists as I tried to fight the desperate need to turn around and just run. Far away from here, from the crown prince and his loyal guard, far from Aurora. But the King would always find me, and he’d bring me back, matter not if dead or alive, he’d bring me back.

As the door slammed heavily shut behind me, I fought the need to jump at the loud sound, and instead made eye contact with the crown prince. He sat in a large chair, straight across from me, at a round table. The table was massive and could fit at least twenty men if gathered around it, but now, it was just Prince Choi, Sir Jung, and myself in the room. The blackout curtains were drawn together, its color a blood red, shutting out the gentle moonlight, masking whatever would go down in this room from the celestial. Nobody had to know what would conspire in this room soon.

“Your Highness,” I bowed forward, keeping my eyes on the carpeted floor as a low hum traveled through the otherwise quiet room, “you have called for me.”

“I have, yes.” Prince San’s voice was low, and quiet, his sharp eyes narrowed as I straightened back up. We made eye contact as there was movement behind me, Sir Jung walked past me and came to a stop behind Prince San, placing a hand on the chair’s back, grip tightening instantly, “Do you have any idea why?”

“I do not have the power to assume anything.” I answered, eyes quickly seizing the room I was in. It wasn’t awfully big, like the rest of the mansion, and it was a lot less warm in here. Bookshelves aligned the tall walls behind the prince and his guard, and a comfortable sofa was pushed up against the left wall, drenched in shadows as the candlelight didn’t reach there.

“You may speak freely with me, Miss Hong, I am not my brother.” Prince San said, teeth gritting at the mention of King Jeong, “And I do not wish to be ever like that, which is why I have called you here.”

“Don’t you deem it dangerous, Your Highness, calling me here?” I quirked an eyebrow and walked further inside, approaching the table, “King Jeong knows you are still residing in Aurora, and now you’ve given your location away to a mere civilian.”

“Are you threating the crown prince right now?” Jung Wooyoung’s voice was rough and words biting as he leashed out, vein close to popping on his forehead, eyes ablaze. He looked menacing, especially with the long sword sheathed at his hip, handle hidden by the red wool jacket decorated with golden accents falling over it.

“Wooyoung,” It was strange how soft the prince’s voice became, eyes finding the guard’s, “she’s not the enemy. You don’t have to be so on edge.”

“How do you know?” Sir Jung hissed back, eyes still on me, glaring me down. I gulped, but didn’t look away. I didn’t want them to think I was scared, even if I was.

“Miss Hong,” The prince’s attention was back on me, expression losing its coldness for a second, “May I ask you show us your hand?”

My jaw clenched as I remained silent, heart thumping fast. I wanted to tell him no, that he had no right asking such thing of me, but I couldn’t deny the crown prince’s request. And despite detesting what I had to do, with shaky fingers, I still ripped the leather glove off my hand, breathing hard as I threw the piece of fabric on the table, letting my arms fall limply next to my body. Nobody said anything nor moved for a few seconds, Sir Jung’s gaze hurriedly falling onto my exposed right hand. The room was poorly lit, yet it wasn’t hard to miss the discoloration on the top of my right hand, the skin raw and burgundy despite the long-healed wound. It was just a scar now, yet it remained fresh looking, forever a reminder of who I belonged to.

“You don’t have to trust me,” I found my voice, and perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised to hear myself sounding so cold and harsh, “but you can trust one thing. I, in no universe, serve King Jeong Yunho. And I never will. If the scar isn’t proof enough, send me out to kill him, and I will do it with a smile on my face.”

I didn’t expect any reaction from the two males across from me, and so it surprised me when the two held matching smirks, sharing a quick look before Jung Wooyoung slowly approached me again. My eyes stayed on him, and I flinched as he gingerly grasped my right hand, raising it up. I couldn’t bear looking at the skin, so I looked at Prince San instead.

“I’m sorry for what my brother has done to you.” And his words were sincere, there was pain in Prince San’s eyes, and I knew he was sincere. I don’t know why, but despite Jung Wooyoung’s calloused hands, the way he traced my scar with the tip of his finger gingerly, made me relax a little. If they wanted me dead, they would have killed me the second I approached the front door of the mansion.

“You shouldn’t apologize for something that’s out of your control, Your Highness.” I muttered, looking at Wooyoung alarmed when he pressed his lips against my scar, the warm and plush skin lingering against mine for a second. Nobody has every touched my scar, let alone kissed it. When Sir Jung looked at me, he held the same guilt and pain in his eyes as Prince San. It was overwhelming, and so I ripped my hand out of Sir Jung’s gentle hold, and scurried to wear my glove again. I didn’t need their pity, what’s done is done.

“How many times has that devil seen you?” It was Sir Jung asking this time as he slowly stalked back towards Prince San, stopping next to his chair this time. I didn’t fail to notice the way the crown prince grabbed onto the back of his royal guard’s thigh, thick fingers digging into Sir Jung’s skin. They seemed used to the contact, both unphased, so I averted my gaze from it.

“Twice.” I answered, lowering the sheer black scarf from the lower half of my face, “I always wear my scarf in public.”

“And do you think he’d recognize you if he were to see you again?” Prince San asked, his hand slowly sneaking up towards Sir Jung’s ass. My eyebrows furrowed before I shook my head.

“No, he never got a good look at my face the second time, and I was branded three years ago.” I answered truthfully, “There’s not a world in which the King remembers the faces of those he torments.”

“You’re underestimating my brother,” Prince San’s lips pulled into a sneer, “he’s a sadistic man, Miss Hong, you’d be horrified to find out just how much he remembers and gets off to.”

I gulped, but remained silent as Sir Jung bit his lower lip when Prince San’s hand traveled even further up. There was movement to my left, but when I looked over to the sofa, I couldn’t see anything, so I focused on the males again.

“Are you willing to kill him?” Jung Wooyoung seemed to have gotten tired of going around and not getting to the point as he spat, eyes watching me closely. I didn’t hesitate with my answer.

“Yes.” I hissed, eyes turning steely as Sir Jung just smirked, leaning forward as he placed his hands on the sturdy table.

“Then I, Jung Wooyoung, Royal Guard of the Crown Prince Choi San, third of his name, task you with killing King Jeong Yunho, and ridding this Kingdom of his cruelty and horrors.” Sir Jung’s voice was laced with passion, eyes burning with an insatiable fire as Prince San rose from his seat, his strong physique making Jung Wooyoung look small for the first time.

“I promise you immunity and a respectable life once you’re done with your task. You won’t be suffering any consequences, and I will fulfill your biggest wish.” I chuckled, but it lacked humor as my eyes bore into the prince’s.

“I doubt you can bring back the dead, Your Highness.” Tense silence fell upon us, both looking like they understood what it meant losing someone dear. And if Prince San was being honest, then this would be my way out of Aurora, out of the Kingdom of the Fallen, “I shall proceed with the task, Your Highness, Sir Jung. Give me at least a month.”

“You can take even a year as long as you do your task.” Prince San said with a chuckle, looking like a stone had been lifted off his chest.

“Don’t fail us, Miss Hong.” Sir Jung didn’t let his guard down as easily as the prince, however, and the subtle look he sent my way was threatening. I understood. Failing meant death. But I wouldn’t let that happen.

“I won’t.” My voice was strong and I bowed, out of respect and a way of letting them know that I would be leaving now, I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.

“Take care, and send us a letter if you need anything,” Prince San smiled, just barely, “I will be keeping an eye on you still, just to make sure you’re safe and everything is working out.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” I bowed my head again, and was slightly startled when a girl, who was smaller than myself and frail looking, emerged from the sofa. How did she manage to conceal herself so well? She looked shy as she avoided looking at me, eyes fixated on Sir Jung as she hurried towards him, “I’ll be on my way.”

“Safe travels.” The prince’s voice carried over the faint whispers of Sir Jung as I turned and stalked towards the door, intrigued by the gasp I heard. I gripped the heavy door and as I went to push it open, I dared a glance backwards, finding the girl seated where Prince San had been previously sat, her eyes round as she stared up at a smirking Jung Wooyoung. And Choi San sported the same expression as he walked behind her, hands slowly slipping over her shoulders, towards her chest. I didn’t want to witness something that wasn’t for my eyes, so I hurriedly fled the room and then the mansion altogether, mind a mess as I tried to work out the best plan to approach the King, and kill him. The waxing crescent moon witness to my new turmoil.

            The streets of the burgh of Aurora in the daytime were a big contrast compared to its nighttime shenanigans. It was lively and filled with people going on and about their day, trying to catch the last paper at the printing house, buying resources or selling their best products at the market. Despite the wind being harsh today, it didn’t deter people from coming out to bargain, with the occasional fight breaking out in the square, rowdy men desperate to showcase who was most domineering. I remained inconspicuous as I stood behind the stand of a herbal stall, the vendor a very lovely old lady that would let me work for her while my brother was still alive. I rarely came to the market anymore, having found different ways for survival. Perhaps I was dumb for testing my luck day after day, but three years ago, I lost the reason I had been living for. And on that same day I was branded, forever belonging to King Jeong Yunho. I wasn’t afraid of death anymore; it was only a matter of time until it would catch up to me. Stealing and getting caught only resulted in a severed hand, I would still have my other one if King Jeong felt generous that day. But in order to observe the King and follow through with the task Prince San had tasked me with, I needed to be in the most populated areas, areas which the King often frequented. And the market and square were those places. The King would parade around every day with his Royal Guards, surveying the place and taking anything he liked without as much as a ‘thank you’. Everything belonged to him, he could take whatever he pleased without any consequence. It was something we had grown familiar with quite soon after he proclaimed himself the new King of the Kingdom of the Fallen. It was no secret that Jeong Yunho killed his own father to become King much faster, to assert a regime that his father, the late King Choi, would have absolutely hated and refuted. But as long as Prince Choi San was alive, there would always be a glimmer of hope for better times. Times that would perhaps come sooner than expected if I was successful with my mission.

I had been arranging the spearmint when an old lady stopped in front of the stand, leaning on a cane, face wrinkly, her sniffing loud as she stared at all the herbs displayed on the wooden table. It was cold today, yet the old lady lacked a coat that would protect her from the harsh wind. My eyebrows furrowed, and after checking that my black shawl was in place and covering the lower half of my face, I stepped forward.

“Good morning,” I greeted the lady with an easy smile, “How may I help you?”

Her eyes slowly travelled up to my face, and I was greeted with an unfortunate sight. Her eyes were clouded with cataracts, yet they fell perfectly on my own eyes, “Dear one, please help me out a little.”

Her voice was raspy and airy, so I nodded and went around the stand to approach her, the cacophony of the market too loud for her to properly hear me.

“What would you like to buy?” I asked once I have stopped next to the lady, her grey eyes focused on the herbs.

“I’m too old for my own good,” The old lady muttered with a sad chuckle, “my joints aren’t in their best shape. Do you have something to soothe the ache? Something strong and efficient.”

I hummed and glanced at the wooden table, knowing very well what would help ease the old lady’s pain a little, “Nettle will be great for your painful joints, ma’am. Would you like some?”

“Yes, please.” She nodded, eyes falling on me again, “Could you give me five leaves? That wouldn’t be more than two shillings, right?”

“No, it wouldn’t.” I reassured her with a smile as I walked back behind the stand and crouched down to grab a smaller brown parchment roll. I stood and grabbed five leaves as the loudness of the market seemed to get even louder at once, until it slowly started turning into a low murmur, becoming a mere hum. I paid it no mind as I carefully packed the nettle leaves the old lady asked for, slipping in three more without anyone noticing, before I wrapped the parchment up, making sure the leaves wouldn’t slip out, “It’ll be one shilling, ma’am.”

Despite speaking softly, my voice sounded almost too loud in the sinister silence falling upon the market, and it took me a little to realize what was happening. The old lady seemed unfocused as she had turned around, stepping back to the point she was almost pressed up fully against the wooden table of the stand. Nobody moved, nobody blinked, nobody spoke, nobody breathed. My hands clenched into fists and my leather gloves crunched at the motion, almost too loud in the deafening silence. The hooves of the horses were loud against the cobblestones and the crowd parted in the middle, scurrying to make way for the King and his Royal Guards. Despite not wanting to see them, I couldn’t help but turn my head and watch like the rest of the market, as the tall black horse rode at the front, a Friesian, carrying the King proudly on his back. Nobody would’ve been able to guess the horrors caused by the soft featured King, whose cheeks were full and tinged red due to the cold air, lips full and a dark red, eyes rather round than sharp. And yet, the emotionless expression on his face and the constant leer present on his features would make anyone reconsider their perception of the King, cowering in fear as his dark eyes would settle on you, lips pulling up in pleased smugness at the blatant fear displayed by his people. Everybody hated him, yet nobody was brave enough to finally stand up to him.

Four guards followed after him, a man with silver blonde hair and a towering height that matched the King’s following close behind with his own horse on the King’s right side, with his left side being claimed by a long-haired redhead, with eyes so haunting that they always stared right into your soul. Those two were the King’s Royal Guards, always by his side, his right hands. The King went nowhere without the two, and the silver blonde haired man was like a hound, always breathing down the King’s neck, possessive and murderous at the slightest hint of threat. One would think his obsessive behavior was concerning, but he took his job too seriously, having vowed his life to the King a long time ago. The woman wasn’t much better, but she at least was sly and coy about it, always surveying everyone and everything, sensing danger before it would happen.

The King and his guards passed by the herbal stall, and the poor old lady jumped and covered her eyes as she hung her head low, making sure she didn’t look at the King for too long. Nobody dared look at him for more than a few seconds, afraid that he’d misunderstand their curious stare and sentence them to a painful death. It wouldn’t have been the first time. But I wasn’t scared of death nor the King, and I allowed my eyes to follow his form as he came to a halt just a few stands down, where a loose-mouthed man sold jewelry. They were one of the finest you could find at the market, pricey too if you weren’t on good terms with him. I watched as the silver blonde haired guard got off his horse the second the King’s stopped, and hurried to stand next to the tall Friesian as King Jeong released the reigns, turning his head left and right slowly. The redhead followed close behind, stopping mere millimeters behind the tall guard, the two sharing a sharp glance as the male extended his hand to help the King down. The other two older guards remained on their horses, eyes surveying the market as their faces remained emotionless. I glared at the back of the King’s head sharply, his blood red gown decorated with golden accents too bright and contrasting against his otherwise black attire. His black riding breeches were tucked inside his tall riding boots, covering and protecting the King’s calves, reaching almost up to his knees, the fabric of the pants no doubt worth more than everything I’ve ever owned altogether. A thick looking black shirt clung to his broad body tightly, top buttons threatening to pop as the King rolled his shoulders a few times backwards, patting the silver blonde haired man on the back a little forcefully. The guard adorned a coat that reached mid-thigh, colors similar to the King’s, however his was rather black than red and it was adorned with red and golden accents showing his rank, and that he belonged to the Jeong Royal Court. The redhead’s coat reached down to her ankles and had intricate designs of red and golden down the back of the fabric, hair tucked under the coat.

The King moved, and I found my eyes fixating on him again, sneering to myself as he walked towards the vendor with the gemstones and jewelry. My body reacted instantly at the sight of his right hand, memory burned into my skin, quite literally, for the rest of my counted days. The King’s left hand was protected from the cold with a glove that looked like it was a soft material, however, his right hand was bare of such protection. Instead, his right hand was adorned by rings, claws, that I still could feel in my worst nightmares pressing into my skin. They were made of steel, and they were sharp, the jewelry on his fore- and middle finger sharp to the point they could cut your flesh. The ornaments clung to his long fingers like they were his second skin, part of him. The ring on his middle finger adorned a huge ruby, an addition to the piece made by King Jeong himself. His ring finger was decorated by a ring that curved to the side, caging his pinky finger in as well, which was decorated by a piece that could be compared to a miniature spear. The King’s right hand was a weapon in its own, easily able to stab and kill you just with his bare fingers. The ornaments were a family heirloom, one that only the King was allowed to wear, yet they haven’t been this sharp until they fell into the claws of Jeong Yunho. Their intricate design made them beautiful, but they carried too much terror with them for one to appreciate their beauty.

My eyes snapped up from his hand upon hearing his voice, a sound I still had nightmares about, “Chwe, did the gems arrive?”

“Your Grace,” The vendor called Chwe Hansol quickly bowed his head deeply, “yes, the gems have arrived this morning.”

“Perfect.” The King’s lips pulled to the side, the smirk making his whole demeanor more predatory. Despite only being able to see the side of his face, I knew he had a hungry glint in his eyes as the vendor grabbed a small wooden chest and opened it for the King. The redhead had started walking around while still remaining close to the King, inspecting the items the neighboring vendors of Mr. Chwe had. Everyone was tense as the King wordlessly grabbed the gemstones and inspected them from close, face becoming devoid of emotion again, eyebrows pulling into a frown slowly. I was sneering before he spoke up, well-aware that nothing would please the King, no matter how high quality it was.

“You call this a gem?” The King scoffed, irritation lacing his voice as he threw the gemstones back inside the little wooden chest harshly. Nobody would’ve handled the pricey gems like that, but when you had all the power and money in the world, one wouldn’t care, Jeong Yunho certainly didn’t. I couldn’t help the dark expression that crossed my face, eyes boring into the side of the King’s face, wondering suddenly that if I were to throw my dagger straight into his neck, how many more seconds I’d have left on this Earth before his loyal dogs would murder me in cold blood. Scarily, almost as if the silver blonde haired man was a mind reader, his head whipped around and his sharp eyes found mine, small eyes narrowing and making them appear even smaller. His impassive expression would’ve been nerve wrecking to one that appreciated their life, but I didn’t care for my safety. I had nothing left for me in this world anymore. The redhead was still roaming around, commenting at times about the quality of products, and she took a scarf without dropping any shillings to the poor vendor, her face twisting for a second before she fixed it and thanked the redhead for appreciating her merch.

“Your Grace,” Mr. Chwe found his voice, yet it sounded terrified, “These are from the Kingdom of Light, finest of its kind and most sought after—”

“Are you saying that I am stupid and can’t recognize real gemstones?” The King spat, leaning over the stand, his glaring eyes boring into the vendor’s. The man started to shake, and I grit my teeth to stop myself from interfering. If I got killed right now, I would fail the crown prince, and I couldn’t do that.

“No—no, Your Grace!” The vendor exclaimed, shaking his head furiously, “Your Grace knows better than I will ever know! I was merely say—saying what has been relayed to myself as well, Your Grace. I am ashamed of ever suggesting such thing, and I will never show my face around—”

“Now, now,” The King snickered, lips pulled into an amused, yet irritated, smirk, “don’t be a yapping little boy, are you going to cry?”

My jaw clenched and I found myself gripping onto my skirt tightly, breaths coming out shallow as the silver blonde haired man was still staring into my soul, watching my every move. His lips were pulled into a sneer, and I didn’t fail to notice his hand tightening around the handle of his sword.

“N—no, Your Grace.” Mr. Chwe lowered his eyes and shook his head, lips pulled into a thin line as his whole being shook, “Unless it’s what Your Grace wants me to do—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” The King threw his head back and laughed, yet it lacked amusement and was laced with sheer craze, the sound sending shivers down my spine, “You’d cry for your King?”

Mr. Chwe’s head was shaking as he nodded, still staring at the ground. The King suddenly hissed and I almost took off towards the two as his right hand sprung forward, gripping the vendor’s jaw so hard his claws practically tore into his skin. The man’s face contorted in pain, yet he made no sound except the quiet gasp he accidentally let out, “Then cry for me, you pathetic fool.”

The King leered in the vendor’s face, tone laced with venom, eyes wide as Mr. Chwe watched the King stunned. I bit my lower lip as my eyes switched between the King and his royal guard, whose stare would have long killed me if that were possible. I knew what my eyes conveyed, they were laced with pure hatred and disdain, boring into the King’s profile as my hands shook in anger, threatening to bubble over any time. I was playing a dangerous game; I knew the shawl did little to nothing to conceal my raw emotions pulsating through my eyes.

“Bastards like yourself shouldn’t handle gemstones.” The King hissed just as the silver blonde haired man took off, jaw clenched and eyes set on me, ablaze. I have run out of luck, so it seems. But before he could even come close to the stall I was at, the King’s venomous tone turned to a light and almost airy tone.

“Song Mingi.” It wasn’t a question, nor a chastising, yet the guard froze instantly. His eyes never left my face as the King lazily tuned his head, dark eyes falling on his tall guard. The redhead was by the King’s side instantly, probably thinking that her fellow guardian sensed danger, ready to protect her King. The market seemed frozen in time as nobody spoke or moved, wide eyes now switching between the royal guard, Song Mingi, and myself. For a second, my heart skipped a beat thinking that I have been discovered, recognized, my right hand burning under the leather glove. But as the King’s eyes slowly trailed from his guard onto me, there was no sign of recognition on his face. I gulped, not due to nervousness, but because my throat suddenly felt dry, lungs tightening as the King’s dark eyes burned my skin, tearing me apart. The memory was too vivid in my mind despite it happening three years ago, and I realized that even if I tried my best, I wouldn’t be able to mask my hatred towards Jeong Yunho. But perhaps he was so used to that reaction that he didn’t care anymore as a sinister smile suddenly tugged at his red lips, hastily releasing Mr. Chwe, who fell back with a loud gasp. The King slowly stalked towards his loyal guard, yet his eyes never once left my face, amused smirk tugging at his lips. He was amused at the blatant hatred in my eyes, and I had to steel myself to stop the shaking of my hands at the sudden flare of anger I felt coursing through my veins.

“Stand down.” The King hissed in the guard’s ear as he walked past him, sharp claws grazing against the other tall man’s neck, but he didn’t flinch nor react at the contact. My eyes remained on the King as he neared the stand I stood at, the poor old lady gasping and stepping away with a low bow, probably bad for her already hurting and crooked back. I dared say nothing as Jeong Yunho stopped right across me, the table suddenly not enough to put the much-needed space between us. It felt like he had invaded my personal space, dark eyes boring into mine, narrowing into a blazing glare when I didn’t back down. Everyone cowered before the King, and just last minute, to try to make myself seem less suspicious, I finally lowered my eyes at the various herbs on the table, but I refused to bow. The King chuckled, but it sounded more vexed than amused. I didn’t care.

“Mingi,” He called out, voice low and dark, “grab those gemstones for me, will you?”

I didn’t glance up as I heard Mr. Chwe whimper and mutter apologies, a sharp cry leaving his lips. I could only hope the wound the King’s royal guard left wouldn’t be fatal. The King’s gloved hand suddenly entered my vision as he started touching the herbs displayed on the table, humming lowly in the back of the throat. I followed his hand with my eyes, jaw clenching when he scoffed, probably not satisfied by the scarce display of herbs. Of course, it couldn’t be compared to what he was aided with at the Castle, yet that was a thought Jeong Yunho wouldn’t be able to wrap his mind around.

“You’re running low on spearmint, little dove.” His velvety voice was mocking, and I felt his sharp gaze on my face as I gulped down the retort I had in mind, and slowly looked up.

“I will stock up on them today, Your Grace.” I couldn’t help but allow my tone to turn venomous when saying his title, “Had I known you were visiting our humble market, I would’ve brought out a wider range of herbs.”

The King chuckled, incredulity crossing his features at the blatant mockery and sarcasm dripping with every word I said, “Can you afford a wider range of herbs?”

“Yes, if those who are taking pay me for my services.” It was dangerous saying such things to the King and so openly, and I couldn’t help but glance at his royal guard as his jaw was clenched, the redhead next to him also throwing daggers my way. But surprisingly, the King just laughed, however, it didn’t sound genuine at all.

“Tell me, little dove, if I really hate a person, would this herb help with getting rid of them?” He cocked an eyebrow as he traced his gloved fingers delicately against a green leaf, slightly bigger than most. It was tucked almost underneath another plant, and I had missed that we had it displayed. It shouldn’t even be there; the plant was dangerous and poisonous even at the softest touch.

“Using a Dieffenbachia would lead to a painful and slow death, Your Grace.” I answered as the King grabbed the leaves with his gloved hand, a crazed grin decorating his lips.

“Nothing more entertaining than a slow and painful death, little dove.” The King whispered, dark eyes boring into mine as a harsh gust of wind blew through the market, pushing the shawl off my head, exposing my dark curls. Thankfully it was tied around my nape and it didn’t fall off my face as well, yet I didn’t miss the way the King’s eyes quickly racked over my newly exposed features.

“If you want them to choke to death, you can let them drink the tea ground from its leaves.” I found myself saying, my tone challenging, wondering where this conversation was leading to. The King bit his lower as he looked down at the leaves, chuckling to himself before placing them back down and holding only one still as he raised his hand up, directing it towards my face. I didn’t flinch away, I didn’t even blink as my eyes bore into Jeong Yunho’s, an intrigued glint in his.

“Would you eat it if your King asked you to?” His tone dropped to a low baritone as he tilted his head to the left, features becoming cold. My jaw clenched, and I fought my instincts of turning around and running away as a chuckle left my lips.

“I would like to know how I have wronged you, Your Grace, that you seem to hate me so much you want my dismay.” I raised an eyebrow, the King’s lips slowly pulling into an amused smirk, eyes widening as he tapped the leaf against the tip of my nose, making my palms ball up into fists at my sides. My heartrate had picked up, but I forced myself to remain calm. He could force it down my throat, of course, and then the whole mission would fail because of me.

“Killing people doesn’t always need to have a reason,” Everything in my screamed to break his face in half, but I just bit my lower lip underneath my shawl and tried to regulate my breaths, “I’ll spare you today, little dove. You could be a green witch instead of wasting your life away here, behind a stand, selling herbs to useless people that have no idea how to use them.”

The King placed the Dieffenbachia leaf back to where it initially was and leaned just slightly forward, his eyes searching mine. I huffed, smiling underneath my shawl sarcastically, tilting my head as I raised my eyebrows at him, “So that you’ll have a reason to kill me because I’m a green witch?”

Not that the King needed an actual reason to kill someone.

“No, I wouldn’t kill you if you were my little green witch, little dove.” His voice darkened just as his face did, eyes turning cold and lips turning into a hungry leer as his eyes took in my face, traveling lower, all over my body. I hated the possessiveness he displayed, even more so because I was his, he just didn’t know it. The scar burned on my hand, and it felt so hot that I almost subconsciously yanked my leather glove off my hand. But if I did that, he’d know, and I’d rather die than let the King know.

Just as I opened my mouth to refute such scenario, his royal guard stepped in, looking completely fed up with the exchange between the two of us as his expression was dark, very clearly fuming while the redhead stood a little behind, smirking at the silver blonde man. We made eye contact for a second, and she subtly nodded her head towards me, prompting me to avert my eyes and look at the King again.

“My King, we should get moving.” Song Mingi’s voice was gruff, low, and raspy as his sharp eyes pierced my skull, “We have what we came for.”

“No need to rush, my Mingi,” The King chuckled, grinning at his guard, “I think we should look around today, make sure everything is as it should be. That everyone respects their duties, and King.”

I smirked as the King threw me a glare, for some obscure reason letting me off the hook despite disrespecting him so clearly and constantly.

“Keep your eyes wide open, little dove,” He sneered, jaw clenching, “you might just fall prey to a big, bad, terrifying hunter.”

I bowed my head deeply in plain mockery as the King hissed, turning around and stalking towards his Friesian. To my surprise, and everyone else’s, the redhead walked up to me and tossed a pouch filled with shillings at my chest, smirking in amusement before she was headed for her own horse. Song Mingi seemed displeased and mad, his shoulder knocked against the redhead’s when they crossed paths, and as he mounted his horse, he threw me such a murderous look that it easily rivalled the King’s. And before anyone could even digest the fact that I just got paid by the King despite him not buying anything from me, the King and his royal guards took off, horses neighing and hoofs loud as they galloped away.

            Despite the sun settling high up in the sky blazing down on Aurora, the mist settled upon the market never quite went away, the mood of people rather gloomy to after the King’s visit. It had been only a few hours since he had waltzed in with his royal guards, yet it felt like mere minutes. The King’s presence was everlasting and blood-curdling, you couldn’t escape it even if he wasn’t there anymore. It shouldn’t have been surprising, upon one glance, he could make anyone cower in fear, even the bravest and strongest soldier. I had gone about my day, selling and conversing amicably with other vendors while making sure I paid attention to the smallest shift in the atmosphere, so, I wasn’t too surprised to hear a spine-chilling scream cut off the conversation I was having with Mr. Chwe. After the King had left, I rushed to his side and patched him up, the cut on his cheek the only damage done to him, thankfully, and it wasn’t too deep either. Song Mingi had been lenient this time, it was rare. But I suppose the King needs its gemstone supplier alive if he plans on importing more treasures at a low, and illegal, price. What the King wanted, he got, no matter whether it was just or wrong.

Everyone froze as more shouting came from the square, and as the horns were blown, my muscles tensed and my stomach dropped. An execution would take place. The air was charged with suspense as everyone seemed to be at a standstill for a second before they started rushing towards the square, vendors leaving their stands unattended, civilians pushing each other aside to reach the square faster. I wasn’t in a rush, but when the King’s royal guards started shouting at everyone to move to the square while shoving people forward, I knew I had no choice but to actually attend the execution. Not that I had a choice, everyone had to attend these shenanigans of the King. My heart started racing as a man stood on the raised platform in the middle of the square, held by none other than Song Mingi and another guard, who was gruff and angry looking. I gulped as I made sure my shawl covered my face and hair, adjusting my leather gloves as suddenly they felt like they were slipping off my hands. My scar was itching, I knew it was just my brain making me believe that the wound was fresh again, but I couldn’t force myself to stop when my eyes fell on the King, the malicious smirk on his lips morbid. He stood at the side of the platform, looking like he had never been more entertained in his life before as the man his guards held on to was wriggling around frantically, whatever he was shouting didn’t make sense anymore.

I gulped hard as the King’s eyes surveyed the crowd, but when they moved past me, I felt myself relaxing just slightly. The crowd that had gathered around was murmuring lowly, everyone wondering the reason for this execution as there were some people pushing around others in order to get to the front. I did not understand the morbid need of humans to see such gruesome scenes that were to follow in a few minutes, but I couldn’t fight against the wave as I was shoved to the front. My jaw clenched and my hands turned into fists as a man was mumbling to himself behind me, urging the King on to kill the poor civilian.

“Residents of Aurora!” The King’s deep voice boomed over the masses, crazed eyes setting on the crowd. His cheeks were tainted red still, lips redder than they were in the morning, and his black hair seemed dishevelled, “We have gathered here to teach you a lesson, again.”

The crowd froze as the King leered at everyone, stepping up onto the platform, making the civilian scream that he wasn’t guilty, that he didn’t do anything wrong. The King walked past him, but turned sharply and threw such a hard blow against the man’s jaw that I heard something crack. The crowd gasped loudly and I exhaled sharply, trying to calm the rage that was slowly bubbling up in my bloodstream. I couldn’t act out right now, it would bring my dismay, the mission would be over before I could have even started it.

“This man here,” Jeong Yunho’s gloved hands slipped through the strands of the man’s matted hair, and he yanked the man’s head back harshly as he faced the crowd, the King’s neck and ears red from rage, “tried to take something that doesn’t belong to him.”

“Your Grace, I—”

“Silence!” Song Mingi hissed and threw a blow to the man’s gut. He would’ve toppled over if it weren’t for the two guards holding him up. The redhead had sat on the raised platform, shoulders hunched forward as her eyes watched the crowd closely, uncomfortably settling on me for a second too long. I ignored her haunting gaze, and instead looked at the King.

“Will you try and lie your way out of this, peasant?” The King hissed as his ablaze eyes snapped towards the man, who had started whimpering and shaking his head, “You tried to take my riches, peasant. The King’s possessions, more specifically.”

“I—I wasn’t, I swear—” Jeong Yunho’s face twisted into something dark and sinister as he leaned down and got all up in the poor man’s face.

“Were you really not?” The King’s voice was barely above a whisper, laced with calmness. It was frightening, the whole square went silent as the wind howled between the buildings and abandoned stands. The redhead was swinging her legs back and forth, Song Mingi’s face twisted in disgust as the man he was holding had tears streaming down his face.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace.” He averted his eyes to the ground, lips shaking. It was foolish of him trying to take the King’s ornaments, but I could understand him. He was probably so hungry that he was desperate enough to do something like this. Unfortunately, it would bring his end…or perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, a way out of Aurora forever.

“Shame your apology means nothing to me.” The King whispered, releasing the man as he walked forward to the edge of the platform, the redhead’s back straightened and she stopped swinging her legs. The King briefly glanced at her and she got off hastily, standing to the side as Song Mingi directed the smallest of smirks at her, visibly pissing the redhead off. It was slightly frightening how her height almost matched the King’s and Song Mingi’s, barely a few inches shorter than the two men. She was a powerful warrior and a strong soldier of the Royal Guard.

“There’s order in this world,” The King started, voice eerily steady as a slow grin stretched over his features, “There’s laws in this world, and they have to be respected. They will be respected as long as you all are under my watch, bevans. It’s hilarious how dumb you all are to think that you could touch something that belongs to your King, let alone try and steal it. Such behaviour will not be forgiven, and thus it will be punished accordingly.”

The King paused, licking his lips, right hand settling on the handle of the sword he had sheathed around his hips. My body was tense and my heart was beating loudly, almost so loud that I couldn’t hear the King’s words anymore. Goosebumps covered my skin everywhere, and suddenly the shawl around the lower half of my face made it hard to breathe, it felt like panic was overtaking my whole being. I felt like Jeong Yunho could see through me and I’d be the next one executed today. What if he somehow just knew that his brother sent me to assassinate him? What if the redhead and Song Mingi also knew and were only waiting for the right moment to snatch me away and kill me in the most antagonizing and slow way? My breath stuttered in my throat when the King’s eyes suddenly fell on me, as if he remembered who I was after all those years.

“Usually, severing the hand you had stolen with would do the deed,” The King tsked, dark eyes boring into mine as my right hand was burning up, “But this time it won’t be no good. I have been too lenient with my people lately; I fear you are forgetting the rules.”

The crowd muttered in discomfort as everyone hung their heads low, not wanting to be the next targeted by the King. But I couldn’t look away as Jeong Yunho smirked, narrowing his eyes challengingly at me. I would be next if I didn’t succumb to him, so, I gritted my teeth and lowered my head until the cobblestones were the only thing I could see. The King chuckled as I heard his sword being drawn.

“Good,” He leered, tapping his sword against the wooden platform, “Now, watch.”

Almost at an instant, the crowd whipped their heads up as the King walked towards his two guards, nodding once at Song Mingi as the poor man started frantically begging the King to let him off this time, that he’d serve him for the rest of his life, that he could take both hands if he wanted to. Song Mingi and the other guard holding him down suddenly forced him forward, pushing his head down onto the long table, his chin hitting the table loudly.

“No, please!” The man started shouting, trashing around, but the redhead was up on the platform in an instant, pushing his back flush against the table so that he wouldn’t move around so much, “No—no! I swear! I swear I will do anything! Please, please, be merciful Your Grace, I regret what I had done, I really do! Spear me this one time! Your Grace!”

But the King stood by the edge of the table, next to the man’s head, staring down at him with dead eyes, expression soulless. Because he didn’t have a soul, because Jeong Yunho was the Devil himself, not even trying to disguise it anymore.

“You seem to have forgotten that you are my property, bevan, and I do whatever I want to you.” The King hissed, raising his sword up high, held by both hands. My heart was beating out of my chest, and there was a collective gasp as time seemed to slow down. It wasn’t my first time seeing a beheading, and I knew it wouldn’t be my last either, but the ear-piercing shrill scream the man let out before the King’s sword came harshly down on his neck, slashing his skin, was deafening, and it made my ears ring. The sound of skin splitting open, blood gushing out, the crunching of bones, and then the hard thud of something heavy made me so nauseous that I was afraid I would throw up right then and there. My eyes were glued to the headless body that now lay limply on the table, the three guards releasing it as they stepped back. My eyes were frozen on the stray head that fell onto the platform, slowly rolling forward. It brought blood in its wake, oozing out of it, out of the headless body, his once soulful eyes now wide and unblinking, and mouth open in a silent scream. The man’s eyes were now glossed over and empty, mouth making no noise anymore, yet I could still hear his scream. My body was shaking, my mind was numb, and my right hand felt like it was slowly melting off around the scar. There was someone crying in the crowd, loudly, then there were people who were gagging. Nobody was looking at the head, nobody but me. I couldn’t look away, the rage in my bloodstream forced me to keep looking at it, to lament at the feeling, to gather it deep inside myself and channel it into every particle of my body that wanted to kill the King.

I flinched as the head fell off the platform and continued rolling towards the crowd, towards me. And despite how gruesome it looked, I couldn’t look away, I didn’t want to anymore. My body and brain weren’t working in sync anymore, my thoughts were a bit hazy as my leg raised and stepped on the left cheek of the man’s head, stopping it from rolling forward anymore. A woman next to me toppled over and threw up, everyone else gasping and rushing away from us. Everyone watched, yet nobody wanted to touch it. What was so different about it now? Weren’t we all partaking in the man’s ruthless death either way? A floorboard creaked and my head snapped up, greeted by the tall form of the King as he closed in on me, eyes burning and face covered in droplets of blood. It dripped off his chin rhythmically, soaking his black shirt underneath his gown covered in the Royal colours. The smell of iron flooded my nostrils at once, almost as if the King reeked of it himself, and a sudden dizziness hit my head. But I didn’t look away, I didn’t move. The square was dead silent as the King crouched down without breaking eye contact, he was breathing through his nose hard, jaw clenched. I kept my eyes on his as I looked down at him, left hand fisting my long skirt, brushing against the metal handle of my dagger hidden underneath my thick belt. It would’ve been so easy to kill him, but the risk of failure was too high.

Suddenly, something was yanked out from underneath my foot and it hit the ground harshly, rattling my ankle, making my eyebrows furrow as the King stood to its full height, looming over me. The smell of iron was strong, but something even stronger clashed with it, the smell of vetiver. The King’s lips were parted as he breathed through his mouth, tongue poking out to wet his lips, his chocolate brown eyes blown wide with a darkness I didn’t understand yet. He looked like a man who was crazy, ready to annihilate anything in its path. I was in his path, and he would get rid of me just for the fun of it. I didn’t even realize I had been holding my breath until the King’s eyes finally left my face, he looked over my head at the shocked crowd, holding the dead man’s head up high.

“This,” His harsh voice boomed over the silent square, “is what happens to those disobeying their King!”

I felt eyes on me, I was aware of everything around myself, but I could only stare at the King’s face as everyone else looked somewhere else. Everything was too fresh in my mind, that day when he maimed me, the day I lost my brother…it was suffocating, it was eating me up. I couldn’t breathe anymore, I needed to get air despite being out in the open square. The harsh wind wasn’t cold anymore, my body had become numb to it. My figure was trembling so hard I could hear and feel my teeth clattering against each other, my lips quivering. Yet no tears clouded my eyes, heart too stale and dry to cry anymore. There was nothing except rage and fright left in my body, and the desperate yearning for freedom. The terror wouldn’t stop as long as Jeong Yunho was alive. And when I looked up at his face again, eyes shaking in blind rage, I was surprised to find the same expression on the King’s face. He was sneering, cheeks red and nose flaring as he glared me down, his hand holding the head shook. He wanted all of us dead, and all of us wanted him dead.

My hand tightened around the handle of the dagger, and if I closed my eyes, I could everything play out in front of me. All I had to do was yank the dagger out from underneath my belt, grab onto the King’s gown and yank him closer to myself, pull him down so that we’d be eye-level so that I’d stare into his eyes full of hatred while I plunge the dagger deep inside his neck, cutting his artery. Blood would gush out, spraying on me, coating me in his royal blood, one that was red instead of blue and tasted of iron, just like of the man’s he’s killed. I wanted to stare him in his dark eyes as the life left his, wanted to hear him gargle on his own warm blood, wanted to hear his gasp for air helplessly as everyone watched him fight for his stupidly mortal life. I wanted him to suffer, to feel like everyone he’s ever hurt or killed. I wanted him to shake in terror as his life slipped away from him without him being able to do anything about it. I wanted him to beg to be speared, to be saved, to be forgiven. I wanted him to crumble at my feet and clutch at my legs, grip loosening the harder he fought to stay alive. What a stupid mortal this King was.

Powerless, defenceless, helpless.

“Scatter around everyone!” Song Mingi’s harsh and raspy voice boomed through the square, sharp eyes frightening everyone away, “Go back to your stands!”

There was a promise in the King’s eyes before he turned and threw the head onto the platform, some men from the pub rushing over to clear the platform. And I was walking away stiffly, hand still clutching my dagger as I tried to ignore the painful itch of my scar. It felt like daggers were thrown towards me, and I didn’t have to look back to see the King, the redhead, and Song Mingi stare at my retreating form. I didn’t have to look back because I knew I had made myself the King’s target, a price on my head if I were to misbehave even in the slightest bit. And I didn’t have to see or hear the King as his lips moved, words hushed as he instructed his trusted royal guard to keep an eye on me, suspicious of my identity and intentions.

            Once the devil catches you, you can’t escape its clutches ever again. He holds you down, robs you of your soul and sucks the life out of you until you’re nothing but a shell of what you once used to be. He sucks you dry of your life essence; he robs you of the light in your eyes, of the love harboured inside of you, of all of your joy, of the will to continue living. And once he’s done with you, he leaves you alone in this world to rot away, to suffer, to cry, to hate, until your heart is nothing but a rotten fruit. A damned fruit.

Forbidden, tempting, dangerous.

If famish wasn’t such a strong state of mind, so strong that it consumes your thoughts in its entirety, the damned fruit would’ve remained untouched. But when famish mingles with fear and pain, it leaves you desperate enough to go to lengths that you know once caught would make you suffer.

There was nobody but myself to blame as I was veered inside the cold Throne Room, heart pounding and eyes tear filled as people moaned and groaned in pain, a line consisting of five people in front of me. The grip on my right arm was so painful and so tight that it probably had already cut off my blood flow, and I couldn’t fight it off. I was frail and small, a man twice my size and height could easily do whatever to me. And yet, despite knowing that I might not see another sunrise, all I could think about was my sickly brother laying in his bed, struggling to breathe while hungry. I had almost made it outside the market when I heard someone chase after me, shouting as they closed in on me. Somebody saw me take the damn apple, and they snitched to the Royal Guard, to Song Mingi. All I wanted was to feed my sick brother, to prolong his time in this world and fulfil one wish of his. He just wanted to eat an apple.

My body trembled as the lady at the front of the line wailed in pain, choking on her own screams as the smell of burnt skin was horrid in the room, bringing acid into my throat. I was nauseous, I felt like passing out. I tried to yank my arm free again and bolt out of the Throne Room, but the guard holding me just hissed and yanked me forward as the sobbing woman was dragged away, hand cradled to her chest. I couldn’t look, I was too afraid. I knew what would happen to me, everybody knew what would happen to them if they dared steal, but I didn’t want to accept it yet. I just couldn’t. If the King branded you, you were his for eternity.

The Devil would find you in his next life, and he would claim you again as his. He would make you suffer; he would torture you and laugh while you beg for forgiveness.

I jumped as a man at the front started begging loudly, falling to his knees as his arm was forced onto the marble table, the fireplace blazing the closer we got to it. There were only three more people in front of me. The man started crying, trying to free himself, but the King’s laughter echoed in the vast Throne Room, and then the man’s scream was so loud it made my ears ring. I fought against the grip on myself again, breathing getting shallow as my heart was beating so fast, I thought I would die from heart failure before the sizzling metal rod could even touch my skin.

“Stop whimpering, you stupid bitch.” The tall man holding me hissed, sharp eyes boring into mine as he loomed over me with his lanky form. He was frightening, he was the Devil’s right hand, he was his Beelzebub. It felt like the room was closing in on me despite its grandiose size, like it was about to swallow me whole as perspiration gathered on my brows, slowly dripping down my temples. I couldn’t breathe when another man was maimed, marked for life, screams echoing in the vast chamber. My captor just smirked as the fear I felt reflected off my face, pulling me closer towards my tormentor. I wanted to run away, I wanted to save myself, I needed to return to my brother, but I wasn’t strong enough.

The King’s face was twisted in a sick expression as he pressed the metal rod into another man’s hand, his victim having long fainted. The man lay limply on the floor when the guard holding him up released him, and the King kicked him, but the man didn’t budge. The King’s jaw clenched and he groaned, looking at the guard who had held the man as if he was exasperated by his incompetence.

“Take this scum away, you fool!” He hissed, dark eyes settling on his guard as he bared his teeth at him. The King was even scarier in person, from up close, in the Throne Room. His red cheeks and burgundy tainted lips could’ve fooled anyone who didn’t know him. Why did a Devil like him have such soft features when all he did was hurt and hurt others, terrorize them and make them wish they were never born? Why was someone with an Angel face a creature so dark everyone feared its name and existence? My body shook uncontrollably as I realized I was next in line. Time stood still for a second, everything disappearing around me as my ears rung and eyes saw white only. And then, as my captor tugged on my arm, everything hit me at full force.

My rapid heartbeat, the thumping of my head, the desperation crawling up my throat, the need to save myself, I had to get out. I had to return to my brother, he just wanted an apple. Why was life unfair? Almost as if awoken from a dormant sleep, adrenaline kicked hard through my system, flooding my whole being like I didn’t know it was even possible. My lungs expanded and muscles tensed, and when Song Mingi tugged on my arm again, barely three steps away from the marble table, I jumped. I jumped and I kicked at the man’s chest, scratching his neck and making him yelp in pain. Yet he never released me, but I wasn’t giving up. I had to save myself, nobody else would do it for me. And so, I kicked when I was hoisted up by my waist, I screamed at the top of my lungs, I even punched whoever dared touch me. But as if I weighted nothing, I was thrown on the marble table, back hitting it hard, head crushing into the cold table. I gasped, vision fuzzy for a second, until a dark and sinister laugh snapped me back to reality. I froze when I realized I was being held down against the table by Song Mingi, expression so dark I would’ve recoiled if I could’ve. His jaw was clenched and his gaze was so sharp it could’ve cut me if it were possible. But the King, Jeong Yunho, he was calm. He looked the opposite of what his Royal Guard looked like, and something dropped deep in my stomach.

The King looked entertained by the fight I was putting up; he was enjoying it. My lower lip quivered as a hand decorated with rings, metal ornaments, reached out and lightly traced my bottom lip. I couldn’t breathe as my eyes were captivated by Jeong Yunho’s dark ones, pupils dilated as he sneered, a crazed look crossing his features as I gasped for air, trying to catch my breath. The King gripped my jaw tightly, so tightly that I thought he’d break it in two, but what was even more painful were the sharp ends of his rings cutting into my skin. I whimpered as I tried to pull my head away, but I was immobilised by Song Mingi, who was smirking as he watched the exchange.

“Oh, little dove,” The King whispered as his eyebrows furrowed, mock concern crossing his features, “Look at how frightened she is, My Mingi.”

The royal guard’s eyes turned even darker, a predatory look crossing his features as he chuckled, hold on me tightening just a little more as my body started shaking more violently, breathing loud as I breathed through my nose. The King’s smirk matched his guard’s, and he released a long sigh, making me whimper when he dug his sharp claws more into my skin, something hot prickling down my jaw and my neck, disappearing underneath the neckline of my black dress. The King’s eyes followed the drop of blood, and he closed his eyes for a second as he took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, a look so evil was present in his eyes that I shook my head at him involuntarily, begging him wordlessly to spare me, to let me go just this time.

“Oh, little dove,” The King whispered, pursing his blood red lips, suddenly releasing my jaw as he grabbed something. My heart raced faster than before, if that were even possible, and I shook my head as I felt sobs bubbling up my throat.

“Please, please, please,” My voice was hoarse and shaky, my mouth struggled to form the words I so desperately tried to speak, “My brother is sick, please.”

“You know the rules, little dove.” There was almost something like sadness tinging Jeong Yunho’s voice as his mouth pulled to the side, eyes staring off into the blazing fire. My jaw clenched as I looked at what he was holding, and my stomach coiled in even more fear. I couldn’t let this happen, I just couldn’t.

“Let me go, I promise I will never do it again, Your Grace.” I begged, hoping that I could get to him somehow, but the King just hummed as if he wasn’t truly listening to me. I was terrified, but I couldn’t help but feel wronged. If the King provided us with everything we needed, with sufficient food, then we wouldn’t have to go out and steal as a means of survival. He was the one forcing us into doing these things, and yet he was the one punishing us for something he would never change. It was unfair, and I couldn’t help but soak in the sudden anger that flared through my body, making me fight against the royal guard as he pinned my right against the marble table, holding me down by my shoulders with his other hand.

“Why should I pay for something I’m forced to do because you have never once helped your people, Your Grace?” I snapped, glaring at the side of the King’s head. He didn’t react, and I couldn’t remain silent anymore, “Why are you punishing me when you’re the one forcing us to live in poverty and famish, My King?”

I winced when Song Mingi’s elbow dug into my shoulder painfully, but I didn’t stop glaring up at the King as he looked borderline bored, uninterested in what I had to say.

“My brother is dying because of you!” I screamed, losing my sanity as the King didn’t react, only chuckled quietly, “My brother is dying because you took away everything from us and forced us into the slums. My brother is dying because you hold people in such terror that not even an apple can be gifted anymore. I stole that apple, because nobody would give it to me anymore out of kindness. While King Choi was alive, the Kingdom was flourishing. Everyone was happy and content, everyone enjoyed life. You—you are no King, Jeong Yunho—”

“Shut up, wench!” Song Mingi’s face was suddenly looming over mine as he screamed in my face, his whole face red and enraged as I stared back at him wide eyed. My heart was racing and I started trashing around violently, trying to fight the guard off again, but to no avail.

“My Mingi,” The King’s voice was light and soft, head turning to glance down at us, “don’t rile yourself up over the words of a poor peasant.”

“But—My King, she’s—” The guard looked shocked as he stared at the King wide eyed, seemingly confused.

“A stupid, confused, little girl,” The King chuckled, looking down at me with pity on his face that made me sick to my stomach, “she doesn’t know better. Perhaps this will teach her a lesson for once and for all.”

My eyes widened when the King’s hand moved, the sizzling hot rod pulled out of the fire, getting closer and closer to my body as the King moved agonizingly slow, taunting me by the large grin on his face. I whimpered and bit my lower lip, aware that Song Mingi was holding me even firmer than before, jaw set tight as his eyes were glued onto the King.

“No—” I stuttered, gasping for air as the King lightly grazed my hand with his gloved hand, “No! Don’t—don’t touch me!”

A serene smile appeared on his lips, looking into my eyes with a look that made me feel like a small child who had misbehaved and was now getting lectured for it. My eyebrows furrowed as I tried to wriggle myself free, trashing my legs around and trying to push Song Mingi off myself, but his strength was incredible, and I was too frail to even as much as make him budge, “Let go of me! I didn’t do anything wrong! Don’t touch me!”

My throat hurt from my screams, but I wouldn’t give up. I would never, I had to get back to my brother. I couldn’t let that iron rod touch my skin; I’d be the King’s forever. I couldn’t let the Devil bound me to himself, I just couldn’t. I’d never be free again, I’d never be able to leave Aurora, “Now, if you stop throwing a fuss it’ll hurt less, little dove—”

The saliva that had gathered in my mouth landed on the King’s cheek as I spat at him, nose flared and eyes wide in rage and fear as my lungs heaved for air, “You’ll burn in the depths of Hell for—”

The iron grip around my throat rendered me speechless in seconds, before I could finish my curse. My eyes bulged as I clawed at the large hand wrapped around my neck with my left hand, Song Mingi’s grip the last thing I’d feel before I’d meet my death. The King just watched us, he didn’t blink, he didn’t react. His lips twitched, but he said nothing as my spit slowly dripped down his cheek, “My Mingi.”

And before I could even wrap my mind around the sudden oxygen rush in my lungs, a searing pain shot through the top of my right hand, so hot and so painful that a scream was instantly ripped from my hoarse throat. My back arched and fingers scraped at nothing as my right arm was still held down by the guard, the King’s eyes boring onto my face as he watched me frail around in excruciating pain. The smell of burnt flesh was disgusting and it made me gag knowing that it was my own flesh burning, branded by the Crown’s emblem for life. My vision went white for a second as the rod was still burning into my flesh, it felt like it would go through my hand at any given moment, creating a gaping hole in it. I heaved for air as I couldn’t scream anymore, body shaking in shock as suddenly the King smirked, yanking the rod off my hand. A loud sob ripped through my body, right hand shaking so badly that it felt like it was an alien limb, not controlled by my own body. The restricting hands were gone from my body, and I was afraid to look at the damage done. I was on the brink of passing out and throwing up at the same time, when suddenly the King’s gloved hand was in the air, and the next second it was connected to my cheek, sending my head flying to the side. The slap echoed in the vast room, and my sobs instantly stilled as my curly hair fell over my face, shielding it from the eyes of the two tyrants. My body stilled, yet my right hand never stopped shaking. The pain was searing, pulsing, traveling from my hand up to my wrist and my whole arm, making me grit my teeth as I tried not to cry out. It hurt so badly that it made me want to claw at the scorched skin.

“You’re mine, little dove,” The King’s dark words were whispered in my ear, voice deep, “and if you try to run, I will find you, and I will kill you with my own hands.”

“Burn in hell.” I managed to grit out through my teeth, throat feeling like sandpaper. The King chuckled; sound high pitched as I heard the metal rod being thrown onto the marble floor of the Throne Room.

“She’s a handful, My Mingi,” The King mused, and I felt a gloved hand grip my right thigh as I was veered off the table. I managed to sit up last minute and save myself from tumbling onto the floor, “Take her to the dungeons, let’s teach her another lesson for being disobedient and trying to curse her King.”

My eyes widened, desperation clawing at my bones as I tried to push the guard off, but he just grabbed my arms and tied them behind my back before I could even as much as protest. My head was spinning and it was a little hard to realize what exactly was happening, the pain coming from my hand the only thing I could focus on as Song Mingi made me walk, veering me towards some stone stairs at the back of the Throne Room. Yet, I was aware that I needed to go back to my brother.

“No, no, no—my brother—” A sob cut me off as I tried to plead with Song Mingi, but he wasn’t looking at me anymore, expression stone cold as I cried harder, “He’ll die, please!”

I was yanked back by my hair and forced to stop as Song Mingi breathed hard through his nose, eyes burning as he glared at me sharply, “I do not understand why My King spared you, but if you won’t shut your fucking mouth, I will gut you right here and right now. Then, you’ll join your brother you keep wailing for in Eden.”

I gasped as I shoot up, clutching at my chest and right hand shaking from the dull ache coursing through it, sweat covering my face and neck. My heart was beating frantically as I gasped for air, eyes searching my surroundings wildly. It was dark around me, but the moonlight shone through the opened curtains. The little candle I had lit before going to bed had burned out, and the sturdy wood of my bed made my back ache. I was safe. I was in laying in my bed, in my pathetic excuse of a cottage, far away from the Castle and the Throne Room. I tried taking deep breaths, tried slowing my heartbeats, tried to reason with myself that all of that was just a dream. But it wasn’t, it was a reoccurring nightmare of that cursed day. It made me miss my brother even terribly more, and as my eyes shifted towards the small dresser I had across from my bed, my eyes landed on the sketch of the King given to me by Sir Jung. Fury flamed inside my chest as my left hand slipped underneath my cold pillow, and in a swift movement, I pulled my dagger out from underneath and flung it at the sketch as a scream ripped through my lips. Jeong Yunho will pay for everything he’s done.

            It had been two weeks since the beheading in the square, two weeks of me spying on the King to my best capacities. It wasn’t easy to remain unseen, but I managed to sneak by his Royal Guards just fine each time. Song Mingi and the redhead weren’t as attentive as they thought they were. Perhaps the King wouldn’t sleep so well at night knowing that his most trusted guards were incapable of sensing danger and noticing the littlest changes around themselves.

The King’s schedule was quite simple and easy. He left the Castle grounds early in the morning to go on a hunt in the forest surrounding his estate, then he’d go down to the market and parade down the wealthier parts of Aurora. It wasn’t too often that he went anywhere else but straight back to the Castle once he was done agonizing his people in the streets, however, he had gone once or twice dangerously close to the mansion Prince Choi and Sir Jung inhibited now. There was also a time when the King was headed to the slums, to a shop famous for its otherworldly businesses, meaning witchcraft. The King wasn’t opposed to it as long as the witches served him, and him alone. Anyone who dared use their knowledge against the King would be burned on a rug, in the square. There had been witch hunts before, they used to be more frequent while King Choi was the ruler as he was opposed to anything that dealt with darkness, however, Jeong Yunho wasn’t like that. He embraced the dark and he craved the power that came with it, a false sense of immortality laying within him. It only took me two days to realize that the King was plotting something, something that was kept hush-hush and a secret from even his two most trusted guards. The King had let them go back to the Castle one afternoon and then he galloped out of Aurora, only returning the next day. I couldn’t go after him, and curiosity ate me up when the next day the King had gone to the same witchcraft shop, staying in there for hours, looking pale and almost ghostly by the time he finally left the shop. If it weren’t for Song Mingi, who was at an instant by the King’s side, he would’ve crumbled to floor and fainted. The King was doing something very highly illicit, and I needed to find out just what. Both for my own sake, but also to help Prince Choi and Sir Jung in taking the Crown from Jeong Yunho.

Tonight hadn’t been different from the King’s daily shenanigans, however, for a change, the King had gone to a run-down pub, located a little bit too close to the slums. He was joined by his two loyal guards, Song Mingi and the redhead. They wore long black gowns to hide their identities as they slipped past the dark shadows coating the streets, the lamplighters not bothering to light the candles in this part of Aurora. Of course, that did not come as a surprise. The only adequately lit parts of our burgh were the market and square, where the royal guards would march around to check if the lamplighters were indeed doing their duties. Nobody cared about those suffering outside of the richer parts of Aurora, nobody cared about people like me.

I pressed closer against the cold brick wall of a rickety hut, barely holding itself up. Many houses looked like that in the area, and it was a truly saddening sight, especially when families with lots of children were forced to live in such conditions due to the King taking everything from them, leaving them to the rats. I tried not to think of those people, it made me remember my brother, and tonight I had to focus. I needed to get closer to the pub somehow, to gain more intel on whatever was going on inside, of what the King was up to once again. But by the time I gathered my courage and came up with a flawed plan, the door to the pub was kicked open and a drunk man stumbled outside, followed by two tall gowned figures. The drunk man was loudly whistling and he stumbled on a misplaced cobblestone, roughly crashing into the side of the pub. He howled in pain, but I paid him no mind as the tall figures turned the opposite way of the drunken man had started tumbling towards, and started walking. Their pace was fast, almost as if they were trying to get away from something.

I took a deep breath and remaining in the shadows, I crept after them, eyes fixated on their tall figures. I kept a few good meters between us, and I made sure to keep my footsteps light, so that they wouldn’t accidentally hear me. The sky was clear for once, and the moonlight was your only guide through the dark streets. For once, I was grateful that the lamplighters didn’t perform to their full capacity and left the slums unattended, making my job so much easier right now. I tried to decipher who was who, but the King and his Guard’s similarity in physique was a scary realization. Perhaps Song Mingi’s shoulders were wider and stance firmer, but I couldn’t say for sure. Especially when their strides seemingly were the same. I couldn’t tell the King and his Guard apart from behind, and I felt anxiety crawl up my throat as I prayed to God that the two wouldn’t separate.

The long street we had been walking down came to a crossroads soon. Going to the left would lead you back to the prettier and cleaner district of Aurora, however, turning right would take you towards the dense and haunting forest, towards the mansion Prince Choi and Sir Jung inhabited. As the two men took a left turn, I came to the alarming realization that the redhead was seemingly nowhere, and she had arrived with them to the pub. Could she have stayed back? Had the two men gotten rid of her? That sounded absurd, everybody knew those in the Royal Guard gave their lives to the King, and the redhead was one of his most devoted soldier, she surely wouldn’t have committed treason against someone she so blindly worshipped. But then where was she? My heart was thumping wildly in my chest as I had started glancing behind myself, paranoid that I was also being followed, probably by the redhead. If they were to catch me now, I would most certainly die as they outnumbered and outpowered me easily. I might have gotten stronger over the past years, but I still remained with a smaller built. And I was no warrior, I lacked the skills they have mastered a long time ago.

The streets turned narrow once again as we got closer and closer to the richer area, cottages in better conditions littering both sides of the street. There were very few candles still alight in the houses, and I had to be more careful as the candle lighting of the streets was better in this area. I pulled the shawl tighter around my face, and made myself smaller as the two men continued walking, but faster than before. I had to run, almost, to keep up with them. My breaths left my mouth in short puffs and as the two men rounded the corner, the main street leading them back to the Castle, I followed suit. However, I almost yelped as I crashed against a hard body, sending me backwards. I instantly panicked, eyes wide in fear as my left hand went to grab my dagger, but the man that I had stumbled into was neither the King nor Song Mingi. It was just a drunken civilian, looking borderline sick. His eyes were squinted and as he tried leaning closer to get a better look at my face, I grabbed his head and pushed him to the side, making him stumble. If I wouldn’t have caught his arm quickly, he would’ve stumbled to the hard cobblestone covered road. I have underestimated his state, and I took pity on him as he looked confused.

“Go home, old man, it isn’t safe out here.” I snapped at him; eyes boring into his. The man just blinked and then nodded once, clumsily taking off again, stumbling into every possible bench and bush he could. I shook my head and quickly rounded the corner, hoping that the distraction wasn’t long enough to make me lose my targets. But, to my misfortune, there was only one tall figure walking down the long street, their pace a lot slower this time. I gulped and pulled the neckline of my own gown tighter around my shoulders, heart beating fast as I hoped the man I was following was indeed the King himself, and not Song Mingi. But I couldn’t be sure, and I was helpless as I followed after him. He was a little ahead, a few good steps, and I refrained from closing the gap again, hesitant to give away my presence just yet. If it wasn’t the King, then I had no reason to follow his Guard, he was of no use to me. My eyebrows furrowed when the tall man took a right turn, going down a street that wasn’t leading towards the Castle anymore. What had they planned? Looking behind myself, left and right too, I made sure I wasn’t followed as I quickly ran down the rest of the street before rounding the same corner the man had, gripping the handle of my dagger. It was a narrow backstreet that connected to a dirt road which led down to a small field if you continued walking left, however, it met with another even shorter path, which was a dead-end behind a fancy Inn. The man continued walking, pace once again hurried, until suddenly a black shadow leaped from the side of a building, knocking the tall man into the narrow dead-end. My eyes widened as I froze in the middle of the street, heart pounding in my chest. What was happening? I should’ve turned around and left, but I had to know whether it was the King or Song Mingi getting attacked in the middle of the night. And so, I pressed myself against the brick wall of the Inn and crept to the edge of the building, peeking my head around the corner, just barely.

The unmistakable silver blonde hair was glinting underneath the moonlight as the hood of Song Mingi’s gown had fallen down, and I hissed in displeasure. I had been fooled. I wasn’t following the King, but Song Mingi. So where had the King gone then? What was he up to again? Or was Song Mingi just getting frisky behind an Inn after a night spent at a pub getting drunk? My question was quickly answered as a hard blow was thrown against the guard’s jaw, sending his head in the opposite direction. The guard hissed and suddenly sprung forward, hand wrapping around the throat of his attacker. But the attacker was quick to fight back, and the person’s nails dug into Song Mingi’s wrist until he was forced to release his attacker. The person grabbed the collar of his gown and pinned him against the wall, face leaning dangerously close to Song Mingi’s. The height difference was minimal between the two, and my eyes widened as the person’s hood slipped from her head, revealing her red hair. What were Jeong Yunho’s royal guards doing in a dead-end, mauling each other around?

“You complete scum!” The redhead’s voice was shaky, laced with venom, “How dare you go to our King and say such lies about me?!”

Song Mingi remained unmoving, finally having given up fighting the redhead. Instead, he leaned his head against the tall cement fence he was pressed up against, and smirked.

“I see My King has let you know about the little change that’s happened.” I watched as the redhead’s grip tightened even more around Song Mingi’s gown.

“I was supposed to go on that mission, Mingi.” The redhead pressed; tone hard.

“And now it’s me going, foxy.” Song Mingi chuckled in amusement, and I heard the redhead let out a frustrated yelp. I pressed myself against the brick wall, turning away from the scene. I could hear the two guards throwing insults at each other, their voices gradually getting louder, but I wasn’t interested in their quarrel. I was here for the King, and I had lost him. Now I wouldn’t know if he was headed back to the Castle or off to doing something unlawful again.

I sighed and rubbed my eyes for a second, gathering my thoughts and energy to head back to the slums, to my pathetic excuse of a hut. The air was chilly again, and I was thankful for the thick gown Prince Choi had sent me three days ago, a small note saying to ‘dress up well, it’s getting colder day by day’ placed on top of the heavy garment. I was thankful, and more than grateful for the gift sent by the Prince. I had nothing to repay him with, but perhaps getting rid of the King was the biggest treasure I could offer to the Prince right now.

I was headed down the short alleyway I had just followed Song Mingi down, meaning to go back onto the main street and then head back home. However, before I could even round the corner fully, gloved fingers curled into the fabric of my expensive gown and yanked me around the corner, throwing me against the bricked wall. I gasped as the wind was knocked out of my lungs, head hitting the wall loudly, making me groan as it shook my skull. As I tried to regain my bearings, I felt the gloved hand slip up towards my throat, long fingers wrapping around my throat and squeezing. I froze, left hand shooting up to hold onto my attacker’s wrist as my eyes finally cleared and were able to focus on the one holding me. And it was none other than Jeong Yunho, the King himself. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were mere slits as he glared down at me, towering over me due to his great height. The pressure around my neck grew stronger and I gasped for air, eyes widening just a little, trying to control the panic raising in my whole being. Being immobilised by the King felt too familiar, I couldn’t help but respond with panic as memories of the day I had been marked by him tried to resurface, remind me of the pain I had felt under his hands.

“What do you want?” The King hissed, lowering his head until he was eye level with me. I tried to gulp, but it was hard. My grip tightened around the King’s wrist, nails digging into his leather glove. I didn’t answer him, and even if I would’ve tried to, the way his hold was tightening stopped me from doing so.

“Who are you, peasant?” The King snapped and leaned even closer; eyebrows furrowed as his eyes travelled all over my face. He wasn’t able to see much of my features, but I knew he could see my eyes just well, and so I glared at him. My heart was racing and I tried to push his hand off, but it only made him squeeze tighter. My lungs started burning, the King was slowly choking me, antagonizing me even now.

“Speak up, wench.” It seemed he had realized I was a woman, disgust coating his features as his hot breath fanned over my cheeks. I grit my teeth and tried to push the King backwards, but he wasn’t budging. Dark sports started covering my vision, and I tried not to gasp for air, refusing to show weakness in front of him again. But as his right hand raised, the sharp edges of his ornaments grazing against the little exposed skin I had, I knew I had to do something. His ring clad fingers gripped at the shawl and my eyes widened more as I realized he was about to yank it off my face. I couldn’t let him see me; it would compromise the whole mission. In my panicked state, I did the next best thing I could that came to mind. I turned my head and bit his exposed right hand, biting through the material of my shawl. It probably wasn’t as painful as it would have been if my shawl wasn’t in the way of my teeth, but the King still hissed and ripped his right hand back, looking surprised. It allowed me little momentum to shake his grip off my neck too as it had loosened, and I lived with the opportunity, grabbing his arm and yanking it off myself. Before the King could fight back, I sprung forward and pushed at his strong chest, making him stumble back a few steps as he didn’t expect my attack.

“Who sent you, little dove?” He leered, eyes ablaze as a smirk slowly slipped onto his lips, looking like he had no intention of holding me again. Yet, he took two steps towards me, watching me like a predator watches its prey. I gulped, suddenly feeling helpless, just like the day I had been held down against the marble table, marked and maimed. I felt like that little girl again as my hands started shaking and mind got clouded with memories, making it harder to breathe through the shawl. The pain I had felt that day suddenly felt too vivid, too real, as my right hand burned, the Crown’s emblem forever burned in my skin. All the King had to do was yank my glove down and see for himself. He would’ve taken me back to the Castle and killed me, or worse, tortured me until he became bored of me.

“If you don’t speak now, I’ll kill you.” The King said in a light tone, smile spreading into a wide grin as his eyes glossed over with darkness. I gulped and steeled my nerves, reminding myself that I wasn’t that defenceless little girl anymore. I wouldn’t sit around and mop as I wait for Death to take me away. I have become stronger, both physically and mentally, and I had a mission. A mission which placed the fate of the Kingdom of the Fallen in my hands.

“You’ll kill me even if I speak.” I hissed, glaring at the King as he started laughing. There was nothing amusing about what I said, it was the mere truth. And as he extended his ring decorated hand towards my face again, I pulled my right arm back and swung it towards the King’s cheek with all the force I could muster. I was breathing hard as my gloved hand made contact with the King’s cheek, and I’ve never felt anymore more satisfying than having the King’s head snap to the side as my fist connected with his red tinged cheek. The night was quiet and my punch was loud. My heart was racing as a huge grin spread onto my lips, a grin the King couldn’t see and wouldn’t see as I suddenly took off, sprinting away. I was fast, but I knew they would catch up with me sooner than later, so, upon spotting vines coming down the side of a smaller cottage, I gripped onto them and climbed the wall as fast as I could. My heart was racing as I took off running again, hopping from roof to roof, praying that it wouldn’t give out underneath me as some felt a little too loose. I was also praying that the roof tiles wouldn’t slip underneath my weight, sending me tumbling to the cold and dirty ground.

I could hear the King and his two loyal guards chase after me, but it seemed like neither could climb onto the cottages, offering me the little advantage I needed to get away tonight. And knowing that I managed to instill even a little pain in the King would help me sleep better tonight.

            Tonight had to have been the most nerve wrecking night of my whole life as I walked past the tall guards at the heavy front doors of the Castle. The air was warm as I stepped further inside the vast hallway, scenery way too familiar. I tried to remain calm and collected as a butler stepped closer, an inviting and warm smile on his lips, as he helped me slip out of my expensive fur coat. The dark brown fabric reached down to my ankles, shielding me completely from the biting chill the late autumn wind brought with itself. My heart felt like it would leap out of my chest anytime now as I clutched the white envelope tightly in my hands, the stamp of the Crown a blood red, asking for attention against the snow-white paper. I forced a small smile onto my lips as I followed the crowd towards the ballroom, gut twisting as we were ushered past the Throne Room, a room that had witnessed so much horror ever since Jeong Yunho had become King.

Despite completely fitting in with the rich crowd surrounding me, curtesy of Prince Choi, I still felt like everyone could spot that I didn’t actually belong here. The fabric of my white dress was soft against my pale skin, the best I had ever had the chance to wear, and it fell loosely around my body. There wasn’t anything too eye catching or special about the dress Prince Choi had sent for this specific occasion, and that was the purpose. I was supposed to blend in with the rich crowd and lure the King away from the masses, where I would make sure he’d never again see tomorrow’s sunrise. It wasn’t an easy task, but tonight was the perfect timing. There wouldn’t be another one like this anytime soon as these balls were organized on full moon’s only by the King, whispers about a ritual practiced by him resurfacing every time the ball took place.

The top of my dress was low-cut and it made me feel uncomfortable for exposing so much of my skin, the tops of my breasts quite visible to anyone who looked my way, the slit in the ruffles of the skirt at least decent enough that it didn’t reach too high. The straps around my shoulders were puffy but delicate, the prettiest V line I had seen a dress have so far. Thankfully, the design of the expensive dress allowed to match gloves with it, and so, I was delighted when I saw the matching white silky gloves placed at the bottom of the box this dress had arrived in. The gloves were delicate and soft, a little cold when I have tried them on, and reached just above my elbows, the rest of my arms exposed. It was warm inside the ballroom; therefore, I didn’t worry that I would catch a cold accidentally. I have smoothed down my hair, the long curls reaching down the middle of my back, and kept it minimal when applying a little beauty enhancer to my face. The blush on my cheeks was artificial and so was the glitter on top of my eyelids, and the redness of my lips. I couldn’t do much about my pale complexion, and could only hope that the rich people wouldn’t think that I looked sick. The goal was to catch the King’s eye tonight.

When I had finally reached the top of the stairs that would lead down to the ballroom, further inside the lively chamber, a man dressed elegantly smiled widely and extended his hand towards me. I could only hope he wouldn’t pay enough attention to notice the nervousness on my face as I handed the envelope to him, watching as he delicately opened it. Inside it, there was a letter addressed to a respective Bae Joohyun, who happened to be fourth cousins with the King and the Prince. I found the idea crazy, to come to such an event under the pretence of being someone else and someone so close to the Royal family, but Prince San had assured me that they hadn’t seen their little cousin since they were five, and so, the King wouldn’t know what she looked like now. The pretence was perfect in the Prince’s head as he said my looks fit exactly that of their cousin: pale, petite, black haired, and dark eyed. Apparently, she was beautiful beyond comprehension, and I oozed a tenderness their cousin also had. I didn’t dare refute the Prince’s claims and just thanked him for helping me out once again. After all, if he wanted my mission to be a success, he had to play his part from the shadows.

“Miss Bae Joohyun, first of her name, eldest princess and head huntress of the burgh of La Rouge.” The man announced loudly to the ballroom as he read off my fake title from the invitation, and I tried to keep an amicable smile on my lips as a servant quickly rushed to my side, helping me down the marble set of stairs. It felt like everyone was staring at me in the room, which they were, and I tried to slow my heartbeat with deeps breaths in order to keep myself from fainting. I couldn’t even blame it on the restricting dress as I didn’t wear a corset, unlike many of the ladies present here tonight. It made me feel out of place, but trusting Prince San’s words, the actual Bae Joohyun wouldn’t have shown up in a restricting and puffed-up dress. She was a free spirit and often times went against the rules in order to live her life the way she wanted. Her parents weren’t too keen of her attitude and the choices she had made so far in her life, but they’d rather keep her close and not her younger sister, who apparently was a rascal and everyone’s nightmare in the burgh of La Rouge. The burgh resided on the other side of the Kingdom of the Fallen and was a lot more lenient compared to Aurora, that is, until King Jeong manages to expand his believes that far out, poisoning the innocent people of La Rouge, like he had done to us in Aurora.

And just like that, the night seemed to go on uneventfully, besides the unwanted attention men, and women alike, seemed to offer me. I wasn’t looking for anyone’s company, but I knew if I kept to myself, hidden in a corner, I would get nothing done tonight, and I couldn’t let that happen. I had to raise attention onto myself if I wanted the King to find me appealing, and that was only achievable if I was surrounded by men who made me laugh loudly, even if it was forced often times. I had managed to come closer to the King more than once, but so it seemed he was too busy staring down the cleavage of the dress of whatever lady he had been talking to at the moment, clearly uninterested in whatever they had to say. His loyal dogs were around too, of course, both dressed to the nines as they surveyed the crowd, mingling with the people at times. Song Mingi remained close to the King, however, but wasn’t breathing down his neck like usual, his outfit a lot more casual than one was used to seeing him wear. His body was littered with accessories, and I accidentally had caught sight of the redhead ripping the silver chain off as it hung around the man’s narrow waist over the tight vest Song Mingi was wearing. A heated exchange between the two seemed to happen afterwards, with the taller guard backing the redhead against a pillar, sneering into her face, until the King showed up and merely tapped the two on the shoulder before walking away, beaming at a blonde woman with a dark look in his eyes.

The longer I watched the King, the angrier I became that nobody could see through his obvious façade, of the fakeness in his laughter and smiles, that they couldn’t see his eyes darkening and a sick twist crossing his features any time someone said something he didn’t enjoy. Everyone remained oblivious to his so obvious show of dominance whenever a man managed to capture the attention of those around themselves. It was pathetic really, how badly the King needed to have all the attention in the big room on himself, yearning for the praises and ass-licking these rich people were doing. It was sickening and so infuriating as I watched him throw his head back in delight, laughter melodic but loud enough to have others glancing his way, flocking towards the small group, because it was the King. And if the King found something hilarious and worth his time, everyone else wanted to know what it was about, striving to capture his attention like that. My jaw was clenched as I watched another woman wander towards him, looking abashed when the King so much as glanced her way in passing, batting her eyelashes at him. I couldn’t even fathom the thought of wanting the King’s attention purposefully, not when so much blood lay on his hands, so much terror and horror committed under his reign, under his command.

I nursed a tall glass of champagne in my hands as I surveyed the crowd, searching for Song Mingi and the redhead, finding them in different parts of the ballroom, both seemingly busy with the people they were respectively talking to. The King, however, happened to be closer to me as he was talking to two gentlemen, face impassive as he only hummed and nodded at whatever they were saying. For a second, he glanced ahead, and our eyes connected. My breath hitched and I fought every fibre in my body wanting to look away, knowing that the King liked a good chase and a little provocation. If I looked away, I would admit defeat, and he didn’t like women who weren’t a little fiery, harder to break. The thought made me sick but I quickly disregarded it and hid my fake smile as I took the smallest sip I could of my champagne, knowing that my plan was working as the King’s eyes bore into mine, narrowing. It wasn’t the first time our eyes accidentally met during the night, and I was completely convinced that his curiosity was growing the more I seemed to be teasing him. Always around, yet never approaching him. Always around, yet never actively asking for his attention. I could see his fierce eyes on me every time I laughed a little too loudly, or anytime I playfully touched a gentleman’s bicep for a second too long. The King might’ve thought I wasn’t looking, but I was. And my plan was working just perfectly. The mission would finally turn out to be a success tonight.

“Miss Bae,” My attention was ripped away from the King as a moderately tall man stopped in front of me, lips heart shaped, and kind eyes sharper rather than rounder. The man’s voice was rather deep, yet soft, and he looked almost a little shy, “I did not know you would be attending tonight’s ball.”

I plastered on a soft smile and tried to act like I knew the man in front of me. Prince San didn’t really tell me who I was supposed to know tonight, and so I had to be creative when catching other people’s names, “It came as a surprise to me as well.”

The man chuckled as he covered his mouth with a soft looking hand, eyes glinting in amusement. He didn’t look like he had dubious reasons for talking to me, unlike many other men so far tonight, and his eyes had not even once fallen onto my cleavage, “Did your father send you in hopes of finding a suitor?”

“Perhaps that was the reason,” I mussed as I took a sip of my champagne, aware of the King’s eyes on me as I continued talking to the kind man, “it seems like he won’t accept the fact that I do not wish to marry.”

“Perhaps you haven’t met the right man yet.” Ah, the likeableness of this man just plummeted as my eyebrows furrowed, and he seemed alarmed as he realized what he had said, “Oh! I was not suggesting that you should marry or anything else, Miss Bae! It is completely alright to not want to marry, I do not wish to marry either.”

“Lovely,” I hummed, not interested in the conversation anymore. The King was moving away and I had to remain close to him, “I didn’t catch your name, sir.”

“Do Kyungsoo, Miss Bae, I see the passing of the years made you forget about me.” I gulped, nervous all of a sudden as Mr. Do chuckled. I had no idea who he was, but I was sure the real Bae Joohyun would know. So, I chuckled abashed, looking down in fake embarrassment.

“My apologies, I haven’t been to Aurora in so long…” Mr. Do nodded in understanding, downing the rest of his champagne in one go.

“Then I must leave you alone to mingle some more, right?” He sounded slightly disappointed, and I couldn’t help but think that the bond between Miss Bae and Mr. Do once had ran deeper than it seemed. I cleared my throat and excused myself with a bow of my head, looking for the King. The crowd was large and as the music had gotten louder, a dance floor had formed in the middle of the big room. Everyone was loud as more champagne and expensive wine was consumed, both men and women getting bolder and handsy with each other. I tried not to see the disappearing couples behind pillars and curtains as I walked past them, quiet moans or groans alarming to hear. I was no prude, but doing anything like that just felt wrong in a place like this. Besides, I wouldn’t have dared doing anything relatively inadequate in the house of the King, under his watchful eyes.

“Miss Bae.” I jumped as the velvety voice whispered in my ear, almost making me punch their gut as I whirled around, “You’ve been alone ever since I have left your side.”

Mr. Byun wasn’t exactly the man I wished to be around right now; eyes hazed over as his breath reeked of alcohol. He had set his eyes on me the second the servant had announced my name and title, lurking around me after presenting himself and talking to me.

“You are quite wrong,” I chuckled, trying not to glare at him as he reached out a hand and twirled a dark strand of my hair between his fingers, “I have been talking to others too, Mr. Byun.”

“None as promising and handsome as myself, right?” The man smirked, overly sure of himself, making my jaw clench as I forced a chuckle to leave my lips. All this unwanted attention certainly hadn’t been part of my plan, I thought nobody would give me even as much as a second glance, busy with others, with people they already knew. All these men were making this experience even less pleasant, as if being in the lion’s den was pleasant in the first place.

“What a confident man,” I smiled widely, placing my empty glass on a tray as a servant walked by us, “I bet the ladies love being around you, Mr. Byun.”

“Hopefully you are one of those ladies yourself, Miss Bae.” Mr. Byun winked and suddenly bowed, extending a hand towards me, “Would you offer me your first dance of the night, love?”

No, I would not like to offer you my first dance of the night, but I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t refuse a dance, whether I liked the idea or not. I had started thinking that my plan had been flawed from the very beginning and that I wouldn’t succeed in fulfilling my mission, that is, until I felt a gloved hand sneaking around my waist, firmly yanking me into the side of a body. My eyes widened as I gasped at the sudden feeling, head snapping up, dread filling my whole being. The King was glaring down at Mr. Byun as his hold tightened around my waist, and I almost flung myself out of his grip, skin burning through the fabric where the King had touched me. Despite my goal being exactly this, to find myself in the arms of the King, it felt wrong. Very wrong. I wanted nothing more than to run away, but I steeled my nerves and hushed the thoughts that were screaming to run far away from the tyrant, and managed to ease a soft smile on my lips.

“Mr. Byun,” The King grinned, however it didn’t reach his dark eyes, “already drunk and close to passing out? It’s been only two hours since the ball started, you fool.”

Mr. Byun’s jaw clenched, but he had no choice but to bow his head in respect, “My apologies, Your Grace, I might have gotten carried away.”

“Most certainly if you thought you could dance with such beautiful maiden.” It was my turn to clench my jaw at the King’s insinuation, but I willed my heartrate to calm down and muscles to relax as the King’s dark gaze was directed onto me now, “Shall we dance, gorgeous?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” I bowed my head and forced a timid smile onto my lips as the King’s ring, claw, decorated hand found my waist too, grip firm as he veered me in front of himself and made us walk towards the dance floor. My back straightened as I tried to calm down and not tense up when the King’s hands squeezed my waist just a little bit more, narrowly avoiding a couple as they were dancing around a little too wildly for the King’s liking as he leered at them. I closed my eyes when I felt ourselves stop in the middle of the dance floor, and took a deep breath. I could do this, for the future of the Fallen of the Kingdom, for our nation, and for Prince Choi San. I could do this, and I would do this.

When I blinked my eyes open, the King was stood in front of me, a dangerous smirk on his plush red lips, staring down with hunger in his eyes as they racked down my body. I gulped and gasped when I was forcefully yanked against his broad and strong body, ring decorated hand curling into my hips as his gloved hand took mine in his, holding it a lot gentler than I expected him to. As I looked up, making eye contact with the King, he took a step forward, slowly easing us into a waltz that matched the pace of the orchestra and of those dancing around us too.

The King wore fine garments, moulded for his body, almost like a second layer for his venomous skin. His black trousers with fine white stripes clung to his long legs perfectly, enunciating his proportions even more as they were tucked into shiny tall boots that reached just bellow the King’s knees. The brown belt was hidden by the black vest clinging onto his upper body, the same fabric of his trousers seemingly sewn together with the vest’s fabric on his left shoulder and the lower right side of it. However, the back of the vest was completely different, a white fabric with black swirls on it. A black necktie was tucked underneath the King’s vest, a fine necklace with beads and a silver cross sitting on top of it, with a matching rosary hanging on top of his vest and necktie altogether. There was nothing holy about the King, it was a mere display of mockery in the Lord’s name that even such dark creature could wear and touch something so holy. The white shirt’s right sleeve was rolled up to the King’s elbows, bracelets that matched his rosary hanging snugly against his thin wrist, his metal rings, claws, eye-catching and on display for everyone to see. The left sleeve of his white shirt was tucked underneath his black leather gloves, crunching quietly as the King’s fingers tightened around mine. I tried to remain calm as the prolonged eye contact put me on edge, and I fought to stay confident and repress all the nightmarish memories of the King.

“It’s been a while, cousin.” I couldn’t completely read the expression on the King’s face, and so I only gulped. Words seemed to have escaped me, and it only made my stomach clench more when the King’s eyes fell onto my cleavage again, all too aware of how exposed I was. But it was on purpose, Prince San knew the King’s vices, and he was using it to our advantage when he had gifted this dress to me, “I don’t remember you being this quiet, Joohyun, dear.”

I gulped and scoffed, irritation not so fake anymore, “People change, Your Grace, and I have too.”

“Did your daddy tell you to behave well tonight?” His question didn’t sit well with me, especially the tone he had said it with, but I just ignored it as I rolled my eyes at the King, “Did he think you’d be rewarded for it?”

My face flushed at the implication, and it took me everything to not rip myself away from the King right then and there as I felt the sharp ends of his ornaments dig into my skin through the thin fabric of my white dress, “I’m not looking for anything, Yunho, I’m merely here to socialize, see what my cousin is up to lately.”

“I’m doing just fine, dear, as you can see.” The King chuckled, and I felt him pulling me flushed against himself, making my heartbeat quicken as I had to crane my neck to look up at him, “The Kingdom is flourishing and Aurora is doing better than it had been under King Choi’s regiment.”

“You’ve certainly brought some changes to it, Your Grace.” I couldn’t contain the snarl in my tone as I averted my eyes, staring at the rosary instead while the King just chuckled. There was nothing hilarious about what I had said, but of course, it would’ve been alarming if the King thought the way he ruled wasn’t right, “Do you plan on ruining the Kingdom of the Fallen even more?”

The King’s eyes hardened as I looked back up in his eyes, jaw clenching as I felt his right hand slowly slip lower, pressing flat against the small of my back. The action made goosebumps erupt on my skin, and I tried not to shudder as the King merely smirked, no doubt noticing my reaction to his undesired touch.

“I see your passion for the wellbeing of my Kingdom hasn’t changed, dear Joohyun.” The King smiled, but it was far from genuine, he looked irritated, “Why don’t you become Queen and mould it to your own likes?”

“Is that what you are doing right now?” I cocked an eyebrow and chuckled, “Playing with your people as if you were playing chess? What’s next, a war against the Kingdom of Light? You know their Queen can’t wait to destroy you, Yunho.”

“How saddening she’ll never get the chance to do so.” The glint in the King’s eyes was scary, they held a secret so dark I probably didn’t want to know, but I was curious. He was planning something, something dangerous and big, and I needed to find out what. But that would take time, and if I managed to kill him tonight, that dark secret of his would die with him.

“Indeed,” I chuckled and tried to ignore the way the King’s hand slipped further down, fingers barely brushing against my ass. Why was he doing this? He surely could’ve found other ladies that weren’t related to him, since he was under the impression that I was his cousin, even if not a close relative, still blood-related to him, “I see your goons never leave your side, Your Grace.”

The King’s head fell backwards as he laughed, chest shaking with the motion, the first genuine reaction I had ever seen on him. It stunned me, but I tried not to gape. I glanced to the side, unsurprised as I found Song Mingi staring daggers our way, twirling a knife in his hands. The redhead was dancing, but her eyes were solely fixed on the King as well, probably deaf to whatever the man holding her was saying to her.

“My goons, are my most loyal guards, dear, of course they never leave my side.” The King finally seemed to get over my words as he had stopped laughing and was instead grinning, glancing to the side like I had done so. His eyes softened for a second as they fell on Song Mingi, and then his cold exterior was back on as his eyes fell down on me, “It’s their duty, after all.”

“It looks like a little bit more than just duty, Your Grace.” I smirked, heart stilling when I felt the King unashamedly squeeze my ass. I jumped and tried not to sputter as he flushed me fully against himself, a sickening smirk pulling at his lips.

“Perhaps it is more than just duty.” The King whispered, winking as he lowered his head just a little bit, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. I tensed, eyes wide as I continued staring at him slightly frightened, “You smell like fresh roses, so sweet.”

I tried not to show how disgusted I felt, and instead chuckled lightly, “Thank you, Your Grace. Tell me a little secret…do your loyal dogs follow you everywhere?”

The King quirked an eyebrow, prompting me to continue as his clawed fingers pressed a little harsher into my clothed ass, “Or do your guards offer you privacy when times call for desperate measures?”

The King chuckled, leaning down so that he’d be able to whisper in my ear. I tried to remain relaxed as his hot lips brushed against my ear, tone low and words dripping with allure, “They know when not to follow, dear, would you like to see for yourself?”

As the King pulled back, bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes dropped to my cleavage again, I knew this was it. I wouldn’t get a better chance where the King and I were alone, “Since you offered so nicely, My King.”

The King’s eyes darkened significantly as he released his bottom lip and licked his lips, nodding once. Before I could change my mind about what I had agreed to and flee, the King took a step back and released my body, however still kept a firm grip on our intertwined fingers, our gloves a clash of colours against each other. The crowd seemed to part as the King walked through it, curious eyes watching closely as I followed after the King, struggling to keep up with his long strides, but he wouldn’t slow down for me. I gripped the skirt of my dress and raised it above my ankles in order to not trip, paying close attention to my surroundings for when I needed to escape. It wouldn’t be easy as we were on the third floor and all windows seemed to be locked in the long corridor, and I could only hope I would find a hidden door that would lead through a passageway, helping me escape once I had killed the King.

I didn’t expect us to stop so soon, and so I ran into the back of the King, making him chuckle. He wordlessly pushed the door open for us, and allowed me to walk in first, releasing my hand. I took a deep breath before I stepped through the threshold and tried not to gape at the size of the library I had just stepped foot inside. The walls were covered in nothing but endless shelves of books upon books, a room that had two floors, ladders pressed up against the tall bookshelves for when you needed something from a higher shelf. The room was beautiful, and something vexing like jealousy plunged deep in my gut, jealousy that the King had all of this beauty at his feet while others had to suffer out in the cold streets, begging for a shilling as nobody had much money to pay up. But before I could marvel at the beauty of the library even more, I felt myself yanked backwards. The wind was knocked out of my lungs as my back collided against the sturdy bookshelves, and I panicked thinking that my identity had been discovered, that the King finally had enough of me. I was ready to fight him, grab my hidden dagger and stab him in the heart, fight and flee afterwards, but what I didn’t expecting was to feel his blood-red lips pressing against mine. I froze, eyes wide in awestruck as the King’s lips were warmer than I thought they would be, and really soft. It was a crime that somebody like him had lips like that. Out of distress, I grabbed his biceps and went to push the King away, but I realized that would be a mistake. How else could I distract him if not like this? He’d have his guard down, offering me the perfect chance to stab him. And so, I swallowed the disgust bubbling up my throat and forced my eyes to close as my fingers dug into the King’s skin through the soft fabric of his white shirt.

His right hand grabbed my jaw to tilt my head up, making it easier for him to continue leaning down to kiss me, his rings not quite digging into my skin, but dangerously close to doing so. My heart was racing as the King’s lips started moving against mine, not soft at all, not careful nor patient as I forced myself to reciprocate it. It was hard, every fibre in my body was screaming at me to stop this, that I could distract him somehow else, but a more logical side of me knew that I just couldn’t. I was doing this for Aurora, for the Kingdom of the Fallen, and so I relaxed against the King’s strong body and forced my thoughts to silence. My arms raised and I wrapped them around the King’s shoulders, pressing up on my tip toes to kiss him better, opening my mouth for his lips to fit better against mine. The King didn’t waste time as his tongue slipped past my lips and lapped at my mouth furiously, a moan slipping past my lips as I fisted the black strands of hair sitting neatly on his nape. The King seemed to enjoy that as his claws suddenly dug into my skin, making me whine as his tongue brushed against mine, licking at it in a way I didn’t know was possible, my knees weakening involuntarily as the King’s body pinned me against the bookshelf, immobilising me, caging me between himself and the bookshelves. It was a little scary, but I didn’t dwell on it as the King sucked on my tongue, completely dirty and nothing like I have experienced before, my cheeks flaring as I felt his gloved hand settle at the base of my throat. My heart picked up thinking that he would try and choke me, rob me of my already waning air, but instead, it slowly slipped towards my breasts, cupping my right one harshly. I moaned and chased after his mouth as he pulled slightly back, slotting my upper lip between his, suckling on his bottom one as the King started massaging my breast through the thin fabric of my dress, groaning loudly into my mouth.

It was starting to get hot around me, our actions affecting my body in ways it long hadn’t been affected like, the touches of the King igniting a dormant fire deep in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t fair that he could elicit such a reaction out of me, not when I bore nothing but hatred towards him. It wasn’t fair that I had to go out of my way to do something I didn’t wish to do in order to get rid of the tyrant, and it only fuelled the fire in my veins as I latched onto the King’s lips furiously, setting a pace that was bruising to our already swollen lips. Low groans slipped past the King’s lips as our noses kept knocking against each other, his right hand leaving my face as it went behind my body, grasping my ass painfully. I gasped and tried not to recoil when the King suddenly licked at my bottom lip, humming lowly in the back of his throat as he flushed our lower bodies together, rutting into me. My heart was hammering against my ribcage and I felt like I couldn’t breathe, but I refused to open my eyes, scared that I would run away if we made eye contact. The King groaned as he massaged my flesh through my dress, and the hand still squeezing my breast finally disappeared and grabbed onto the other cheek of my ass before it slowly slipped back onto my lower back, fisting my dress. My chest was rising and falling quickly, and I tried to regulate my breaths and clear my mind, assess the situation in order to be able to proceed. But suddenly, I felt cold metal pressing into my skin, grabbing my jaw firmly.

“Open your eyes, little dove.” My heart did a somersault and I froze, thoughts running a million per hour, panicking. Had he finally realized who I really was? I felt teeth sinking into my bottom lip painfully and I whined as my eyes snapped open, freezing as the King’s dark eyes were right in front of mine. His neck, ears, and cheeks were flushed red, lips swollen and glistening with saliva. His pupils were dilated and he smirked as he massaged the small of my back, suddenly his thumb swiping across my lower lip. I couldn’t look away, it felt like he had bewitched me, locked me into place as I struggled to fill my lungs to the brim with air. I was scared, waiting for the predator’s next move, trying to anticipate what he’d do next. But I certainly didn’t think he’d slip the sharp metal ring inside my mouth, forefinger pressing against my tongue, “Suck.”

I gulped and maintained eye contact with the King as I licked his finger, trying to ignore the animalistic look on his face as I hollowed my cheeks and sucked on his ornament decorated finger slowly, swirling my tongue around it. The King leaned closer, lips hovering dangerously close to mine, brushing against his own knuckles. The King was panting hard as he slipped his middle finger too inside my mouth, and I tried to remain calm as I became aware of the ache in my right hand, the mark he had given me three years ago suddenly burning as if it were freshly made. I wouldn’t be able to handle this for much longer, gut twisting in sickness, yet my body was pressing harder against the King’s, aware of the neediness that had suddenly overcome it. I pushed my tongue between the King’s two fingers and sucked on them, making the King’s jaw clench until he suddenly pulled them out of my mouth, making saliva drip down my chin. I was embarrassed and my cheeks burned as he grabbed my left thigh, lifting it up and around his hips, pressing his body into mine, the hardness all too obvious in his trousers as he rubbed himself against me. My breath hitched in my throat at the friction, the King’s eyes glossed over as he released my thigh once he was sure I’d keep it there. My fingers tangled tighter into his locks as he allowed his metal decorated fingers to travel up my exposed thigh due to the slit in the skirt, only stopping when it reached my clothed core. I tried to stop the whimper from escaping my lips as I bit down on my bottom one, completely at the King’s mercy as he started rubbing small circles against my clothed clit, embarrassed of how reactive I was to his ministrations. I was aching, clenching around nothing, but I forced myself to stay level-headed as I fisted the collar of the King’s shirt and yanked him down, pressing our lips together once more, forcefully. I locked his hips against mine with my left leg and rolled my hip against the King’s hand, whining as he kept the slow, antagonizing, pace. I made sure he was busy with working me further up as I slowly slipped my left hand out of his hair, down his shoulders, stopping at his narrow waist to squeeze before I carefully removed it from his body, leaning a little forward and into the King in order to reach the top of my white boot.

My dagger was hidden just inside of it, the cold blade pressing against my shin all night long, waiting for this exact moment. I could feel the triumph in my bloodstream as I gripped the handle of the blade, moaning as the King cupped my clothed core, but stopped his ministrations altogether. I didn’t stop kissing him, however, as I raised my dagger high, ready to plunge it deep into the King’s back. But before I could even as much as move my arm, suddenly, my head was slammed to the side, making me hiss loudly at the dull ache in my jaw as it crashed into the bookshelf painfully, my left arm pinned to the bookshelf above myself. I froze, blood turning ice cold as I was afraid to even as much as breathe despite my lungs heaving for air. The King’s nose suddenly was pressing into my left cheek, his sweaty forehead resting against my temple as his breathing was loud and shallow. I didn’t dare move, frozen to the spot. I had been discovered, and now I would die. I would fail Prince San and bring shame to my name. I was nothing but a failure, soon about to meet my brother in Eden.

“Bae Joohyun, you say,” The King chuckled, sounding actually amused, “I didn’t know my own cousin hated me so much she wanted to kill me herself?”

I took quiet breaths, but didn’t speak up. It seemed like the King still had something to say, I didn’t dare interrupt his monologue, “I didn’t think your unrelenting support could turn into hatred in two weeks, cousin.”

Ah, so this is where Prince San had made a mistake. Bae Joohyun and Jeong Yunho had been in contact all this time, and apparently, she was on his side. Prince San should’ve known better, but so should have I. I should’ve trusted my gut feeling this time, and I didn’t, and now I would suffer the consequences. Because darkness always prevailed, no matter how much the good and kind fought for its disappearance.

“People change.” I managed to mutter, right side of my face digging painfully into the shelf. I wasn’t panting anymore, but my frantic heartbeat made it hard to actually breathe, and so I was still struggling to calm down.

“Not you, little dove.” The King whispered, and suddenly I felt lips pressing against my ear, making me jerk. The King was frighteningly strong, and I finally started pushing against him, trying to free myself, but it was futile…as always, “Stop fighting against me, you’ll only make it worse for yourself.”

“Burn in hell, Jeong Yunho.” I hissed, trying to look at him from the corner of my eyes. The King chuckled, trailing kisses from my temple down to my jaw. I tried to push him off again, but it did nothing.

“Still trying to curse me,” The King muttered, nuzzling his nose against my cheek again, “I suppose you didn’t change, my little dove. Did you think I’d forget? Was it worth that apple?”

My eyes widened to the point of falling out as the King suddenly released me, my head snapping forward as my heartbeat stilled. I went to throw a punch at his jaw, but he completely took me off guard as he grabbed my right thigh too and hiked me up, pressing me into the bookshelf again as he pinned my wrists above my head, the dagger clattering to the floor from my grip. Out of reflex, my legs wrapped around his hips tighter, knowing that I would slip down despite the force the King was pinning me down with.

“You killed my brother.” Was all I managed to whisper, eyes filling with tears. The King shushed me and leaned his head close, his soft features scary all of a sudden as his blank mask slipped back on.

“You killed your brother by stealing that apple and getting caught for it.” The King whispered, eyebrows furrowing, “If you wouldn’t have put up such a fight, I wouldn’t have thrown you in the dungeon, in fact, I would’ve allowed you to take the leftovers from the kitchen for your brother—”

“Screw you!” I screamed, fury lacing every part of my being, heart hammering in my ribcage, “Curse you! Burn in hell for everything you’ve done! You dare mock me to my face about my brother?! I promise you I will make sure you don’t see tomorrow’s sunrise!”

“Bold words coming from such a frail dove like yourself,” The King mocked, pouting as my body started trembling, “I could behead you right in the middle of the ballroom, my little dove.”

I didn’t care anymore what he did to me. He could kill me right here or right in front of an audience, I didn’t care anymore as long as I was free of this miserable life.

“Do it.” I gritted through my teeth, leaning into his face, lips ghosting against his, “Do it, you fucking coward. You could’ve easily killed me in the alleyway that night or in the square, even now, yet all you do is run your mouth with empty threats.”

I knew they weren’t empty threats, that the King would actually kill me in the following minutes, but I wasn’t afraid of him anymore. I have seen all grey colours of his, I knew who he was, what he was capable of.

“If I had killed you, where would be the fun in that?” The King raised his eyebrows, pressing a light kiss against my lips, making me jerk my head back, “You think I don’t know my brother and his pathetic of excuse of a guard sent you to kill me? Little dove, if they wanted me dead so bad, why didn’t they come after me? Why did they send you?”

I froze, eyebrows furrowing as the King continued with a small amused smile, “They sent a poor girl that is desperate to avenge her brother’s death, a girl that is so weak she can’t even free herself right now, yet all I’m doing is pin you against a bookshelf, little dove. My brother, Prince San, and his pest, Jung Wooyoung, merely sent a weak and poor girl to kill a King that holds twice the strength she does just because they wanted to use you, because they knew you hated me strong enough to actually do what they asked of you. They knew you had nothing to lose anymore, and they know you do not care for your safety or life anymore, my little dove.”

I was stunned listening to the King’s words, slowly shaking my head no, refusing to accept such words. No, that is not why Prince San and Sir Jung had chosen me to eliminate the King, it couldn’t be. That’s not who those two were, and I would’ve been a fool if I succumbed to the King’s words, letting his poisonous words infect my brain with lies.

“No, you’re wrong, My King,” I whispered, eyes boring into his with such hatred that it ricochetted off my whole being, “Prince Choi and Sir Jung aren’t like you. And if I’m just a means to an end in their grand plan, I do not care as long as they manage to rid the Kingdom and this world of you, Jeong Yunho.”

The King hissed, obviously displeased by my retaliation, by my fervorous belief in the Prince and his Royal Guard, “I see you refuse to see the truth just yet, my little dove, so let me give you two options.”

My eyebrows furrowed as the King leaned so close his breath fanned over my face, dark and piercing eyes boring into mine, his cheeks still tinged red, “The very obvious first option is death, but I don’t feel like getting rid of you just yet, my little dove, therefore, I have a second option for you.”

He paused, a sick smirk twisting his lips to the side, making my stomach drop in dread, “You become my good little obedient spy, my ears and eyes in Aurora, and in return, I shall reward you with immunity.”

“No—” I was shaking my head before he could even finish what he was saying, but the King’s sneering face quickly made me shut up.

“I wasn’t finished talking, Y/N.” My breath hitched, he even knew my name, “You will go back this instant to the pathetic mansion those two idiots are hiding in, and tell them, that if they even as much as dare to think to send someone to assassinate me again, I will dismember Jung Wooyoung in front of Choi San after I dissect their whore of a maid, leaving my dear brother for last, publicly executing him in the square, calling all of the Kingdom of the Fallen together to witness the fall of the Crown Prince. Understood?”

My lips quivered as my eyes filled with tears, my voice merely above a whisper, “No, Your Grace, I won’t—”

“I’m not giving you an option, my little dove,” The King suddenly released my arms, which fell limply next to my body as the King cupped my left cheek with his sharp metal rings, “I’m giving you an order that you will execute.”

I tried to blink the tears away, recoiling when one slipped down my cheek and the King kissed it away, “And once you have delivered my message, I expect you back at the Castle, my little dove.”

My breath stuttered in my throat, wide eyes looking into the King’s dark ones. Suddenly, he bucked his hips and I gasped as I realised he was still as hard as mere minutes ago, making my heart race, “Because little doves like you deserve a reward, and you’ve been awfully pliant tonight, so I will fuck you senseless and teach you a lesson afterwards.”

My blood froze, the colour leaving my face as the King snickered, pressing a soft kiss against the bridge of my nose as he suddenly stepped back, gently placing me back down against the floor. I felt abused, thrown around and mauled, skin burning everywhere the King had touched. I was disgusted, and yet I knew I had no choice but to do as I was told. I belonged to him, and even if I ran, he would find me. I gulped as the King’s gloved fingers danced up my gloved arm, slowly slipping the silky fabric down my hand, making me shiver. I clenched my jaw and refused to look down as the King raised my hand, staring at the damaged skin in awe. His lips were parted and he took a deep breath, slowly leaning down and kissing the maimed skin he had caused with his own hands three years ago. I closed my eyes shut tightly, trying to fight the tears that threatened to escape.

“So beautiful,” The King whispered, hot lips brushing feather-light against the skin of my right hand, “Mine, little dove, you’re all mine. You always have been.”

I gulped as I looked at the King, jaw clenching as I yanked my hand out of his and quickly wore my glove, hiding the atrocious scar that he had caused. The King seemed to be in a trance as he stared at me, making my heartbeat quicken even more when he didn’t say anything.

I needed to leave, I felt like I was suffocating.

“My Mingi will meet you in the back gardens, my little dove, ready with a horse.” My blood ran cold, hands turning into fists as the King turned away from me, walking towards the massive oak desk he had in the middle of the library, “I expect you back in an hour, my little dove, and if you don’t come back, I will burn down everything in my way to find you. Understood?”

I grit my teeth, staring daggers into the back of his head, “Understood, Your Grace.”

And if finding a different way to kill the King would be the cause of my last breath, I would still do it. This wasn’t the end, he hadn’t won yet, because I would always remain on Prince Choi and Sir Jung’s side, always. In fact, the King had made is easier for us to find out all of his weak points, easier to stab him in the back when he least expects it.

If I had to dedicate my whole life to bring down such evil, I would do it over and over again, because in the end, goodness always wins.

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[bonkfan2003]

Rauru: It wasn't all that long ago, Seji's 20th birthday. On that day, a hoard of molduga attacked the plateau, hundreds of them. I attempted to use a blast of cleansing light, with Sonia's aid to charge it, but when we managed to get it to fire, it did nothing against them. Then, Seji stepped up, and changed a small blue orb of light between his hands, and fired a blue beam of light that tore through the hoard of molduga in an instant. They claimed that it was the work of Ganondorf, the Gerudo King. I asked them how they could have known this, and they claimed that "They had a hunch". A few days later, out in the middle of Hyrule field, Sonia and I found a strange person laying up against a tree. They wore golden armor, and they only had 3 fingers on each hand. We helped them up, and they introduced themselves as "Acacius". We took them back to the castle, and helped them get back on their feet while they told us how they had gotten there. Acacius, as it turns out, is some sort of angel. He awoke in Hyrule after some sort of incident with a demon named Odios. Seji soon met Acacius, and from what I could tell, they knew each other, and got along rather well. In only a few days, Acacius was clad in zonai jewlery, and other zonai clothes. Ganondorf would soon make his appearance, swearing loyalty unto my kingdom. I would've just let that be, trust his word, but Seji and Acacius convinced me to stay alert. Sure enough, just a few days later, there was an attempt on Sonia's life. Ganondorf, using some sort of magic, took the form of Acacius, and led Sonia to a balcony, Ganondorf then took his true form, and tried to stab her in the back, but Seji and Acacius were able to stop him. I quickly arrived, and took Sonia inside, and went to aid Seji and Acacius, but Ganondorf was cunning, and used one last trick on me. A strange red hand came from a pool of a red, gloomy looking substance, and latched onto my hand, tearing the sage's stone of light from me. Ganondorf took it, and corrupted it, transforming into a truly hellish beast. While he was transforming, a cloud of dark green energy surrounded him, and a strange, dark haired figure appeared. It had long, black hair, with a large toothy frown, skin the color of stone, and pericing green eyes. It called itself "Warlock", and claimed that we had "Done what we were supposed to do." In a flash, Ganondorf screamed, as Warlock seemingly possesed him!

The sky grew dark, and Ganondorf, now with grey skin, black hair, and green eyes, laughed, before sending a blast of green energy, aiming for me...but Seji stepped in front of it, taking the blast. I panicked, and reached for them, to see if they were ok, but I saw that the blast had done a large amount of damage to them. Their fur was singed, and the green energy was sparking around them. Acacius went to help them, but Ganondorf used more of his magic, summoning a large skeletal hand to come from his mouth, grabbing Acacius, and slamming him into the ground. I felt furious, enraged, and I roared in anger, and I tried to use some of my cleansing light, but before I could, Sonia appeared from behind me, using her sage's stone of time, stopping Ganondorf from moving. We took Seji and Acacius with us, and we fled, heading as fast as we could to another part of the castle. There we waited, I used my cleansing light to rid most of the energy from Seji's body, but it wasn't enough, the green energy wasn't coming out, no matter what I did. My sister, Mineru, had the constructs help with healing Acacius. I still felt angry, far angrier than I had before. I didn't want to lose Seji, my only child. I had lost my previous mate, the only other remaining Zonai years ago, and I didn't want to lose them. I knew that Seji wouldn't be in good shape to fight, nor would Acacius. So I gathered the other sages, Rito, Gerudo, Goron, and Zora. I gave them all their own sage's stone, and we prepared for battle against Ganondorf. The battle was intense, the magic that Ganondorf had kept him from getting hurt by normal means, only my cleansing light had any effect. The other sages began to fall, first it was Zora, then the Rito, Gerudo, and lastly the Goron. I was left alone, Sonia was back with Seji and Acacius, and I was all alone. I felt something stir from inside of me, my anger was rising more, but so was my determination...

 A surge of power began to shoot through me as I watched my comrades fall. I looked up at the man responsible for all of this pain, and I felt something change inside of me. A memory, I don't know from where, but it was of...another me, where I had to sacrifice myself to stop this beast. I didn't wish to give up my life, and to leave Seji alone...the anger and will to survive surged, and I felt a new power flow through me. My hair spiked up, and shone with a holy aura...

Ganondorf attacked me with more of the green energy, but the power flowing through me protected me, the energy fading away as it hit me. I began to fight him, and it was an even match. Blow for blow, with every attack the ground shook, and I began to feel myself growing weak. This power wasn't going to last, and so to make one last attack, I charged a beam of cleansing light, and Ganondorf fired a condensed blast of the green energy. The beams clashed, and the green energy began to overtake my beam, but then, from behind me, I felt more energy begin to fill me. I turned, and I spotted Seji and Acacius, Seji's hair was the same color as mine, Acacius was now a bright silver color. With one more push, my beam overtook Ganondorf's, and it consumed him in the blast, evaporating him fully...

Once the battle was over, I passed out, and when I awoke, I was back in Hyrule castle. Seji gave me a big hug, as well as Sonia. The sage's had made a full recovery as well. My sage's stone had survived the cleansing light beam, any trace of the green energy from Ganondorf was long gone.

[seiyasabi]

Bulls in the Bronx

(So…. long story short, I’m now a hucow simp. Thanks a lot @/biskywrites and @/dark-side-blog2 for making me this way (ﾉД`) lol, all jokes aside, I wanna suck some tiddy milk from a buff man ;)) Anyways, this is Yandere Hucow(Hubull?) Bokuto x Fem Reader ;0 This fic allows me to flex my farming knowledge lol, bc my grandparents owned ponies and dogs. 

TW: !Noncon!, !dubcon!, creampie!, he hits you twice!, somnophilia!, predator vs prey?, manipulation!, cumflation!, breeding kink!, size kink!, ur a farmhand!, lactation!, tiddie sucking!, Asshole farmer Ushi, etc.. 

Please don’t proceed if any of the above are triggering! Also, sorry if Bokuto is too OOC lol) 

“Bokuto got into the lackweed again,” You can’t suppress the laugh that explodes from your mouth. The idea of the biggest hucow (hubull??) on the ranch freaking out (again), because he’s now dripping milk is hilarious. 

“Where on Earth does he keep finding those damn weeds?” The other farmhand laughs as well, stooping down to fill two buckets with water. 

“I think those grass seeds were cross contaminated, the other hucows also started to lactate a lot more than usual. But, it’s kinda funny that our best breeder is dripping like a heifer,” Chuckling in acknowledgement, you can’t help but feel a pang of pity. Poor Bo, he’s probably really self conscious at the moment. 

“Maybe I should go check on him-” Your coworker almost drops the bucket she’s filling, looking up at you as if you just grew three heads. 

“Why would you do that? Did you forget that he’s going in rut soon?” Frowning, you glance down at the floor in mild shame. 

“Well, yes, but he isn’t supposed to start until next week! Plus, I’m not ovulating right now, so I won’t trigger him,” The other girl thinks for a moment, before nodding slowly. 

“I suppose it’d be fine. If anything, he may calm down if his favourite handler is there,” Nodding, you grab two buckets from the shelf beside you. Squatting down next to your coworker, you place a bucket underneath a faucet, turning the circular handle to the left. A gush of cool water rushes out, quickly filling the plastic pail. Quickly switching it out for the empty one, you wait a few more moments, before turning off the rushing water. Grabbing the handles of the buckets, you lift them whilst standing to your feet, using your legs instead of your back. 

Nodding towards the other girl, you bid her farewell. Turning on your heel, you tromp towards the bull pens. The large red barn is quite a far distance from the shed you were once in, causing you to break out in a light sweat. It doesn’t help that it’s mid spring, causing the farm to be quite warm. 

Setting the buckets down on the dirt ground, you wipe your brow with the back of your hand. Huffing out a deep breath, you quickly move the concrete slab keeping the barn closed away from the sliding door, before shoving it open. The sound of the cowbell on the red and white door handle on the inside clinks noisily, queuing a symphony of deep ‘moos.’ 

Picking up the buckets with bent knees, you hurry inside, relishing the feeling of the barn’s fans on your sweaty skin, “Hey guys, is the barn cool enough for you?” Grumbles and shifting of large bodies are all you get in response, causing you to laugh, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Gunning it for a certain grey haired bull’s stall, a bright smile makes its way onto your face, “Hey, Koutarou, how’re you feeling?” 

He’s currently laying on his bed of compact hay, tears sliding down his handsome face. His cute ears are droopy, his bell earring not jingling with life like normal. His tears drip between his septum piercing, and drop onto his well defined abdomen, “Not good, (Your Name).” 

With a small gasp, you set down the pails rather harshly, some of the cool liquid sloshing onto the wooden floor. Hurrying towards him, you sit on the prickly ‘mattress,’ “What’s wrong? I heard that you’re lac-” A small sob leaves his lips at your words, causing you to grab his hand reassuringly, “Are the other guys making fun of you? I can go yell at them if you’d like!” 

The buff bull-man sits up, one arm covering his chest self-consciously, “No! They’re not being mean,” He grips your hand almost to the point that it’s painful, “I-it’s just… my chest hurts, real bad.”

Nodding in understanding, you motion towards his covered pecs, “Let me see, Bubs. I’ll see what I can do.”

His face flushes bright red, “But it’s embarrassing!” You shush him sweetly, releasing his hand to coax his arm away from his chest. 

“It’s okay, I won’t make fun of you! I just wanna help you,” After a moment of hesitance, he obeys, revealing his swollen, red nipples. 

The area around his nipples is raised as well, showing just how much his milk is backed up. 

Eyes softening even more, you delicately rub both pecs, “You’re alright, Bubs. This happens to the cows sometimes when we don’t milk them as much as we need to. If you’d like, I can go find a pump!”

“No! I don’t wanna pump!” You jump slightly, and move away from him, only for his hands to trap your own to his chest. More tears gather in his eyes, as he becomes distraught, “I don’t want my milk to go to waste!” 

Taken aback, you nod, although you don’t understand his reasoning, “Kou, why’re you acting like this? You know we don’t get rid of milk, we sell your guys’ milk at the market.” 

He shakes his head, “I don’t want you to sell it. I want you to drink it,” The look of shock on your face is mistaken as disgust, causing him to cry even more, “Do you think I’m weird? Why do you look like that?” Seeing the bull act so sensitive is adorable, but you feel as though you have to comfort him.

“No, no, it’s okay! I’m not weirded out, I’m just surprised. I’ll go get a bucket-”

“No bucket!” Sighing at his weird behaviour, you cock an eyebrow at him. 

“Then how am I supposed to collect it?” A big grin crosses his teary face. 

“Drink from me! I promise I’ll be good!” Shifting in discomfort, an anxious sweat starts to form on your brow. 

“Ahaha, that’s funny, Kou. You know I can’t do that,” More tears well up in his eyes, squeezing your heart painfully, “Don’t look at me like that, Bubs. I don’t think your owner would like me getting so close-” 

“I don’t mind,” Ushijima’s voice booms throughout the barn, scaring the living daylights out of you. Whipping your head around, you make eye contact with the large male, an uncharacteristic smirk on his face, “As long as my star bull is happy, I’m happy.”

Kou releases your hands, only to grab your face, forcing you to look at him, “See! He doesn’t care! Please, (Nickname), please help me! My udders hurt so bad!” 

With Ushijima’s eyes on you, and Koutarou’s sad and pain filled face, you finally relent, “Okay, okay! Don’t freak out, Bubs, I’ll help. You just gotta let me go.” 

He releases you quickly, before shoving your head towards his chest. The jingling of his earring is heard, telling you that his ears are no longer pressed down on the top of his head. You hear heavy footsteps walk away from his stall, probably gathering the bulls to let them graze outside. 

You try to push away from where your head is being smushed, but the bull gives you no leeway, “Why aren’t you drinking?” The male practically whines, as you whack his shoulder lightly. 

“I’m being smothered in between your tiddies, Kou,” You chuckle in slight discomfort, but he finally allows you up. Moving towards his most swollen nipple (the left one), you pinch it between your thumb and forefinger, causing a small stream of milk to come streaming out. 

A small moan leaves the large man’s lips, as he shoves you once again face first into his chest, “Don’t tease, (Nickname), I feel like I’m dying!” A flash of empathy goes through your heart. 

Removing your hand from his nipple, you take a deep breath, and latch yourself onto him.Your chapstick covered lips are soft against his sensitive skin, causing him to keen. When you suckle, a tidal wave of milk bursts into your mouth. Luckily, it doesn’t taste very bad; his milk tastes like vanilla, causing you start to slurp it up like a babe. 

Your one hand kneads his other pec to soothe him, “Fu-fuck, you’re making me feel so good!” You don’t bother trying to say anything, instead, you just suck harder. Your unoccupied hand squeezes his tit that you’re currently nursing on, causing him to pump out more of his yummy milk. 

After a few long moments, you release his nipple. A drop of milk trickles down your chin, which the large bull laughs at. A thick finger wipes off the excess, pushing itself into your mouth. A tender look is in the grey haired man’s eyes, as he kisses your forehead. 

“Thank you, pretty girl. Can you do the other one, please?” Now that he’s no longer in a painfilled state, he’s back to his normal, boyish self. Nodding, you lick your lips, before latching on to his other nipple. He barely chokes back a moan, his hand gripping the back of your head. 

You suck as hard as you can without hurting him, pretending his nipple was a straw to a thick ass milkshake. Between your massaging and sucking, his teat no longer feels as painful as it once did. 

Pulling away, you give him a wry smile, “There, all better. Well, I should pour your water into your trough now,” Standing up with wobbly legs, you move towards the filled buckets. Picking them up one by one, you pour it in with unsteady hands. Why are you so shaky right now? “Well, I should get going now. I hope you feel better later,” You try to walk out of his stall, only to be yanked back into Bokuto’s lap. Both empty pails fall to the ground unceremoniously, clattering loudly through the empty barn. 

“Don’t leave me, Lovely, I need you,” His warm skin against yours feels nice, and you suddenly feel sleepy. 

“Kou, I’m tired. I think-I think I’m gonna take a nap,” He runs his fingers (through your hair/over your scalp), tantalising you into drifting off. 

“That’s alright, (Nickname), I’ll watch after you,” With a muffled ‘Mhm,’ you fall into a deep slumber. 

-

When you awoke, you woke to your body shaking. Brow furrowing, you blearily open your eyes, only to see a tuft of grey hair in between your bent, spread legs. 

His long tongue is currently fucking in and out of your dripping cunt, his thumb rubbing against your clit. 

“Ku-Kou? Wha-“ He looks up immediately, a look of shock on his strong features. 

“I-It’s Not what it looks like! I-I just wanted a taste!” You groggily push at his head, catching his ears slightly, causing a small jingling to sound throughout the empty barn. 

“You didn’t ask, why, why are you-“ He grabs your hand, kissing each knuckle with a slobbering kiss. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Let me make you feel good! You taste so good,” You yank your hand back, trying to kick off the hand that currently wrapped around your right thigh. 

“Get off of me! Bokuto, you-you’re doing this without my consent! I thought we were friends!” You shout, pushing at his face harshly. He grabs one of your hands, trying to kiss it, only for your other to clap him upside the face harshly, “Don’t! You’ve already done enough.” 

Kicking him away (even though he’s much larger and stronger than you, meaning he just moved away), you stand to your feet, pulling back up your halfway down jeans and panties. 

Snatching up the buckets previously discarded, you don’t even shoot the crying bull a glance, just turning on your heel, and stomping away. 

Tears of your own drip down your face, humiliation and betrayal weighing down your aching heart. 

Forcefully sliding open the barn doors, you run from it, catching the eye of a certain green haired farmer. 

It seems Bokuto fucked up. 

But that’s okay, when he goes into rut, there’ll be nothing keeping him from breeding you full of his massive calves. 

-

You avoided the bull barn like the plague for the next week. The hucows are very pleasant company. They treat you as if you’re their young, making you feel well loved. 

That is, until Hachi asked you why you’ve been avoiding Bokuto. She’d told you that he hasn’t acted the same, in fact, he’s acted depressed and withdrawn. 

Since then, you’ve stuck with aquatic life. The fish, swans, and ducks don’t give you that much trouble. 

But, when you come back from the pond and fish pools, the farm is ensued with panic. Apparently, Bokuto’s finally gone into rut. 

And, unfortunately for you, he’s on the prowl for you. 

So, when your coworker runs up to you, begging for you to calm him, you turn on your heel, and start walking back towards the pond. They can figure this out themselves, you’re not going to sacrifice yourself to someone who tried to take advantage of you. 

Sadly, that doesn’t work out. 

You’re immediately stopped by Ushijima, his broad form blocking you from advancing forward, “Where do you think you’re going?” His arms are crossed, an angry scowl on his usually handsome features. 

“I forgot something at the pond,” You lie, smoothly, “I’m going to go grab it real quick-” 

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” His strong voice booms, “What you’re going to do, is march yourself into the barn, and make my prized bull happy.” 

Your own scowl forms on your pretty face, “I will do nothing of the sort. Interspecies sex is illegal! You can fire me for all I care, I’m not going in there!” You try to move around his large form, only to be manhandled into a chokehold.

His left arm is wrapped around your neck, your back to his chest, and your face being held in a large hand, “Interspecies sex is legal when a human and hybrid are mates,” He hisses through gritted teeth, and you struggle in his hold, “If you don’t go in there, I’ll drag you in.” 

“Fuck you,” You spit, “I’ll fucking castrate you!” You kick backwards, landing a solid hit on the large man’s groin. With a loud yell, you’re let go, allowing you to run towards the farm’s parking area. Pulling your truck’s keys from your pocket, you haul ass, not bothering to look behind you. 

The barns and sheds fly past you, as you run through the open field leading to the car park. You suddenly hear loud footsteps follow after you, and you assume that it’s Ushijima, that is, until you hear them, “(Nickname)! (Nickname), where are you going? Why are you running away from me?” Bokuto’s voice rings out at top volume, hurting your ears. His voice a lot more gravely than before, and without looking at him, you know that he most likely looks crazed. 

You don’t respond, trying to pick up the pace. You click the unlock button one time, only unlocking the driver’s side door. Because you had a head start, you cleared the field in less than three seconds, allowing you to hop into your truck, and lock the doors. Shoving the key into the ignition, all whilst buckling your seatbelt, you press on the brake, and turn it, only to hear the spluttering of your failing ignition, “Come on! Don’t do this-” Bokuto slams into the driver’s side door at top speed, rocking your large vehicle harshly. His hands and face are pressed against the window, his expression looking like that of a kicked puppy. You then notice the fact that the buff male is completely naked, his impossibly large cock bobbing against his toned stomach. 

“Why are you trying to leave? I need you so badly, pretty-pretty. Why don’t you open the door, and we can figure this out? I promise I’ll make you feel good, after all, us bulls pride ourselves in taking care of our mates,” You cringe in disgust, not bothering to answer him. Instead, you continue to fiddle with your ignition, muttering expletives under your breath. His large hands start to beat on your driver-side window, trying to gain your attention, “(Nickname), come out already! Ushi already cut your fuel line, so you’re not going anywhere! Come on, I just wanna make you feel good-”

It was your turn to cut him off, “Shut up! We aren’t friends anymore, Bokuto, much less lovers! Just leave me the fuck alone! I’m sure many of the cows would love to help you through your rut, why can’t you just ask them?” Tears of frustration dot your eyelashes, as you pop open your glove box and search for your phone. Catching sight of the black cased (phone type), you snatch it from its confines with a loud ‘Aha,’ “Don’t make me call the Farmer’s Union, Bokuto. I’ll report you and Ushijima for-”

“You won’t! You love me too much!” His frantic words raise in volume, as he hit the glass even harder than before, “You wouldn’t put me down! Come on, (Nickname), why won’t you call me ‘Bubs’ anymore? I love you!” You swipe open your phone, and go to the contacts. Pulling up the Farmer’s Union phone number, you go to press ‘call,’ only for the shattering of glass to halt you. 

You scream in both fear and shock, throwing up your hands to protect your face. This, in turn, causes you to drop your phone. In this time, Bokuto is able to grab you by your arms, and drag you towards the broken window. Your seatbelt keeps you in place, causing him to pull you even harder, and making you scream in pain. 

You use your arm to whack his against the broken glass on your truck’s window area. He releases you in a moment of pain, allowing you to unbuckle yourself, and throw yourself to the passenger side. Once there, you unlock the door, and bolt towards the road. 

“(Your Name), come back here! Stop being so difficult!” You pay him no mind, a few meters away from the busy road. Noticing a car speeding towards the area you’re running to, you push yourself even harder, trying to throw yourself into the road. Unfortunately, you’re grabbed by two buff arms that encircle your waist. They use all of their strength to smash you into their chest from behind, knocking the air from your lungs, “Are you crazy? You could’ve been hurt!” You thrash and try to bite at him, causing Bokuto to backhand you across the face, “Now look what you made me do! If you’d been good, I wouldn’t have had to do that!”

To be completely honest, you’re in shock. Bokuto has never raised a hand at you, and that slap wasn’t a warning tap. No, that was him using a good majority of his strength, causing your cheek to throb painfully. 

You continue to thrash and curse after freezing for a moment, drawing the eyes of concerned coworkers, “Let go of me! What the fuck is wrong with you? Put me down!” You try to kick him in the junk, only to kick him on the inside of his thigh. In retaliation, he backhands you again, this time on the other cheek. Gasps and whispers are heard from those around you, drawing the large hucow’s eyes. 

“There’s nothing to see here, guys! Just my mate making a scene,” He shakes you a bit to shut you up, causing you to become disoriented. The farmhands and other hybrids look like they’re about to step in, only for Ushijima himself to show up. 

“What Bokuto said is correct,” His harsh gaze is on you, his hand gripping his dick, “She’s just making a scene. Let them through.”

They reluctantly go back to their business, as Koutarou guns it to the empty bull barn. Ushijima only watches as you’re dragged to the large building, as tears drip down your face in fear, and his fist at his side clenches in fury.

Stomping into the barn, Bokuto makes quick work of getting to his stall. Once inside, he tosses you on the hay mattress, and straddles your waist. With pawing hands, he rips your t-shirt and jeans off of you, leaving you in your bra and underwear, along with your boots and socks. Yanking off your boots, be tossed them out of his ‘room,’ as you try to throw punches at his muscular chest. He grunts, but doesn’t stop. 

With beefy fingers, he yanks off your bra, ripping it in two. Your tits jiggle at his harsh movements, making him lick his lips in enjoyment. He then rips off your cotton panties, exposing your cunny to his hungry eyes. 

“You’re beautiful, pretty-pretty. I can’t wait to see you stuffed with my calves,” You shake your head no rapidly, pushing his hands away from where they rest on your hips. 

“No! Stop it, Bokuto! I thought we were friends!” He tightens his grip on your pelvis, forcing your legs open. 

“That’s Not my name, (Nickname), you know that. Now, you know that I’m way more than just your friend-I’m your mate, and you know that I’ll provide for you and our calves,” With grubby fingers, he rubs at your clit, trying to draw a good reaction from you.

You squirm in response, trying to wriggle out of his one handed grip. You shove at his chest, but he remains unmoved, choosing to press down harder than before, “Stop it! Let me go!” 

He inserts his middle finger into your moist cunny, forcing it in and out. You try to kick him in the head only for him to catch your leg with the hand that previously held your hip, “If you wanted me to eat you out that bad, you should’ve just said so, pretty girl,” Before you can refuse, he throws your legs over his shoulders, and dives in. 

His long tongue fucks in and out of your hole, one of his thumbs rubbing your clit. A loud whine escapes your throat before you can stop it, making you feel a wave of disgust for yourself. Bokuto shouldn’t be making you feel good, he’s assaulting you, after all. 

But, when his tongue brushed against your g-spot, you can’t help but convulse in pleasure. Thighs quaking, you try to stop yourself from cumming. 

“St-stop! I’m, I’m gonna-“ He stops before you can cum, instead, pushing your hips down to where his cock lays against his abs. Forcing the bulbous head against your tiny hole, he pushes harshly, trying to fuck into you like an animal, “No! No! You’re too big! You’re going to tear my-“ With one powerful thrust, he forces his way inside, and you can’t help but scream. 

Tears drip down your face at the feeling, your pussy feeling like it’s been ripped open. Bokuto grabs your head, and forces it against his chest, practically making you take one of his pink nipples into your mouth. You’re immediately met with the taste of his vanilla milk, drinking it up as the hucow starts to buck into you at a lightning fast pace. 

Your teeth bite down on his nipple, but instead of being angry, he just moans in lust, “Yes! Yes, pretty girl, you’re taking me so well!” 

His hand that isn’t cradling your head goes to your tummy, feeling his huge length moving underneath your skin. He presses down a bit, causing another wanton moan to leave to both of you. With this thought in mind, he picks up the pace, practically fucking you into unconsciousness. 

Eyes rolling back, your ruined cunny gushed pathetically, coating you and the bull with your juices, “(Nickname), you’re so pretty when you cum,” He continues his breakneck pace, getting close to orgasm himself, “I’m gonna fill you up so good, that you’ll be dripping with my fun for days! Your little womb will be bloated with my fertile cum!” 

You try to speak, but you can’t, just continuing to suck his yummy milk from his teat. Walls fluttering with another orgasm, you feel yourself clamping down on his enormous cock. 

With one last mighty thrust, he seats himself fully inside of you, cumming directly against your unprotected cervix. A muffled scream erupts from your chest, as you feel your womb expand with copious amounts of beeile cum. Releasing his nipple, you throw your head back, a loud cry echoes throughout the barn, as you squirt once more around his cock. 

Now completely filled to the brim, you pass out from the trauma. Entirely exhausted, Koutarou grins down at your bloated form. He rubs your tummy like a Buddha statue, kissing it tenderly. 

“You’ll be a good Mommy, I’m sure of it,” he then trails his hand up your abdomen, groping your right tit, “You’ll look so pretty all milky and filled with my calves.” 

The sound of a throat clearing gains Bokuto’s attention, as he practically throws his naked body over yours. A loud ‘moo’ of warning escapes his chest, even when he notices that the person is just Ushijima. 

“I see that she mates with you well,” His eyes trail over your sleeping face, not straying downwards, “I hope this means that you’ll enter more shows.” 

Bo smiles, “Yes. Now I need to show off, so my mate thinks I’m an eligible male.” 

Nodding, Ushijima turns on his heal, making his way to leave the barn, “I hope your children take after you in strength. (Your Name) is a lot prettier than you are, so maybe they’ll be pleasing to the eye as well.” 

Snorting, the grey haired man’s ears twitch, jingling throughout the room, “You bet she is. She’s perfect.” 

[sunder-soul]

𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖛𝖊

❶·❷·❸·❹·❺·❻

Chapter Two: He’s very, very beautiful. Black hair in tidy waves, dark, hooded eyes lined with sooty lashes, full lips, angled jaw, and all his fine features illuminated by the glow from the pub behind you. If you’d met him anywhere else you might have blushed, but here, now, you have to resist the urge to arch a brow. Wordcount: 2.3k Content warning: language, allusions to bigotry.

Story Tags: @crazytwentythrees

Permanent Tags: @jujugentle @weirdowithnobeardo @pearlstiare @fromthehellmouth @whoevenfrickenknows @moatsnow @voidmalfoy @lucys-brain @sunles @arana-alpha @tallyovie @expectoscamander @nothinghcppens @itsjustfics @mikariell95 @suicide-sweetheart636 @toasterking

McCollin slams the Records Room logbook down on your desk and you nearly jump out of your skin. “I told you to drop it,” he says coolly.

Your initials are scribbled on the page half a dozen times over the past two weeks. You look up at him wide-eyed. “I…”

“You were only supposed to watch that stupid trial once,” he interrupts, eyes hard.

“Look, I’ve found stuff, McCollin! Merope Gaunt? She ran away with Tom Riddle, for Christs’ sake, they got married and everything! That’s why Morfin was talking about her in his trial!”

He falters, brow furrowing. “How did you find out that –”

“I’ve been doing some work on the case – off hours,” you add hastily at his expression, “and look, I know you said it was pretty cut and dry, but in that whole trial no one actually asks him why he did it –”

McCollin laughs a little unkindly. “No one asked him why he did it? Do you hear yourself? Didn’t you just say his sister married a Muggle?”

“Yeah but she died ages ago,” you say desperately, leaning forward.

“Why does that matter?”

“Morfin was released from Azkaban in ’28 and came home to find his sister gone. He lived right around the corner from those Muggles, McCollin, so why did he wait fifteen years to kill them?”

McCollin gives you a deeply sceptical look. “Your problem is that he didn’t kill them sooner?”

“My problem is there’s no reason that he didn’t kill them sooner!” you correct. “If he’s really such a nutcase, why did it take him that long to get revenge on the Riddles?”

“Maybe he didn’t know who she’d run off with until then,” he shrugs.

“Then how did he suddenly find out in ‘43?”

McCollin sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, kiddo, I’m gonna do you a favour. I’ll let all this slide if you drop this thing now and stop letting it distract you.”

You gape at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“But I’ve found –!”

“I don’t care what you’ve found, I need you to do your job,” McCollin snaps, waving at your desk. “So some pure-blood nutter murdered some Muggles because his sister ran off with one of ‘em, what in Merlin’s name is so hard to understand about that?”

“She had a kid with him!” you hiss.

He hesitates again. “You found a birth certificate?”

“No, but she died in a Muggle orphanage and was buried in the pauper’s yard, what do you think happened?”

McCollin, for the first time, looks somewhat doubtful. “Case never mentioned a kid…” he says slowly.

Hope sparks in your chest. “And where was Tom Riddle whilst his wife died in childbirth, huh? Where did the kid end up? Did Morfin know about them? Did Riddle even know?”

McCollin exhales a very fatigued sigh. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you.”

“No,” you say immediately.

“If you figure this out, will you get back to your actual job?”

“Yes.”

“You promise?”

You’re on the edge of your seat. “I promise.”

He grits his teeth. “Merlin… fine. What do you need?”

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

You hate Azkaban. The place is dark and cold and dripping wet, the dementors never stay quite far enough away, and the screams and sobs of the prisoners within the black stone stick in your heart for weeks afterwards.

“In and out,” McCollin mutters, pulling off his hat and casting the dementor beside you an aspersing look. “Five minutes, kiddo, and then we’re gone.”

You nod quickly and step down the long, dark corridor, peering at the parchment in your hand and checking it against the cell numbers scratched into the stone on either wall. You find him around the corner. Cell 75191.

You lift your lit wand, squinting into the darkness. “Morfin…?”

There’s the faint clinking of chains and then a skin-crawling hiss that makes your heart clench in fear, followed by a rasping, phlegmy cackle.

“Morfin Gaunt?” you try again, catching sight of movement in the corner of the cell, a figure hunched there.

He only hisses again.

“I don’t speak Parseltongue, Mr Gaunt,” you say with a forced calm, “I’m here to talk about the Riddles.”

Morfin spits at the ground. “Riddles,” he growls. “Fucking Riddles, fucking filthy Muggle Riddles in their filthy stinking house, got what was coming didn’t they? Got what they deserved in the end –”

“You knew about Merope and Tom Riddle, didn’t you, Mr Gaunt?” you interrupt, hands shaking in the aching cold. You bury your non-wand hand in your pocket in vain – the chill of the prison is all-permeating.

“Filthy Riddle… filthy scumsucker…”

“Why did you kill the Riddles in 1943?”

He barks a hideous laugh. “Muggle scum they were, had it coming, saw the light leave their eyes at the end of a wand like was intended, not my sister, not my family –”

“Why did you wait, Mr Gaunt?”

There’s silence. Your heart thrums nervously.

“You got home in 1928 but you didn’t kill the Riddles until 1943… Why didn’t you kill them sooner?” you press carefully.

Morfin doesn’t reply for a moment, and then – “Muggle scum,” he mutters a little dolefully.

“Yes but what changed?” you say, patience fraying a bit. “What changed in 1943? Did something happen?”

“Scourge of the earth… got to get rid of ‘em all, that Grindelwald fellow had the right idea, get rid of ‘em –”

There’s a sound like a heavy door closing in the distance and you’re suddenly very aware that you don’t have a lot of time left. “Did you know about Merope’s child?” you ask pressingly.

Morfin descends into a coughing fit and spits what sounds like a hefty wad of mucus onto the floor of his cell. “Knew it,” he says darkly, “I knew it, that slut…”

“You knew?”

“Looked just like him, didn’t he?” he snarls.

“Who?” you say at once.

“He looked just like that nasty, filthy, disgusting Muggle… Well, they’re all dead now.” He laughs nastily again. “Rotting in the ground where they belong, Muggle scum…”

You can hear McCollin calling for you but your head is spinning. He waited… he waited fifteen years…

If Merope’s son had been born at the end of ’26, he would have been sixteen in July of ’43.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“I know why he waited,” you breathe to McCollin the second you’re back in the safety of the Ministry.

“Why?”

“I know why he waited to kill the Riddles – Merope’s son came to find him – maybe he was looking for his family, he probably grew up in that orphanage – he really did only find out about her kid in ’43 and it made him snap and –”

“Slow down,” McCollin frowns, hand on your shoulder. “What are you saying?”

“You have to get me access to Morfin’s memory of that day,” you say intensely.

His face and his hand fall in unison. “You said that if I got you in to see Morfin, you’d let it go,” he says sharply.

“I know but Jesus McCollin! Shouldn’t we find her son?”

“This is getting out of hand,” he mutters, turning and walking off across the huge entrance hall.

“Please,” you say, following him. “Please! I –”

“No,” he says flatly.

“But –!”

“What, you want to watch murders now?”

“McCollin, just listen –”

“I’m serious, drop it,” he drawls, stepping into an elevator and turning to point at you. “I don’t wanna hear you say the name Riddle again.”

The elevator dings, the door slides shut on McCollin’s serious face, and you sigh in frustration.

“Riddle?”

Your head lifts in surprise. The voice had come from beside you, a very formally-dressed old man with curated grey hair, gold glasses, and a haughty expression. “Yes, sir…?” you ask slowly.

“Ah yes, a real shame, all that,” the man sighs, looking up at the elevators expectantly.

You blink. You recognise the man from around the Ministry, but you can’t think of a single conceivable reason why a senior member of the International Confederation of Wizards knows the name of a Muggle murdered eight years ago. “…Yes, it was.”

“Such a waste,” he shakes his head sagely. “He could have gone far.”

You don’t know what to say. “You’re… you’re talking about Tom Riddle, sir…?”

“Yes, of course,” the man titters, “Slughorn recommended him to me personally – assured me he’d go far. A real talent, he said.”

Something is definitely not right, but the man’s elevator dings and he steps inside at once, expensive robes swirling as he turns. “To end up in Knockturn Alley of all places,” he sighs, “and to think... the boy could have been Minister for Magic one day.”

The doors shut before your gobsmacked face.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“So let me get this straight,” Mori says lowly, setting down another drink for you. “You think the kid’s here? In Knockturn Alley?”

“I think so,” you murmur as Mori takes your empty glass away. “Either that or some poor schmuck with the exact same name as a murdered Muggle is walking around completely unrelated to all this shit.”

“Have you found anything on the kid?”

You nod blankly. “Looked up the name and found a ton of stuff straight away – star pupil at Hogwarts, won a ton of awards, Prefect, Head-boy –”

“Sounds like a square,” Mori snorts.

“He fell off the map a bit after school,” you frown, leaning forward on your forearms. “Found an address from a few years back but doesn’t seem up-to-date. The guy definitely mentioned Knockturn Alley though, so –”

“If you told me a name, I’ll probably know him.”

You shoot him a nervous look. “I dunno, Mori, I’m really pissing McCollin off with this already. If he finds out I’m leaking names –”

“Well I’ll tell you this for free, no one down this way’ll take kindly to someone in Ministry robes poking their nose around,” he says darkly.

You sigh and take a sip from your drink. “I know.”

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

You leave just past midnight, giving Mori a wave as you grab your cloak and head for the door, already reaching for your wand to Apparate as you push it open –

You walk straight into someone. “Oh,” you exclaim, stepping back. “I'm so sorry.”

“Not at all.”

You look up at the voice in surprise, smooth and pleasant and velvety. The face behind it is even better; he’s very, very beautiful. Black hair in tidy waves, dark, hooded eyes lined with sooty lashes, full lips, angled jaw, and all his fine features illuminated by the glow from the pub behind you as he pushes the door wide and holds it for you, stepping aside with a polite twist to his lips to let you out first.

If you’d met him anywhere else you might have blushed, but here, now, you have to resist the urge to arch a brow. He’s not exactly what you’d normally expect from customers of Moribund’s.

“Thank you,” you say evenly, stepping past him and rather theatrically hoping he’s not some sort of pretty-faced creature that would strike when your back’s turned –

“You’re from the Ministry?”

You hesitate. His question was perfectly curious and well-warranted – the purple robes you were still wearing were also not what one might normally expect from customers of Moribund’s. “I am,” you say quietly, pulling out your wand.

“Are you here on business or for pleasure?” he smiles a little. It makes him even more beautiful. It makes you more suspicious.

“A bit of both,” you say truthfully, thinking of your conversation with Mori.

“Rather strange for someone of your profession to patron a place like this,” says the young man, head tilting a fraction.

You hesitate for a moment, but if he intends on giving you trouble, it feels like a good idea to establish that you have people looking out for you around here. “I’m friends with the barman.”

“In which case it's odd I’ve not seen you more, then,” he says very smoothly, the little twist to his lips returning, “since I’m something of a regular.”

But you’ve had quite enough. “You’re letting the warmth out,” you say politely, inclining your head at the door he’s still holding open as you lift your wand. “Enjoy your drinks.”

“Would you care to join me?”

You hesitate, eyes flicking back to the young man. His head is still tilted slightly as he watches you, and suddenly you can’t tell if the curl to his lips is more attractive or unnerving.

“I’d very much like the company,” he smiles, white, straight teeth, too handsome, too gorgeous.

Alarm bells are going off in your head. Too smarmy. He knows he’s beautiful, that much was certain, and something about him is giving you the creeps in a way that feels strangely familiar. Like you’ve met him before. “No,” you say clearly, “but thanks for the invitation.”

“Ah, I should have known that someone like you would already be spoken for,” he says with a knowing nod, charming and good-natured.

“No,” you frown. You can’t tell what’s rubbing you the wrong way about him, but there’s something.

His brow lifts slightly, like your response surprised him. “Not a fan of the drink, then?”

You snort a light laugh. “No, I am.”

There’s a beat of silence. “An early morning, perhaps?” the young man says just as lightly – though there’s a very faint edge to his expression that you clock at once. He can’t figure out why you’ve rejected him. What an arrogant asshole…

You sigh a bit shortly, liking him less by the second. “Goodnight,” you say pointedly, trying to lift your wand again but –

“Have I offended you somehow, madam?” he asks, sounding slightly amused. “If I have it wasn’t my intention to do so.”

You shoot him a look that is unapologetically annoyed. “You haven’t offended me, you’ve disrespected me,” you say curtly.

His eyes sparkle, his lips curl even more. “By asking you to join me for a drink?”

“By refusing to take my answer graciously,” you retort smoothly, “I said no. I don’t appreciate being cajoled.”

Some of the humour dissipates from his face, and you seize the opportunity to escape.

“Goodnight.”

And you lift your wand in a swift motion and vanish before he can interrupt again.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

❶·❷·❸·❹·❺·❻

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[ficsnroses]

𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 - 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜

Johnny Silverhand x female! V. 

summary : johnny holds V when she feels overwhelmed, leading to a realization. 

warnings : all fluff, some angst. very minor anxiety, nothing big! 1.7k words.

notes : felt like writing some soft johnny content after the smut fest from last week, hope you enjoy! comments and feedback appreciated. 

       Morning will come, they say; It has to.

It’s all wrong.

She’d sensed it in the air, tasted it on her tongue; known it through the uneven beat of her weary heart.

She wasn’t supposed to wind up here. It wasn’t supposed to get this fucked. A tightness stills in her chest, a dark loom, frayed grey clouds thud inside. Fear gnawed at her heart, boiled in each vein; gnawed and gnawed and gnawed. Within the deep folds of her apartment, she stands at the kitchen counter; an untouched pour of crystal water cold at her fingertip.

As if a drink would subdue, sate the tremble inside.

A grey cloud persists as she tries to blink, little by little, desperately trying to rid the blades that cut, the ones that sink into her skin with each breath.

“You know,” He begins, voice buttery, cynical. “Standing isn’t gonna do anything.” He appears often, this holographic parasite chained to her wrist. The ruins of a man who once ruled the world, now, just a speech in her ear. Someone to assure her she was still real. Still alive; or so she’d hoped-

that dagger cut the most; she wasn’t even sure she really existed. If he even did, if anything after the black really unfolded.

She wonders how she got here. How things got this way; how she let them snowball this way. Above all, above most, an epiphany rung true, a realization simmers in her veins.  

Somewhere along the way, his voice had begun to feel warm.

Began to feel like home. Somewhere through blurred lines and sour regrets, a companion he’d become. Someone to feel un-alone.

“People who want something go out and grab it.” The tone of his voice holds a deep ring, something hoarse, thick. “Get it done”. The words, syllables, vowels merely reach her fraught ears, the sounds dying as they brew in her head.

     A deep breath in, she exhales.

     A tense of hands, they fall to her sides.

     A gulp, heavy swallow in her sore throat, fingers nipping over the tense lump.

She crumbles. A mountain of a woman crumbles, feared for what would be to come.

Something churns inside her stomach, and he notices. He can feel it too, her dread, the heft in her lungs. Just the same, he hadn’t planned on being bound. Her memories blend with his, her vulnerabilities mirror. Somewhere along the way, he’d forgotten which feelings were his own. Two damned souls, filled with anger. Somewhere within the muddle, he felt it too. There was hatred, part of him thought she’d hate him forever. She’d want him gone, out of her head.

First impressions are always hard to undo. Memories don’t come and go so easily.

Yet within the muddle, he felt it too.

Companionship. The world forgot him, but she remembers. She hears, she sees. She feels the shell of a man that once was, hears him through all his rage, his hurt, his fury.

There’s good in her, he knows. He feels it in his bones.

And maybe in another lifetime, this could be something more. They could be, something more.

       Maybe in another lifetime, they’ll fit together.

His silver gaze glints, monochrome eyes shone as he takes a step forward, a noticeable ease in his gait as he moves to her leisurely, hesitantly. “V?” Slow, cautious, he watches her from a distance. He’d never seen her this way before, devastated. “Hey,” Closer and closer, his footsteps thud. They near, yet she doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch. A weight sears inside, a burn in each inhale. A deep baritone flows softer as he nears, vigilant. His stare falls threaded, scanning each inch of her worn limbs. Blankly, her eyes fix the floor, empty, stoic. “V.” He offers again, this time, a statement more. Guarded, he gazes the irregularity of her breath, the way a gentle chest flows uneven with shallow, fortified inhales.

The ground beneath her is fading away, he knows. He feels her in his bones. “V?” An inquire again, dust eyes seem almost opal through the dew, she finds it difficult to move. Move, whispers her head. Move. Move. Move. “V!” There had been an almost forceful shift beside her, Johnny growing increasingly alarmed; and she’d felt an primitive fear spear her heart, squeezing her lungs for a moment too long.

It had been the type of fear that couldn’t be stopped. An irrational purge of something a worn mind couldn’t explain, couldn’t comprehend.

The rich of his voice halts in her ears, the call of her name a seemingly helpless plea and consolation, all at once. “V, listen to my voice.” He speaks, assured, calmed. The vibrations flow steady through her body, the wave of his tone a special solace she’d never thought she’d find. Her eyes find his at last, lip quivering ever so slight. The gaze settles, piercing into his in plea, and the look haunts him.

Haunts him, before it’s had time to sink into his fretful realization.

She was breaking before him. “Hey, kid,” he allows, voice softer than ever before; a beautiful velvet of concern rich on his tongue. “You’ll be okay.” His cocoa kissed hair falters in hues under warm apartment lights, and he inches closer, heavy hand reaching, for her. She doesn’t move, she doesn’t flinch.

She holds back a frown; she clenches her heart inside her chest. She bids to feel numb. The pain had become achingly familiar.

Slow, gentle; his hand finds her back, supporting a fragile frame; his spare moving to hold hers. For the first time, his larger fingers thread with hers, they lace. He holds her fragile hand in his, he holds it with care. Pained eyes stare at her, expression unfolding, and she still seems lost. Lost within the jumble around.

He hadn’t been used to this; this phenomenon of touch. Affection.

But maybe, just maybe, surely, he gave a fuck about her. His eyes soften, a faint smile curling his lips just for her. A hope to offer relief. To show her someone; even if merely an apparition, was there.

Someone has her. Gently, cautiously, he grips her tight, secure, leading her drained frame to a hoary couch. He holds her hand with sincerity, he leads her with regard. He could get used to this; touch.

Smoothly, he guides her, urging to sit, finding place adjacent right beside her; and in the tenderness of the moment, his arm finds itself traveling, finding refuge wrapped to her back, his other finding form around. Within the softness of the moment, he cautiously, carefully, envelopes her, and she crumbles into him.

She nestles into his chest, eyes closing as she slowly leans heavily into him for support, her own tattered arms wrapping tightly around him in return. Wet cheeks press to his bare collarbone, and his ghastly heart aches. Beats painfully, for her.

Fingers soft, gentle, he runs them against her skin, breathing deeply at the way she curls into him further, a mellow weep escaping the depths of her throat. “I…” She begins, breath uneven still. “I had this feeling, so peculiar…” The firmness of his jaw tightens as he holds her, offering gentle strokes to her skin. “I know.” He speaks quietly, guarded. “I know, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. The first wave of contentment simmers in her veins.

His hold on her body seemed to fill the void.

The moments pass, punctuated by soft sighs, the rise and fall of his broad chest under her form. Warm, his skin feels right against hers; his heart quietly fumbles in his chest. It had been far too long since he’d held someone this way, since he’d been held in return.

To be held; something so simple, yet so direly powerful. Heavy arms wrap around her waist like irons, strong, unbending, drawing her secure back against a warm chest.

She hadn’t known Johnny was warm.

She hadn’t known something kind resides within him.

Gazing up, she meets his stare; his eye gleam with something that makes her sigh softly. Something that makes that ache inside her chest feel, that maybe, just maybe,

       in his arms right now, there was no place she’d rather be.

       no other blues in the world would do.

The hand that holds her waist loosens, opting to swiftly, gently caress hers in his, fingers intertwining as he lays it to his gear glad chest. “You’ll be okay, kid.” He breathes against the shell of her ear, a shiver, a shudder vying down her spine at the low baritone. “I’ve got you.” he holds her small, brittle fingers. The same brittle fingers that reached, reached feebly for him. They reach, they reach, they reach all at once, nestling closer, his skin pulling her in further than she’d already been.

and to a hum softly off her colour stained lips, the twitch of her mouth quivers apparent as she rests her cheek against his chest, feeling him plant a small, lingering, genuine kiss to the crown of her distraught head; lost in the sea of her hair.

A kiss to her hair. An ode to what could have been.

Perhaps, he’d been imprudently hoping to mend the cracks in her soul. Perhaps, his heart remembers what they took from him once.

    Perhaps, perhaps.

Perhaps with her, he can simply…be. The firmness of his jaw loosens, and his arms only hold her tighter.

In this moment, she seems surreal. This smaller, vulnerable, force of a women curled into him seems surreal. The words he feels bubble inside, the delicateness of his realization feels far too heavy; and her shoulders seem far too frail.

       he loves her, he knows. He battles, coils, toils within, but he knows.

And to her, in his arms;

yellow, the world seemed.

golden, yellow.

Sleep comes slowly, slowly, all then all at once.

She’d fallen asleep in his arms, somewhere along the reveries passed.

His realization had come; all at once. With her in his arms, his realization had come; an ode to sleep he whispers.

He felt himself smile faintly into her hair. In his arms tonight, she hurts, withers, wilts. And he feels himself bleed,

    for her.

yellow,

yellow,

red,

black. He feels them all, 

he bleeds them all.

   But morning will come; it has to.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

hope ya liked it! I have a permanent taglist I use for all stories, which are mainly for John Wick. if you would like to be tagged in just future Silverhand fics, lemme know and I can add you to that! 

[mcwriting]

it's just part of the job

This is a once shot based on a request by @laurentrvn! I really loved the idea and tried to stick as closely to the prompt given, so I hope you enjoy!

Ship: Tom Holland x Reader

Word Count: 1248

Warnings: can't think of any, it's pure fluff

><

You were exhausted, to be frank.

It was just past 2 a.m. in yours and Tom's London home as he prepared for a late night TV interview based in Los Angeles.

The show was taping his part at 8 p.m. their time, which converted to 3 a.m. yours during the summer months.

Normally it wouldn't have been that big of a deal.

You were so proud of Tom for his upcoming film, but you were actually in the middle of shooting your own movie in the city, something you'd been busy doing all day long.

Crazy hours are just part of the job, though.

The interview wouldn't be long, so you'd agreed to stay up with your boyfriend and make sure he was well styled so he wouldn't have to call other people to the house in those early morning hours.

Thankfully, you were going to have a two-day work break anyways as your film's scripts went through some minor rewrites.

Because of the ridiculous hour, your stomach had decided that 2 a.m. was the perfect time for a snack, so while Tom dressed you had decided to scrounge around the kitchen until you found something good.

You brewed some tea in the meanwhile, both you and Tom deciding that this wasn't an ideal time for coffee, especially considering you hadn't slept in at least 20 hours.

You walked into the bedroom, a small tray in hand with the tea and snacks stacked carefully.

"Hey I got some fruit and some cookies but let me know if- woooow..." you said, brows raised once you saw Tom's outfit in the reflection of his full-length mirror.

He'd chosen to dress in a shirt you loved, a button up with thick vertical stripes tucked into some grey slacks, an outfit which was reminiscent of 70s fashion.

You had to laugh at the fact that he was even wearing pants, though. Unfortunately he'd learned the hard way what it was like to forgo pants on a zoom meeting, so he swore to wear them for any video call from now own.

Who knew, he might even be asked about it in his interview tonight after his boxers had previously gone viral.

Tom turned and smiled at your pleased reaction, walking towards you. After you set the tray down, he snaked an arm around your waist and planted one kiss on your forehead and another to your lips.

"Think I look good, eh?"

"I'm loving the fit, but we need to put a little makeup on you," you said, shimmying from his grip and disappearing into the bathroom to find the foundation his stylist had explicitly told him to use tonight.

When you returned, he was indulging in a chocolate chip cookie, the crumbs all over his mouth.

"While you finish that, I'm going to start on your forehead," you explained as you began dabbing a beauty blender along his hairline. After a few minutes, he had an even layer painted over his face and neck.

"Am I done now? I'm supposed to log onto the call soon," he pouted.

"Almost, I just need to swipe on a little blush and neutral eyeshadow and you'll be all set," you answered, focused on picking out a blush color that would look natural on camera.

"I don't even get why I need makeup. They're going to be seeing me from my shitty computer camera and office lights. I mean look at you. You're not wearing makeup and you look great!"

You paused brushing a light rouge over one cheek to give him a half lidded look.

"Nice try, but we both know I look like I was run over with a truck," you joked.

It's not like you were even trying to sound self-deprecating, it's just that you had been awake far too long after having done a physically taxing shoot all day.

The second you'd gotten home, you'd showered and gotten rid of any trace of makeup, leaving you bare faced with damp hair that wet the collar of your old t-shirt.

"Well I think you look beautiful," Tom reiterated, kissing your forehead again as you went to grab eyeshadow.

You hummed in response and quickly brushed a light tan color over his eyelids to complete his look.

"Okay, all done. You did a good job on you hair," you commented, still instinctively reaching up to reposition a curl.

"Well that's perfect, because I need to get logged on. Why don't you relax and I'll come get you when I'm done, yeah?"

You nodded and let him go, watching him head across the hall as you sat at your vanity, sipping on the tea you'd made for yourself.

><

Though it took almost 30 minutes of sound checking and ensuring a good connection, Tom's interview had only lasted about 10 minutes.

When asked about the time in London, he'd only had one answer:

"It's just part of the job"

As expected, he'd had to show off his pants and make sure everyone knew he was wearing them despite the wee morning hour. Also unsurprisingly, he'd been asked where y/n was, explaining her taxing day and praising her for helping him get ready.

Once he closed up his laptop, he got up and turned out the office light. He then untucked and unbuttoned his shirt, ready to put on some comfy clothes and get in bed.

"Hey I'm don-" he paused and stopped in the doorway, grinning.

In the 40 or so minutes since he'd left you, you'd fallen asleep with your head down on the vanity, a half-eaten cookie in hand and your hair splayed all around the desk.

"Darling, are you awake?" he asked in a whisper, his hand gently placed over your shoulder, to make sure that you weren't just resting your head.

When he got no response, he knew you were actually asleep.

Tom quickly removed his unbuttoned shirt and exchanged his slacks for sweatpants. He also haphazardly took a makeup wipe to his face, knowing that leaving makeup on his face would cause it to break out.

Once he was cleaned up, he came back into the room to take care of you, starting by removing the cookie from your hand and placing it back on the tray.

He sat you up, your head rolling backwards until his hand could catch it. Thankfully you hadn't scooted the seat forward at all, so all he had to do was hook an arm below your knees and the other around your back.

He stood with a little huff, your dead weight no match for his strength.

Though you were asleep, your head instinctively turned into his chest as he transferred you a few feet and laid you gently on the bed where he had folded back the covers.

The missing warmth of his skin awoke you as he shuffled to the other side of the bed, so you stretched and yawned.

"Sorry that I woke you love, I was trying to be gentle," he whispered, sliding onto the mattress as you rolled to face him, still exhausted.

"It's okay. How did it go?"

"Amazing of course," he punctuated the statement with a forehead kiss. "He asked what you were up to."

"Hmm. What did you say?" you asked, cozying up to Tom.

"I told him you were out partying while I worked all day, as usual," he joked.

You snorted, not having the energy to fully laugh at his joke.

"It's just part of the job," you retorted. You were starting to slip away again.

"G'night, Tom. Love you," you slurred hazily.

"Good night, darling. I love you, too."

><

A/N: Ugh this was so cute are you kidding me??? Pretty much all the credit goes to @laurentrvn like I said before. I was given pretty much the backbone of this fic and just filled in the missing pieces, so I hope it's what you were imagining with this!

Thanks for reading!

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[pillage-and-lute]

An Ever Fixed Mark (Part 2)

Part 1, (here) Part 3, Part 4 , Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,

Read it on Ao3 HERE

Just three days after the first installation and 4,000 words? That’s right baby! Because I run on validation and whew! Y’all provided.  The courting gift scene based on a recommendation from @tempered-char. Also with a hint of Geralt’s Delicate Sensibilities, as inspired by @valdomarx +Thicc Eskel as a bonus

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

“Come in.”

It was soft, but not nervous, and Geralt pushed open the door.

Geralt wasn’t a romantic. He didn’t believe in love at first sight. From what he’d seen of the world he wasn’t so sure he believed in love at all. He could imagine, however, that if he were a painter or a poet he could have fallen in love right there.

The room was a tiny, dusty study, and standing in front of the window was, presumably, Julian. The light haloed him, dust mites floating down. Grey-blue doublet and slightly darker pants brought out clear, bright eyes, rimmed with thick lashes. 

He had a rounder jawline, the sort that was in style with painters at the moment. It leant a softness to his face. Maybe that was the fact that he was...nineteen? Geralt couldn’t remember.

He realized he was staring and bowed. It was awkard, still holding his gift and the gift from the countess. He looked up, Julian was smiling.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lord Julian,” Geralt said. “I am Geralt of Rivia.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Geralt, and please, call me Jaskier,” said the young man. He stuck out his hand. Geralt quickly shifted the gifts to one hand and shook. 

The hand was soft but not uncalloused, at the fingertips and base of the thumb. Long fingers, good for playing the lute that sat, gleaming and well cared for, in the corner.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, tasting the name. It was a good name, bright and pretty and a deadly poison if treated incorrectly. “I have a gift for you, and her ladyship gave me a gift but I haven’t opened it yet.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and sat on a plush chair, gesturing Geralt to one opposite. “I have my own gift for you,” he said. “Father and Amaria didn’t think I could get my own courting gifts.”

Geralt decided to give up on subtlety. He wanted answers and he hoped this young man, Jaskier, was willing to give them.

“They want rid of you,” he said. It was a question but without the inflection at the end. “Enough to marry you off to a witcher.”

Jaskier sighed. “Just father, Amaria doesn’t have much to do with anything these days.”

“She seemed...” Geralt trailed off, not wanting to be disrespectful.

“It’s all about heirs,” Jaskier said, standing and beginning to pace. “Suitable heirs, which I’m not.” He sent Geralt a bitter little smile and flopped back down. “My father is not a nice man, you see. He’s never taken kindly to disagreements, and to him there’s only one ‘right’ sort of man. Men like him, manly and strong who kill first and don’t bother asking questions later. I questioned him, maybe three years ago, I didn’t think he should raise taxes again. He doesn’t forgive that sort of slight.” 

Jaskier leaned forward, elbows on knees and stared at the ground for a second.

“I think he’d decided long before that, but he wants me struck from the family tree.” Jaskier looked up at Geralt. Some of his confusion must have been showing on his face.

This world of heirs and court intrigue was far from anything Geralt knew, and seemed more complicated than necessary.

“Follow me,” Jaskier said, rising and stretching out his hand again. “You can leave the gifts, we’ll be back.” Geralt set dow the gifts and hesitantly stretched out his hand, unsure if the gesture was figurative or if he was actually supposed to take it. Jaskier took him gently by the wrist and led him from the room.

“The halls are a maze,” he said, letting go a coridor later. “Follow close behind me, you could get lost.” Geralt did so. He couldn’t imagine anything more embarassing than having a footman fetch him from one of these little stone tunnels.

They emerged in yet another dusty hall, lined with tapestries. Jaskier stopped in between two, and in front of a large, painted wooden panel. It had a tree.

A family tree. 

“My father,” Jaskier said, tracing his finger along dusty, painted branches. “Finds it very important that the next Earl be his direct blood, and also his kind of man.” He looked at Geralt significantly. “That meant ridding himself of Amaria’s sons from her first marriage, by the laws of our country, he could have been heir. That also means getting rid of me.”

This explanation did not help Geralt’s bafflement. Jaskier sighed again, although he didn’t seem to be doing so at Geralt.

“Amaria had two sons, both manly and well suited to my father, but not his direct blood. And they were older than me, set to inherit the role of Earl first. They met with horrible accidents.” A shadow passed of Jaskier’s boyish face. 

“Strange coincidence, how a large rock managed to tumble from the ramparts on to Isak not even a week after the same thing happened to Tomas. Especially since there’s not rocks up there. I checked.”

“Your father,” Geralt said, a little numbly. “Had his stepson’s murdered.” He knew nobility could be nasty but still... “And we’ve made a deal with him.”

Jaskier patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry too much about it, Father mostly doesn’t do too much harm these days, and Filip, that’s my half brother, seems like he’ll turn out okay. Then again, he’s only seven.”

“Is he going to have you killed?” Geralt asked, knowing as he did that the Earl was trying, by way of marrying Jaskier to him.

“Not exactly. I don’t know if it’s because I’m blood or just because another ‘accident’ would look suspicious, but there’s an easier way.” Jaskier pointed to a name circled in blue. “That’s my aunt Matylda, father’s older sister. She got married, which officially makes her part of her husband’s family tree, not ours, and she can no longer inherit,” Jaskier paused. “If she weren’t already a woman, I mean.”

“But we’re both men,” Geralt said. “I could just as easily become part of your family tree and then your father’s problem.”

“Yes,” Jaskier said, “In theory, but of course that isn’t how he played it. I’ll be an honorary witcher, and my name,” here he tapped some fine script. “Will be circled in blue and removed from the line.”

They both looked at the tree, looming darkly for a while. 

“I’m sorry,” Geralt offered, although he supposed it wasn’t worth much.

“I’m sorry too,” Jaskier said. “You shouldn’t be roped into all this.”

Geralt privately considered that, yes, while he would have preferred to avoid all this intrigue and politics, Jaskier didn’t seem too bad.

Jaskier led him back through the stone rabbit warren that made up the bowels of the castle.

“Is her ladyship...like that, because of the death of her sons?” Geralt asked when they paused at the top of a staircase. 

Jaskier cocked his head sadly, and then continued walking. Aftr a few more paced he said, “Yes, mostly. She wasn’t always...present, I suppose before but when they died so close together, and in such an awful way-- there’s nothing nice about a block of stone dropping on you from four stories up--something broke. She’s a nice lady, just happier living in her head, I think. Maybe she goes somewhere else, where her boys and her first husband are alive, I hope.”

They arrived back at the study without another word. 

They sat.

“I, um.” Geralt said. “Hmmm. I got you,” he proferred the package, not knowing what to say and begging Jaskier to save him from trying to figure it out. 

Jaskier took the package and pulled the string so that it fell open. The doublet slithered out. Vesemir had sent a letter asking for measurements as soon as Geralt had told him the idea.

“It’s basilisk leather,” Geralt said. “Witchers, um, our Path, it can be dangerous, so you should have this.”

Jaskier held up the fabric, watching the colors, deep blue and green, shift across the slick material. Privately, and for no reason Geralt could really guess at, he was very pleased, both that the doublet was in what seemed to be Jaskier’s colors, and also at the awe struck look on his face.

“It’s as light as silk,” Jaskier said, passing the fabric between his fingers. “And you said it’s leather?”

“Basilisk leather,” Geralt said. Monsters. They were talking about monsters, which he knew about. Thank the gods. “It’s like armor, and it won’t burn or get wet, water just runs off.”

“I didn’t know there was such a thing as basilisk leather,” Jaskier said, holding the doublet up. “Where did you get it? It’s incredible.”

Geralt coughed modestly, and tried not to puff his chest. “I killed the basilisk. Making the leather needs different skills than normal tanning, it’s more like potion making.” He remembered that most people knew little about witcher skills and needs. “All witchers know some alchemy, and we make potions for combat so I...I tanned it. My brother Lambert drew up the design, I don’t know much about clothes.”

The tailor had nearly cried when they’d presented him with the fabric, exclaiming about it’s luster and the ‘glorious smooth hand’, whatever that meant. 

Geralt watched Jaskier’s face anxiously. It wasn’t a courtly gift, no crown of pearls or whatever nobles expected, but it had taken him two months to turn the basilisk skin into leather. It would have taken him half the time but he’d had to do it on the road. Lambert had fussed about the design for almost a week too, and it had been Eskel’s idea to ask for the buttons to be little black pearls like that.

Vesemir had smiled at the team effort, calling it the wolves gift to their new pup.

Jaskier looked up at him, face like a sunbeam. 

“Can I try it on?”

Geralt just nodded, and looked away modestly as Jaskier divested himself of his previous doublet before buttoning the basilisk leather.

He twirled, and in the light from the window the fabric seemed to glow, shifting and turning with each movement. 

“And it really will keep me safe?” he asked, looking down at himself, beaming. 

Geralt nodded. “It would take a battle axe a dozen tries to pierce it.”

Jaskier smiled at him again, and it made Geralt’s stomach tingle, although he had eaten some suspect meat on the ride to Lettenhove. Then Jaskier threw his arms around his neck.

Geralt wasn’t old fashioned. He could move with the times, whatever Lambert said, but manners had been stiffer sixty years ago and Geralt was just thankful that Jaskier wouldn’t be able to see the tips of his ears going red.

“It’s beautiful,” Jaskier said, pulling back. “Thank you.”

Geralt shrugged uncomfortably. Jaskier smelled like soap and some sort of oil. Linseed maybe, probably for the wood of his lute.

“I have a gift for you, it’s not as lovely, but I hope you like it.”

Geralt carefully took the package. It was wrapped much prettier than his had been. “The countess already...”

“That was from her,” Jaskier said dismissively. “And maybe even from Father, although I doubt it, he wouldn’t waste money on me. But this gift is from me.” He sat forward eagerly. “Go on, open it.”

Geralt wasn’t about to refuse that eager, open expression, so he pulled at the ribbon, feeling rather like a bear trying to tie a shoelace.

The bright paper just fell away and there was a stiff paper box. He opened that too. 

Three glass bottles sat inside, nestled in paper. The paper was only there to keep them from clinking because as he pulled one out he saw the telltale dark sheen.

Brimstone glass. It was unbreakable. Sometimes witchers carried their more noxious potions in it but rarely, it was frighteningly expensive, usually only mages could afford it.

“How?” he said. How did you afford it? How did you know it existed? Did you know witchers use potions? He looked up at Jaskier, who looked nervous.

“Are they alright?” he said. “Only I won them off a sorceror in a pub. He told me they were indestructible and threw one at the ground to prove it. I thought they’d be useful...Was it a trick?” He looked so upset at the prospect.

“These, Geralt said, “Are Brimstone Glass, they are indeed indestructible and very, very useful.” Jaskier’s face split into a grin again. 

“Thank you,” Geralt said. It didn’t seem like enough, but if he hugged the lad like Jaskier had him he would kill him.

“Should I open the box from the countess?”

“Do,” Jaskier said. “I want to know what it is.”

The latch flicked easily under Geralt’s hand and the lid popped open.

Jaskier gasped.

“It’s my mother’s ring,” he said. “I don’t remember her well, but I remember her hands...”

It was a beautiful ring, opal, if Geralt was any judge, but Eskel knew stones better than him. Silver wound around the stone, with smaller gems studding the setting to either side. 

“I will use it in the ceremony,” Geralt said, offering it to Jaskier. “If it fits.”

“It won’t fit,” Jaskier said sadly. “Mother had very small hands, but it’s a nice thought.”

Geralt looked at the ring and Jaskier’s left hand. “Try it?”

Jaskier did, sliding the ring onto his finger easily. He looked at it in amazement.

“Amaria must have had it enlarged,” he said.

“A good gift,” Geralt said, although not sure who the gift was really for.

There came a polite knock at the door, interupting the moment, whatever sort of moment it was.

“My lord, it is time for supper.”

Damn. 

Jaskier slipped the ring back into the box and Geralt looked away as he changed into his regular doublet. He didn’t look away fast enough and caught a scandalous glimpse of collarbone and soft chest hair where the chemise got pulled down a little. The air felt a little stuffy suddenly.

The gifts, and Geralt was proud to see that Jaskier folded the doublet carefully back into the paper, although nothing could have harmed it, were handed to a footman to be taken back to their respective rooms.Geralt offered Jaskier his arm, like he’d seen the nobility do, and then Jaskier led him to the dining hall.

To his relief, the hall wasn’t packed. They were what Lambert would call ‘fashionably late’ (and what Vesemir would call a reason for three extra laps) and all the guests were seated. A table held Lady Amaria and a man who must be the Earl, although there was little visible resemblance to Jaskier. They were seated with perhap half a dozen other nobles, as well as a red headed boy of about seven, Filip, probably, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. There was another table of presumably more minor nobility, and then a small table with the wolves, two seats still empty.

All eyes turned to look at the pair. Jaskier bowed deeply, and since his arm was still linked with Geralt’s he was made to bow too, or else risk having his arm pulled from its socket. Then they made their way to the smallest table.

Geralt pulled out Jaskier’s chair for him and saw Vesemir’s approving nod, as well as Lambert’s smirk. He didn’t see the swift kick Eskel delivered below the table, but caught the way Lambert’s eyes watered suddenly, and smiled at his brother in thanks for the retribution. Then he sat.

“Julian,” Vesemir said, reaching over the table to shake hands. “I am Vesemir, Geralt’s teacher. It is a pleasure to meet you.” 

“I am happy to make your aquaintance, Master Vesemir,” Jaskier said, and Geralt was impressed that he only winced a little bit as Vesemir inadvertently crushed his knuckles in a grip that could moor a boat. He did, however, gently shake out his fingers under the table once he’d been released.

“If you please, however,” Jaskier continued as if nothing had happened. “I prefer my nickname, Jaskier.”

“Jaskier it is, then,” Vesemir said, moustache twitching up at the corners. Geralt suspected he was thinking the same as he had done. Buttercups, pretty and poisonous.

“You were educated at Oxenfurt, is that correct?” Eskel said.

“Yes, in the fine arts, although I specialized in music composition and lute performance. I didn’t catch your name...?” The most delicate question mark was added to the end of the statement. Eskel blushed, Jaskier wouldn’t know it, but Geralt could see the back of his neck reddening.

“Eskel,” he said quickly. “And the asshole who’s snickering is Lambert.”

Jaskier didn’t look even a little intimidated by either of Geralt’s brothers, which was impressive, because Lambert could scowl like it was a contest and Eskel, although only an inch taller than Geralt, was naturally hugely muscled in a way even the mutagens hadn’t managed for Geralt. His chest and arms looked like they’d withstand a siege weapon.

Jaskier turned a smile on Lambert, who was sputtering indignantly at Eskel’s entirely fair description.

“I’m told you helped with my beautiful courting gift,” he said. Then he turned the smile on all of the wolves. “A team effort I imagine.” 

This stunned all three brothers, and made Vesemir smile. Lambert shrugged uncomfortably. For all his prickliness, he couldn’t take a compliment. 

“Eskel’s idea for the buttons,” he muttered, and Geralt knew he’d been entirely won over.

“The buttons are beautiful,” Jaskier said, smiling warmly at Eskel now, who looked like he’d rather be facing a mountain troll. 

“Was Vesemir that got your measurements,” he said, looking down at the tablecloth. Jaskier beamed at the whole table then.

“Truly a team effort, thank you all, it’s beautiful and I cannot wait to wear it.” With that the whole table was well and truly won over by Jaskier. Geralt couldn’t help but brag a little.

“Jaskier gave me Brimstone Glass bottles as a courting gift,” he said, and preened slightly under the others’ slightly jealous noises of amazement. Jaskier flushed a very pretty pink. 

“I just thought they’d be useful,” he said, although his smile was pleased.

Serving girls entered the hall with trays and the chatter in the hall expanded excitedly. A plump young woman set a tray down at their table and Eskel hummed in appreciation.

“It smells delicious,” he said. She smiled at him, looked him up and down, and then winked.

“Oh doesn’t it just, I could just eat it all up,” she said, not looking at the food even as she lifted the cloche from the appetizers. Then she winked and disappeared back into the kitchen. Another girl appeared and filled the goblets but the witchers hardly noticed for laughing at Eskel’s face.

“Seems Mabel took a liking to you,” Jaskier said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. Through his own laughter, Geralt watched Jaskier’s father glaring at their table. Good. The old fuck could choke on it, he didn’t look like he’d ever laughed a day in his life. 

“Careful though,” Jaskier was saying. “She looked ready to take a bite out of you.”

“But,” Eskel gestured, baffled to his face.

“Oh pish,” Jaskier said, taking a swig of wine. “Nobody cares about that sort of thing, do they? Plenty of ladies around here like a few scars, makes men look rugged and dangerous.”

“Rugged?” Eskel rubbed his hand over his face, contemplating. 

“Definitely,” said Jaskier, nodding. He took one of the appetizers. Geralt moved a few to his own plate and slowly their little table descended into a quiet contentment. The appetizers were good, hors d'oeuvres , Geralt remembered Lambert telling him once. They were little bits of paste, meat and vegetable mostly, inside pastry casings.

He smiled when he noticed that he and his brothers were all looking between Jaskier and Vesemir to make sure they hadn’t missed any manners. Eskel swiped Lambert’s elbows off the table.

Eventually the appetizers were replaced with soup. The saucy kitchen girl, Mabel, Jaskier had called her, made a positively salacious remark to Eskel. Something daring about him licking everything clean. Eskel smiled faintly and turned redder than the beet soup.

“You should flirt back,” Jaskier said, once Mabel was gone. “If you’re actually interested, I mean.”

“It’s not that I’m not. Interested I mean,” Eskel squeaked. “But I can’t offer her anything, no marriage or security.”

Jaskier looked at him. It was definitely a look, although not a nasty one. “She asked you to lick her clean and you think that was an invitation to marriage?”

“I wouldn’t want to defile...”

“Oh shut up Eskel, sex doesn’t defile anything. It’s natural and normal and if you think it some how ‘decreases the value’ of a woman than you aren’t the man I thought you to be.” Lambert cut in. “Have some fun, maybe she can remove the stick you’ve lodged up your ass.”

“You’re right, of course,” Eskel said. But now Jaskier was looking worried.

“It won’t be a problem, right?” he asked Geralt. “That I’m not, um a virgin, I mean?”

“No,” Geralt said, probably missing the mark on reassuring, but doing his best. “Unless you mind that I’m not one either. And there is no fidelity clause, and no consummation, you needn’t sleep with me, and you’re free to see other people.”

Jaskier looked at first relieved and then impish, licking the soup from his spoon in a way that made significant parts of Geralt’s brain go numb. “I dunno,” he said, leaning towards Geralt and bumping him with a shoulder. “I can’t imagine consumation with you would be such a chore.”

Melitele’s great gauzy veil, this boy would be the death of him.

There was a pause between soup and the main course, but when Mabel picked up the dishes Eskel leaned towards her and asked if he’d licked it clean enough, to the woman’s obvious approval.

They sat and chatted, Jaskier, Eskel, and Vesemir debated over some old literature that Geralt had never heard of, and then they were interuppted with a cough.

The earl stood, face like stone, beside their table. 

They rose. Vesemir bowed.

“My Lord,” he said. “It is a pleasure to make your aquaintance. I am Vesemir, of the school of the wolf.”

Lord Pankratz inclined his head. “Greetings, Master Vesemir,” he said. “I wish to discuss some of the terms of the contract with you.”

He snapped his fingers and a footman brought him a chair, without waiting for Vesemir’s response.

The wolves sat, feeling wary. Jaskier was looking down at his hands, shoulders shrunk in.

They sat in suspense as Vesemir and Lord Pankratz hashed out details of the legal protections. The main course appeared and the earl stood, and bowed.

“Why don’t we continue this after desert,” he said, smiling smoothly. And it was a very smooth smile. Like an oil slick.

Dinner after that was subdued, despite Eskel returning Mabel’s flirtations. Jaskier looked down at his plate most of the time and the witchers picked up on his unease.

“What’s wrong, Jaskier?” Geralt whispered.

“I don’t know, but he’s planning something, and I don’t like it.”

Then coffee was served after dessert, and the Earl de Lettenhove sat at their table again. 

“Now, for what I really wanted to discuss, I know political marriages can be...challenging,” the earl said in a voice like a snake. “But I wanted to make it clear, should either member express a wish to anul the marriage, the contract will become void.” Here he squeezed Jaskier’s shoulder so hard he winced. “I couldn’t bear for my dear Julian to be unhappy, you see. He’s high maintainance I know, but I wish him the best.”

The earl smiled a despicable little smile. “Now, I think you two shouldn’t really see more of each other before the wedding, yes? Bad luck and all.”

The earl then hauled Jaskier away by his collar.

“What a cunt,” Lambert said.

“I figured that was in the contract anyway,” Geralt said. “Isn’t that normally how it works?”

Vesemir nodded. “Indeed, it’s how these marriages go. But I expect the earl is betting that the two of you wont be able to stand eachother, and so he gets rid of his son and doesn’t have to help witchers all in one go.”

“Yes, Jaskier explained things.”

And then Geralt told his family what Jaskier had told him. The suspicious accidents, the laws, the family tree.

“I agree with Lambert,” Eskel said. “What a gigantic fucking cunt.”

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

What’s with my thing about clothing descriptions and fancy cloth? I’m a fashion design major, that’s what. 

We’ve got answers about Amaria, and the reason for the engagement, but what’s the wedding going to be like? oooh, cliffhanger, but not too much so I hope it makes up for last time when I was so bad to you all.

Tag List!  @llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar @aziz-the-fangirl @mordoriscalling @bastardofmothman @negativenuggetz @morte-mistrata  @hayleynzlive @filledepluie @bygodstillam@sociowithatardisachevyandawand @faery-god @honeysuckletook @theflurtifly @saibowtie @werevampiwolf @frywen-babbles @the-kewlest@innocentbi-stander @1stbonesfan @aqueenrisesintheeast  @marauders-fan-account @ineffable-lasagna 

@ailorian @toothhurtyam I’m having trouble adding you, I can’t tag if this is a password protected side blog or if you have Allow Blog to Appear in Search Results off, I think. 

[cocobeanncteez]

ATEEZ Wooyoung- School President (Oneshot)

Genre: light angst, suggestive/steamy, high school au.

Pairing: SchoolPresident!Wooyoung x badgirl!reader

Warnings: none.

"Miss L/N, detention after school till 4 p.m." your chemistry teacher said, making you mentally groan. It was the last class of the day and you were dying to go home, but now you had to stay for an extra hour. All your classmates turned to look at you, but they weren't surprised. "You still haven't submitted the assignment."

"Can I just submit it tomorrow?" you asked in a bored tone.

"No, you were supposed to submit it a week ago," she said, gathering her stuff to leave the class. "Detention with Mrs. Hwang today." You heard people around you snicker. Well, fuck. Mrs. Hwang was the strictest teacher in school. Even you were scared of her despite your badass attitude.

You got up from your seat, leaving the classroom with an annoyed expression on your face.

"Detention again, Y/N?" your bestfriend asked as she made her way to you with your other friends.

You rolled your eyes. "Ms. Jang will never fucking let me live in peace. I'll see you guys tomorrow," you said, making your way to detention.

You were surprised to find the room empty. Usually, there would always be about three or five students. Since no one was here, you decided to ditch; you would skip school the next day so that your teachers will forget about it. You turned around to leave, but ended up bumping into someone, slightly startling yourself.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at your school president and heartthrob—also called 'senior's eye candy' at your school—Jung Wooyoung.

You had to admit, he was certainly the most handsome guy you've ever seen. Jung Wooyoung was absolutely perfect. Every girl wanted him and every guy wanted to be him. You were sure half your school tried to hit on him despite the fact that he has a girlfriend.

"Unfortunately, I'm here to make sure that you won't escape detention as Mrs. Hwang is busy, so take a seat," he said, moving around you to sit on a chair and taking a notebook out of his bag.

You always found Jung Wooyoung very interesting. Other guys like him—the nerdy ones—can't even talk to you, let alone look you in the eye. Jung Wooyoung was the complete opposite.

You sat on one of the chairs, immediately taking your phone out.

"You can't use your phone here," Wooyoung said, not looking up at you from his notebook. "Why don't you complete your assignment?"

You scoffed. "And if I don't? What are you gonna do about it?"

"Nothing," he said, looking at you. "It's not affecting me in any way, so I don't care. However, Ms. Jang is gonna fail you again if you don't submit your assignment."

You knew he was right. And that annoyed you; you really just wanted to shut his pretty mouth up.

"Whatever," you mumbled, taking out a notebook and the assignment sheet to start working on the reactions you had to write.

However, you were completely blank. You didn't know or understand a word given on the sheet. You bit your lip as you stared at the sheet, wondering what to do.

Finally, you took out your phone and googled all the reactions, easily finishing the assignment in less than half an hour.

"You know, you won't be able to copy during finals," Wooyoung said, closing his notebook. "Even if you're copying now, at least learn what you've copied."

"I didn't ask for your comments," you retort. He was about to say something, but his phone rang.

"Hey, baby," he answered. " . . . I'm in charge of detention today . . . Oh, that's okay," his face fell slightly. " . . . No, it's alright. We can go some other day . . . Hmm, I love you too. Bye!"

You snorted, feeling bad for the boy. You were surprised someone as smart as him hasn't figured out that his girlfriend has been cheating on him. You've seen his girlfriend shoving her tongue down random people in the club, and hitting on people at your school. You remembered how shocked you were when you first found out that she was cheating on him; because why would anyone cheat on someone as perfect as Jung Wooyoung?

"You can leave now," Wooyoung said, getting up from his seat. "Detention is over." You nodded, leaving as fast as you can, just wanting to go home and sleep.

"Your grades aren't very bad, but they aren't great either, Y/N," your class teacher said. "You'll get into an average college with these grades. But I know you can do much better. So I've asked one of the prefects to tutor you in Chemistry and Physics."

You groaned. "Can I do it by myself?"

"You wouldn't do it by yourself," she said. "Anyway, Jung Wooyoung will be tutoring you. Discuss and decide your timings with him. I expect you to score well on the next exam. I do not want to see you fail in any subject again." Before you could say anything, the door to the staff room opened, revealing none other than Jung Wooyoung. "Ah, Wooyoung, I just told Y/N that you will be tutoring her," she said. "I'm expecting you to do a great job."

Wooyoung smiled. "I won't let you down, Mrs. Park. But Y/N must put in efforts or else there's no point," he stated in a polite tone, and you rolled your eyes.

"Yes, that's true," she turned to look at you. "I'm expecting nothing but your best efforts, Y/N." She's always expecting something, huh, you thought. You only smiled, bowing politely.

"I'll do my best."

-

"What the actual fuck is this?" you mumbled, staring at the lengthy derivation written in Wooyoung's notebook. He rolled his eyes, so tired of hearing you say that to literally everything you saw written in his notebook.

"Ah, why did they have to make me tutor you of all people?" he whined. "You clearly haven't paid attention in class for even half a second."

"No one told you to accept it," you said, ignoring his last comment.

"I had to," he scoffed, stretching his arms out, making you glance at the veins on his arms. "Extra credits, you know?"

"Nerd," you muttered under your breath. He heard you, but didn't say anything. He began teaching you how to derive it; you paid attention for the first few seconds before zoning out. When you zoned back in, he asked you to explain what he just explained. You bit your lip, thinking of what to say.

He sighed. "You didn't pay attention again."

"I zoned out, sorry."

"That's what you said for the previous derivation," he said, a disappointed look on his face while he packed up his things.

"You're leaving already?" you asked, glancing at the time on your phone; you still had twenty minutes left.

"I'm not going to waste my time teaching you right now," he said. "You clearly aren't in the mood to focus." You only scoffed, watching him leave the library. You bit your lip, feeling kinda bad for not paying attention when he was making an effort to teach you.

The look of disappointment he showed you had somehow made you determined to prove that you could focus and do better.

You were at Wooyoung's house, sitting on his bed and scrolling through your social media while waiting for him to finish changing out of his uniform. You spent an entire two weeks studying your ass off, and you were proud you made a big improvement, thanks to Wooyoung. He was quite surprised that you were actually making an effort to understand whatever he taught you. You both even became friends, and you were quite happy about that.

"I'm done," he said, coming out of his bathroom, making you look up from your phone. You held your breath at the sight of Wooyoung dressed in grey sweatpants and a black tank top. You couldn't stop yourself from checking him out: the veins running down his muscled arms, his exposed collarbones, his sharp jawline, his plump lips . . .

You were so immersed into checking him out, you didn't realize he was doing the same to you. He loved how your uniform skirt rid up your thighs, and how another two buttons on your shirt were unbuttoned, exposing a little bit of your cleavage. Before you knew it, he was slowly making his way towards you, eyes now locked with yours.

"Let's start, hmm?" he said with a smirk; he knew you were checking him out.

You clear your throat a little. "Yeah, let's start."

You spent the next half an hour trying to pay attention to whatever Wooyoung was teaching you. It didn't help that he absentmindedly placed his hand on your knee, or brushed your hand with his; he knew exactly what he was doing to you. Your mind kept wandering to the things you want him to do to you right now on his bed.

" . . . and now you should tell me," he leaned a little close to you with a smirk, making your heartbeat speed up. "Which formula should be used?"

"Fuck this," you muttered, pushing the books aside before straddling Wooyoung's lap.

"Took you long enough," he chuckled, and you crashed your lips on his. He instantly kissed you back, hands moving to grip your waist. You wouldn't admit it to anyone, but you have been dreaming about kissing Wooyoung the second he talked back to you a year ago.

You pulled away to litter his neck in kisses, sucking the skin gently. He groaned softly, making you smirk. "Fan of neck kisses?"

"You have no idea," he said, hands moving underneath your skirt to grip your bare inner thighs. He gave it a squeeze, making you involuntarily grind down on him. He moaned at the feeling, encouraging you to do it again. You moved your lips back to his, grinding on him even more. Wooyoung's hands slipped into your panties, grabbing your ass to help you grind down on him faster. The friction made you moan, craving for more. You tugged on his shirt, breaking the kiss to let him pull it off. You ran your hand down his toned torso in awe, loving the feeling of his abs beneath your fingertips. Your eyes widened at the tattoo above his hip bone. "You have a tattoo?!"

Wooyoung gripped your hips, moving you off of him so that he could hover over you. "Mhmm, bet you never expected the nerdy school president to have a tattoo, huh?" Your hands moved to his hair, playing it with while he began to kiss your neck, driving you crazy.

Wooyoung kissed down your chest till where your shirt was unbuttoned. He glanced up at you, fingers toying with the buttons. "Can I?" he asked. You nodded, letting him unbutton your shirt and slip it off you. You sucked in a breath when he ran his fingers over the lacy material of your bra.

"Take it off," you whined, making him chuckle.

"Patience, baby," he said, one hand gently rubbing your thigh.

But you really didn't have any patience right now.

You brought his lips to yours while you moved his hand to touch you where you desperately needed him, surprising him a little. He kissed you back hungrily while his finger moved on your clothed clit, applying pressure, making you get wetter. Your moans made him smirk; he loved how he was the reason behind it.

You both got startled at the sudden sound of his garage opening. He halted his movements, pulling away from you instantly.

"One of my parents is back from work," he said, quickly putting on his tank top and handing you your uniform shirt. You quickly buttoned it and straightened out your hair; you really did not want Wooyoung's strict parents to suspect anything since they already did not like the idea of him tutoring you in his final year of high school.

Wooyoung's father knocked on his bedroom door before opening it, finding you and Wooyoung busy writing equations.

"Oh, hey, dad! How was work?" Wooyoung asked with a sweet, innocent smile like as if he wasn't smirking a few minutes ago while touching you.

"Hello, Mr. Jung," you said politely.

"Hello, Y/N," he said. "Work was all right, as usual. How is your tutoring session going?"

"Good, dad," Wooyoung said, trying to control himself from smirking. "It's going really great."

[creativeashproductions]

When Fate Intervenes // Luke Patterson

IN WHICH: Fate intervenes with a trio of musicians on the night that was supposed to be legendary. Fate puts the reader with a special ability that may or may not be able to save them. Fate puts a clairvoyant, an accidentally upsized pizza and thirteen year old oddly obsessed with a rock band.

Warnings: Swearing, food poison, death, and fluff

Words: 2.8k

A/N: Time to get rid of some fic ideas from my TOO LONG of a list. It’s Julie fault, she keeps encouraging each fic idea I tell her.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!

Masterlist

The Orpheum, 1995

The line up comprised of countless girls wearing homemade band shirts for the new band performing. Your little sister, at thirteen years old, had pleaded for weeks if not three months to go watch it. It was odd since she was more in the pop scene than the rock music. Your parents would never let her go to the rock show at night, so it was you or no show. It took a promise of doing your chores for an entire month and her dessert for two months. That was why you stood beside Harper among the fangirls while you clicked through the camera you’d saved up for years.

“I’m so excited.” Harper buzzed dancing on your feet as the time on her watch dwindled down more and more.

Your eyes flitted from the screen to the ball of energy you called your little sister, “I can tell. Which one do you have a crush on?”

“Reggie. He’s the bassist and so fucking-sorry freaking cool.” Harper gushed, “A good portion of the fans are obsessed with the lead singer Luke. Bobby is the rhythm guitarist, and he’s a ladies man, but he’s sweet about it.”

“And you’d know that how?” You questioned letting go of the camera around your neck. Your e/c eyes meeting her matching pair of irises; well yours were a bit more vibrant.

“I just know.” Harper retorted before beaming as she roughly poked the pin she’d made herself, “This represents all of them. Red for Reggie’s plaid shirt he always has, orange for Bobby’s love of oranges, yellow for Luke’s energy and pink for Alex because he loves the colour!”

The pin had their band design with Sunset Curve on it with the words outlined with a sunset made up of red, orange, yellow and pink just as Harper had pointed out. By far, it was her best work, but that was expected from an art student at Los Feliz High School. An art school for artists and performers. You attended for photography and creative writing just as Harper attended for art.

“That might be your best work Harps.” You complimented your little sister who shivered in the cool night breeze. You didn’t even think about tugging off your warm jacket to place on her shoulders.

You’d rather be cold than your little sister no matter how much you fought with each other, the Y/L/N siblings had each other’s backs no matter what.

“Thanks.” Harper murmured, leaning closer, “So do I meet Reggie?”

Your eyes widened slightly at her subtle goading to a part of your life was cinematic. It was a piece of you that very few people knew about, only your parents and Harper. Like most of the women in your paternal lineage, you carried the ability to foresee events in the future. A clairvoyant.

“Harper!” You scolded the young teenager who blatantly was just over-excited to see the band she’d been talking about constantly.

Harper’s cheeks turned a cherry blossom pink under the crappy lighting from the marquee sign. Even in the light, you noticed the changes in her face as she matured into a young woman, her cheeks while still full didn’t have that baby cheek look now. You saw a stubborn zit that you could see under the makeup that didn’t entirely match her skin tone. It caused an ache in your heart to know that soon she’d have the experience of heartbreak.

“Sorry!”

“You told me these guys are my age. Need I remind you that you are thirteen? If anyone older than thirteen makes an advance I’ll put my softball skills to the test.” You sternly informed the shorter girl with the pout that screamed rebellion, “Just be a kid Harps.”

“Like you said Y/N, I’m thirteen. I’m not a kid anymore.” Harper dropped the attitude to adopt a more mature soft tone. You could see the tinge of sadness in her eyes at losing the part of life where it was easy.

“I know. I can wish you’ll stay that annoying little kindergartener that stole my clothing.” You chuckled, “You’ll always be the Stephanie to my DJ.”

The two Y/L/N siblings momentarily glanced around before hugging as quickly as possible, they still had reputations to uphold. Had you been actually paying attention, you and Harper would have noticed the commotion from the people behind you.

As you and Harper had the sweet moment, the very band performing had raced out the alley into the street. What brought you back to the surroundings was the pizza boy delivering the pizza box to you. 

“Wait, we ordered a small!” You exclaimed finding the boy holding an extra-large pizza. You only received a shrug in response with the right change given back. 

Two things happened with this food mistake, you didn’t have to pay more than what you actually ordered, and you still got the larger pizza. However, the Orpheum didn’t allow outside food, meaning you’d have to force-feed yourself all the pizza or trash more than half. 

“We could shar-” Harper was cut off as a blinding white light became your focal point. Harper knew what was happening by the specific groan coming from your lips.

A nauseating scent of cheap meat, gas and chemicals flooded your sense of smell in the dingy alleyway. It was nighttime with a few people in the general vicinity with a dilapidated table and mismatched chairs on the walls’ edge. A poorly made sign with Sam & Ella’s and going by the vendor selling the hot dogs the name fit. Sam & Ella sounded like salmonella.

From a distance, you couldn’t quite hear the conversation between three male teens, but you had a bad feeling. They all migrated to a ratty couch that had been better days, a rat wouldn’t even crawl on it you swore.

The first boy had slicked back hair with rosy cheeks you dubbed innocent and cute that juxtapositioned his rocker attire. He had polished black leather shoes, pleather if his choice of food was an indication, a leather jacket and a red plaid shirt around his waist. His attention focused on the two guys beside him. In the middle, the boy had the blue hood of his sweater pulled over his messy brown hair as if hiding. Nothing stood out about him, and it seemed like that was intentional. On the other side, the last one was the tallest with his blonde hair hidden by the backwards black hat. A distressed dark grey jean jacket open to proudly display his pink hoodie. Each one wearing black pants and adorning rings.

“This is awesome, you guys. We’re playing the Orpheum!” The middle boy joyfully spoke head in the clouds instead of the questionable surroundings. He arguably had the loveliest smile you had ever seen, and his friends had nice smiles at that as well.

Yet even if this hadn’t taken place, however, it still felt like you were intruding on something incredibly private, “Why am I being shown this?”

Your question went unsurprisingly unanswered.

“I can’t even count how many bands have played here! And then ended up being huge!” He happily sunk into the back of the couch, thinking of all the bands he had CDs to in his room, “We’re gonna be legends!”

“Oh.” You breathed as you caught a whiff from the boys that quickly gave you the understanding of why you saw this. You could only smell what you had dubbed as death, the scent unchanging from the first time you’d encountered it.

The death stench accompanied a clairvoyant vision if the object of your vision was sick or about to die. The first time you encountered, it was a vision of two cars colliding, the sound of shattering glass and crunching metal, the scent of burning flesh overpowering the milder stench. The next morning school was cancelled after a teacher died in a car accident on the way to work.

“Eat up, boys. ’Cause after tonight, everything changes.” The only vocal one continued with his two friends silently listening. The trio toasted their food together.

“No!” You exclaimed as each boy took a bite. You held your breath, hoping that the inevitable in the vision wouldn’t occur.

Unfortunately, it was right away the warning appeared. The blonde one the most affected, “That’s a new flavour.”

“Chill, man. Street dogs haven’t killed us yet.” The leather jacket guy proudly spoke, the least one concerned. 

Even the guy in the middle was concerned but ultimately continued eating.

“Stop it!” You shouted, but it was no use. As with every vision, you had the potential to stop it from coming true, but while in the vision, you couldn’t interact with the people or surrounding. No matter how much you wanted to slam the food out of their hands.

But one thing sends shivers down your spine. The one in the middle made direct eye contact with you. Something that had never happened before nor to any previous clairvoyants. He kept eye contact as he slowly grew sicker and sicker.

The three boys had no chance as the ambulance rushed to the alleyway to save them. The paramedics weren’t as quick as the vendors who’d already packed and fled to protect their own hides.

You watched as the paramedics did everything in their power to save the young teenagers with everything possible. Just like Luke sang in their last song, the boys felt the darker version of an electric hammer to the heart. The clocks freezing in place as they each took their last breathe in the oddest of deaths. You saw the blonde guy die painfully first before followed by the formerly hooded one, the terrified cries of the last one haunting your phantom ears.

How did three healthy teenagers die on the same night of the exact nature within minutes of each other without one surviving? Maybe it had something to do with the hot dogs chilling in the liquid that was a cesspool of bacteria compounded with tained condiments from battery acid.

You roughly came out of the vision shaking and pale-faced frantically scanning the surroundings. Harper had a grip on the extra large pizza box while the other tightly held yours to ground you in the present.

“Are you okay?” Harper softly questioned with the panic hidden inside her body. Harper knew that this vision had been one of the bad ones. The haunted look in your eyes hinting towards death in the near future.

“We need to go.” You frantically replied, grabbing the pizza that would hopefully have a hand in saving three hopeful teens.

Your gym teacher would be proud of the distance diminished and speed you kept towards the area that would further shatter you. Foreseeing death and sometimes unable to stop it always had a nasty impact on you. 

“Where are we going?” Harper yelled, “We’ll miss the doors opening!”

“We’ll miss them if we don’t hurry up!” You shouted back at the disgruntled little sister but at the moment that didn’t matter. 

What mattered was three hungry teenagers about to gorge themselves on death dogs if you didn’t make it in time. It appeared for the first time you’d actually manage to stop the deaths, unlike the previous three times. 

“-tonight. Everything changes.” The chill-inducing rasp helped navigate you to the disgusting couch. Your cold hand slammed the hotdog from the blonde’s hand, the shocked reaction halting the other two.

“Don’t...eat...it.” You heaved bending over at the waist to catch your breath. Wheezing sounded from your little sister as the running and seeing her favourite band up close settled.

���Excuse me! I paid for that hotdog!”

“You’d be buying yourself death literally. Your dreams of playing the Orpheum would be extinct.” You sighed, chugging the water from the pocket of Harper’s backpack for a few seconds before the owner took it back.

“Okay, look I don’t know how you found us but-”

“You don’t have to believe me ’cause I sure as hell wouldn’t have but don’t jeopardize your dreams. Look my little sister wanted to see your show so I brought her and we ordered a pizza. They fucked up the order by giving us an extra-large pizza. We’ll barely eat a quarter of it, and the venue is strict on the rules.” You rambled using tour hands to elaborate the story before Harper roughly elbowed your ribs, “Ow!”

“Oops.” Harper faked a sugar-sweet smile for your benefit as the interaction with the three musicians slowly dove into embarrassment.

“-sorry. You’d be doing us a favour by not wasting our money and food. What do you say?” You hesitantly asked the trio who didn’t speak vocally; their eyes meeting in a silent conversation.

Reggie sighed as he begrudgingly dropped his hotdog in the bin near the couch, “Pizza outranks street dogs even if the dogs are heaven and to die for.”

“Literally.” You grumbled forcefully pushing the obscenely large pizza box into the middle one’s stomach, “I’m Y/N, this is my little sister Harper.”

“Hi.” Harper shyly waved with cheeks turning a dust pink concealed by the dark of the alleyway. The boys’ lips all quirked at the sudden contrast from the confident sister slamming her elbow in you to the bashful teen.

“I’m Luke. This is Reggie and Alex.” The hooded one, Luke, introduced his bandmates as best he could with his hands occupied by the pizza box.

Without the threat of death by the hot dog, you actually took the time to look at Luke with appraising eyes. His eyes were like oceans of blues, greens and even a brown that both exhilarated you; the desire of studying them not surprising. His smile outshone the sun on the hottest day in August.

“Nice to meet you.” You informed the trio with a beaming smile that matched your starstruck little sister. The interaction gave you the opportunity for immense and untiring future teasing on the teen that daydreamed of the bassist. 

You had to admit the trio were incredibly attractive.

“Come back to the dressing room. We can eat there out of the cold.” Alex courteously invited the two formerly strangers. His blues sharing his pure intentions to repay you for saving their lives and offering pizza. 

“Of course.” Harper nodded her head with her eyes barely meeting the ones of the boys. The shell was broken when Reggie piped up.

“That’s a really cool pin! Where’d you find it?”

Gated Community, Los Angeles, 2002

An off-tune humming filled the modestly sized home in the suburbs of Los Angeles, California with the sound of water splashing. Doing the dishes was a mindless chore that typically didn’t bother you, but the pain in your lower back protested. You’d have used the dishwasher, but the thing was perpetually breaking down. Didn’t seen essential to replace when washing dishes by hand was just as productive.

Or it was when you didn’t have the extra weight in your midsection, a symbol of your love with your husband. In fact, you would have avoided doing dishes if you hadn’t just used the last clean plate and glass at breakfast plus Luke hadn’t been home in the previous week.

Sunset Curve had gone on a press tour for the upcoming album and tour planned for next year.

“Oof.” You moaned as the little rascal once more hit your bladder, “Are you breaking electric guitars in there?”

“Not a soccer player?”

“With you as their father? Not likely.” You snorted as the sudden appearance of Luke became clear. You hadn’t been expecting him, “I missed you. We missed you.”

As had it since you first told him Luke’s warm hand came to rest on the front of your swollen belly. In a short month, you’d be cradling the newest member of the Patterson family with Luke singing the lullaby he solely made for baby P.

“Still haven’t given in?” The lead guitarist teased you with a beaming smile splitting his face, “Go sit down. I’ll finish the dishes.”

You didn’t need to be asked twice. 

“I’m not abusing my clairvoyance to foresee our child’s gender, name and appearance.” You pointed one finger in his direction, “I refused Bobby’s pleading to see which models he would bed. The only time I did something like that was to reassure Alex that he would fall in love with a lovely guy.”

Luke’s heart burst with sheer adoration at how easily you had sunk into the friendship with the band after that one night. A night that had given birth to a friendship that slowly evolved into a romance and marriage. To this day, the group got together as much as possible.

“I love you.” Luke chuckled, “Even-”

“-if I came into your life like a completely crazy person?”

“We’re all a little crazy.”

Your house surely would be when a little tornado with Luke’s energy took over the home you’d made with Luke. The very home you would have more children and grow old together until soon you held your grandkids on your laps.

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[vina-writes]

The Pink Paradox

Written for the @drarrymicrofic​ prompt: Metamorphosis!

Rating: T

Length: 1.6k

Summary: Draco Malfoy has pink hair.

Notes: Thank you so much @fw00shy​​ for betaing!! Also just hire me for all your graphic design needs because hot damn I am proud of myself

(i)

Draco Malfoy has pink hair.

That’s not entirely correct when one gets down to the facts. Draco Malfoy has blond hair— a light, airy blond, the color of sunlight on snow. Harry Potter knows this because he’s spent many an adolescent winter watching Malfoy walk the grounds of a frozen Hogwarts and noticing it. The fact that he’s observed Malfoy that carefully is neither here nor there, although Ron would say it’s there (there being the Janus Thickey Ward). Harry’s Malfoy-stalking tendencies occupy their own corner of his mind however, and certainly don’t apply to the here and now.

Because here and now Malfoy has pink hair, and that’s not something unique to Harry’s observations. There’s not a witch or wizard alive who wouldn’t notice that head of bubblegum bobbing between the Auror cubicles.

It’s far too early for a Monday morning (nearing noon), and while their coworkers have been diligently ridding the Wizarding World of crime, Harry and Ron are tossing Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans into each other's mouths and gossiping over Lavender Brown’s pregnancy cravings. They were, that is, until Harry caught sight of Malfoy's pink hair.

“Kneazle got your tongue?” Ron asks after Harry fails to finish his sentence for the fifth time. Ron can make fun of him if he wants— his chair is facing away from Malfoy and that rosy fringe. The fact that Harry has never passed up a chance to watch Draco in all their years of training and employment (with or without pink hair) is irrelevant. The pink is distracting, and it’s more so on Malfoy.

“Malfoy,” Harry repeats to himself quietly, just to feel the familiar shape in his mouth. It’s lacking the venom and suspicion it should have on principle.

Ron turns unpleasantly green at that. “Malfoy’s got your tongue?” he asks.

“What?” Harry finally looks away from Malfoy. “No. Ew. Of course not.” He says it far too blandly, like a child denying their love of sweets, and Ron gives him a Look. Harry tries (unsuccessfully) to change the subject. “What’s he doing with the— why did he— what’s… erm.”

Ron regards him like he’s lost his mind. He seems to think Harry is confused about Malfoy’s business in the DMLE, when he’s usually with Hermione down in Mysteries. While that is out of the ordinary, it’s not nearly as pressing of an issue as Malfoy's pink hair.

“He’s consulting,” Ron explains slowly, “for the Finley case?” Then, when Harry only stares back blankly— “Harry. Can you even read?”

“Occasionally.”

“Tacky romance novels don't count.”

“Oh. Then, no, not really.”

“It was in our missive just last week. They’ve pulled in the Unspeakables. I was hoping they’d send ‘Mione, since she and the Ferret work together, but no such luck.”

“Oh.” Harry turns back to watch Malfoy shake Robards’ hand. Robards' grip is strong, and his thick fingers nearly engulf Malfoy’s delicate wrist. Harry doesn’t like that.

“Are you worried he’s going to cause trouble?” Ron asks. His voice sounds different, and when Harry glances at him again he’s got both feet slung over the armrest of his chair. Robards will skin him alive if he sees.

“No!” Harry says too quickly. He coughs. “Just wondering about the— er, how long has he had…?”

Ron doesn’t seem inclined to help him out.

“For fuck’s sake, Ron, when did he go and do—” Harry waves his hands frantically “—that?”

“Do you mean the hair, mate?”

“Yes, the bloody hair!” Harry’s had his fair share of existential crises in his life. He’s well acquainted with the feeling, and this one is going near the top of the list.

Ron, the bastard, shrugs. Shrugs! Like a pink-haired Malfoy is not only a normal occurrence, but is even expected.

“I didn’t notice it at first, to be honest,” he says, and Harry throws him a look of such vicious resentment that the potted Dragon Snap in the corner stops smoking and curls its leaves over its head. Ron just gives him a shit-eating grin in return.

Discouraged by his apparently un-threatening aura, Harry glances away in time to see Malfoy get a hearty pat on the shoulder (he doesn’t like that, either) and turn towards— towards them.

“Er, Ron?” Harry asks. “Who was assigned to the Finley case?” He knows the answer before he gets it, but still can’t look away from the cutting figure Malfoy makes as he saunters towards them in swirling black robes.

“That would be us,” Ron says cheerfully. “Buckle up and tuck in, mate. Your hard-on is showing.”

Harry is not hard, not even a little, but his panicked struggle to tug the mercilessly short Auror robes over his lap leaves him wrinkled and guilty-looking when Malfoy reaches them.

“Gentlemen,” Malfoy says cooly, and Harry thinks his cheeks must be the color of Malfoy’s hair.

“Harry’s hot for your hair,” Ron says. Harry chokes. “He’s also not read the case file, so I’ll leave you two to it. Don’t come looking for me, I’ll be taking an extended lunch. Looking forward to working with you.”

He throws them both a saucy wink and leaves with all the smugness of a man who’s done his yearly good deed. Harry’s going to murder him before the day is done.

Silence descends over their cubicle. Malfoy eyes Ron’s chair, but wisely chooses to remain standing. Harry notices belatedly that his robes are trimmed in silver, the same shade at his eyes.

“Potter.”

“Malfoy,” Harry acknowledges with a polite nod. The stillness around them is most certainly plummeting towards awkward.

“I heard you like my—”

“Have you read the—”

They both speak at the same time. Malfoy blinks, startled. When he doesn’t finish his sentence, Harry tries again.

“Have you not been debriefed on—”

“I noticed you changed your—”

They wisely decide to shut up. There’s a used staple on the corner of Harry’s desk, and he reaches over to fiddle with it just for something to do.

“Staples,” Malfoy says out of the blue. He looks like he regrets his volume, and it occurs to Harry that he probably feels just as uncomfortable. This is the first time they’ve spoken beyond polite greetings in four years, and neither is sure what to expect. It makes Harry feel better, somehow, to know that he’s not the only one feeling utterly wrongfooted.

“Yes,” Harry says. “Staples?”

Malfoy swallows. His neck is a long expanse of smooth skin, and Harry vaguely wonders what it tastes like. “We might make use of them on the case. Staples, I mean. Have you any more?”

Harry frowns, his discomfort dissipating. “Yeah, in the supply closet. But we just use Sticking Charms— don’t you?”

“Yes,” Malfoy says quickly. “We do. But we could try staples from the supply closet.”

It’s Harry’s turn to deploy the Look. Malfoy frowns at him like he doesn't get it, but Harry’s not really in the mood for deduction.

“So,” Harry says instead, “Auror work. Are you looking forward to it?”

There’s a shift in Malfoy’s stance, and his grey eyes skim over the lines of Harry’s body. “Parts of it,” he says. His tone is a little off. Husky.

“Sore throat?” Harry asks in what he hopes is a sympathetic manner.

“Sometimes,” Malfoy says cryptically. Harry’s not having the greatest time puzzling out his strange behavior and responses— they leave him floundering for something else to say.

“Are you going to tell me what’s in that fancy file or do I have to read it?” Harry finally asks, jerking his chin towards the papers tucked under Malfoy’s arm. He sincerely hopes Malfoy will volunteer to summarize for him. It’s because Harry’s glasses are giving him a headache and not at all because he likes the sound of Malfoy’s voice.

Malfoy’s cheeks flush a little. Harry wonders if he’s coming down with something, even as he struggles not to think of the color as attractive. “Protocol dictates that you read case information yourself,” Malfoy says, “but I suppose I wouldn’t mind speeding things along so we can get started. Maybe… over coffee? Or lunch?”

Harry tries not to let his dismay show on his face. “We have to work through lunch?” he asks. It sounds pathetic even to his own ears.

“Oh my fucking Merlin, he’s asking you out!” Cho shouts over the cubicle wall. Harry and Malfoy both jump.

“No, he’s not!” Harry shouts back, cheeks flaming.

“Yes, I am,” Malfoy says. Harry drops the used staple.

“You are?”

“Am I?”

“I don’t bloody know!”

“Well,” Malfoy starts, but seems to realize he doesn’t have a leg to stand on. “Well— you like my hair.”

“And that’s enough reason to ask me out for coffee?”

Harry really has no idea why he’s arguing. This is Malfoy— pink-haired, blushing Malfoy— handing himself over on a silver-trimmed platter, and he mentally slaps himself for putting up any sort of resistance.

“I like your hair,” Malfoy admits. He seems to regret saying it, and tries to make up for his embarrassment by adopting a suave position leaning against Harry’s desk. He misses and stumbles slightly before righting himself.  

“Don’t worry, Malfoy,” Cho calls again. “He’s been wetting himself over you for years, he’s bound to say yes.”

“Well, he’s not saying it,” Malfoy mutters.

“Yes I am.”

“You— you are?”

“Am I?”

Malfoy stops and stares at him. Opens his mouth, frowns a little. There’s a wonderful feeling in Harry’s chest.

“I’m just fucking with you,” Harry says over a smile. “Let’s go.”

Malfoy orders a strawberry milkshake at lunch. Harry doesn’t get dessert, but he still feels very… pink.

Read on Ao3

[dabiboy]

As promised! Honestly, this one became my favorite piece so far, so I hope you guys enjoy it and please  don’t let it flop🥺💕

If anyone is interested in listening the songs I used for writing this one as you read, feel free to do so! 

TW: nsfw, mentions of drugs and alcohol, kind of self harm, blood.

Something Other Than Pain 

It was past midnight, the night was starting to get colder and colder, however, the only chills you had were of pure nervousness. Dabi wasn't picking up your calls, nor your texts. Anything. The last thing you knew, was that he was together with the League, but that was it. And now he was MIA again, apparently.

Was he finally caught? No, every single news channel would be speaking about it. Dead? Same thing. Maybe he was with someone else. And you didn't know which scenario was more painful.

The truth was, however, that at Dabi's place things were different.

Very different from every picture in your head.

In a building away from the League, away from Tokyo's downtown, in a place in which every resident cared only for themselves and no one was interested in other business either for safety or not caring, a loud and ripping scream filled the fifth floor.

Dabi saw him that day. This time pure coincidence. He was walking around the city all covered up, just looking for some fresh air after an exhausting week with the League, when the disgusting image appeared in front of him. He had a fire quirk, not a super hearing one, so hearing the conversation that was happening between the two Todorok's was impossible. But what was possible, was to see Enji's gestures. A hopeful smile on his lips and his hand resting on Shoto's shoulder, who was wearing the UA uniform. The uniform that told everyone that he was going to be a hero. A greater hero than his dad. ,  ''You'll be proud of me'' or ''I'm proud of you'' It couldn't be something else than that. And Dabi could felt the anger take over his body want more time. A part of him told him to incinerate both of them. No, first his little brother so then his father could watch. No, none of them. He had a plan, and it had to work.

He walked away bitterly, and got to his place once the sun had already disappeared from his view. In the middle of the threatening silence, he could hear his memories, see them so clearly it felt as if he were a kid one more time. And he hated it.

Dabi made his way to the bathroom and left the products he stole on top of the sink just to get into the shower to wash the dirt of the day. And hopefully, wash the shit out of his past. Water ran free down his wounded body, and if water could feel, it would feel pitty over that disgraced man. What a shame, he thought.

The shower's floor was tinted black, and Dabi stood under the water to remove the rests of hair dye. Once he got out, he just put on some underwear so he could start vanishing his genes one more time. But that didn't happen.

He looked at himself in the mirror, scars on his face, his torso, his legs. They were everywhere. Disgusting. His skin connected because of poorly applicated staples, anger in his blue eyes. Those damn blue eyes, a pure resemblance of his father. And then his hair. Now white, free from the chemicals. It wasn't painful because of the color, it was painful because of how he got there. Pushing himself daily, wanting to prove to his father he was worthy of being a hero, training himself to the point of burn his body, all for his father's joy. Being given a purpose, a life sentence, just to be tossed away because he reached the perfect creation. The perfect child.

Dabi used a hand to run it through his hair, not being able to forget everything. The hate in his eyes was as if it belonged to someone else, someone that was screaming that he was a piece of shit, a disposable piece of garbage. Cheap garbage. Without even realizing he was pulling at his hair and clenching his teeth, his heart was beating like crazy, and the shivers on his body were getting out of control. Everything hurt, his entire skin was burning, and his mind and soul were drowning in an endless pit of pain and hatred. The same hand that was aggressively tugging his hair hit the dye bottle, splashing it all over, covering a big part of the bathroom in black.

He held himself on the sides of the sink, breathing heavy and trying to control himself, but it was unmanageable. Slowly, as if with fear, he looked in the mirror again. The mix of white hair and blue eyes made him lost it completely. As his fist was covered in strong blue flames, Dabi broke the mirror with just one punch, not only cutting himself in the process, but also burning himself one more time. A heartrending scream left his lungs, desperate, hopeless, lonely. He hit the pieces left one more time, not caring a single shit about the mess he had in the bathroom. Walking with messy and unstable steps Dabi made his way to the kitchen, and when he wasn't able of grabbing the liquor bottle at the first attempt, he razed with every glass, every single item on the shelf. He grabbed the wanted bottles with shaking hands and made his way to the bathroom again, and when he was there, he took out all of his pills bottles. All of them to ease the pain, and some others to sleep.

Dabi made the pills rain on his tongue, and right after he drank the remanents of alcohol straight from the bottle. And he repeated the process plenty of other times.

Nothing was making the pain go away, and for more than he wanted to, the vivid memories were still haunting him. Another scream left his lips, this time crashing one of the bottles against the wall. He kept tugging on his hair, he was done. Done with everything.

Thanks to the abrupt movements, some staples fell and blood was leaping out of his scars again, down his cheeks, his chin and jaw, torso, everywhere. His back hit the wall as he slid down to the floor, waiting, wishing for the pills and alcohol to do their job.

And as salvation, or as someone who was not supposed to be there at that time, you knocked on his door.

No answer.

Then you knocked again, maybe he wasn't home. But you could see there was light, so he must have been inside, and just as you thought, you were right. Forgetting about his privacy, you used the spare key to get inside the apartment, and when you did? Your jaw fell in surprise, an overwhelming feeling took you over as you saw the scene in front of you.

''Dabi''? You called his name, closing the door slowly behind you, analyzing the mess.

Broken glass, bloodstains, and it smelled like smoke. Something had happened. You called his name again, no answer. With fearful steps you walked along the tiny apartment, and the light coming from the bathroom told you he was there.

And when you saw him, your heart broke into million pieces. Millions.

He was sitting in a corner, legs lazily on the floor as his arm was still holding the unshattered bottle. Lots of pills were spread on the floor, in different sizes and colors. Dabi's hair was white, with tiny bits of grey among some locks, blood under his eyes, chin, chest and arms. He looked like a real mess. And it was worrying.

You practically ran towards him, kneeling in front of him.

''Get the fuck out of here'' He slurred his words, not even looking at you. His eyelids were almost closed, and he smelled like alcohol and the same scent of smoke that was in the living room. He had been using his flames. ''There's no way in hell I'm leaving you like this'' You said still in shock, wondering how to help him ''What happened?''

''I was born'' He snickered bitterly, coughing right after ''Seriously, get your ass outta' here'' Dabi tilted his head to the other side, still not looking at you.

''No way, come on, c'mere'' You did your best to help him stand.

His body was heavy, especially because he was not helping at all. You made him put an arm around your neck for support, and with a struggling hand you made the water came down the faucet. You did your best to clean his wounds, wash his face trying to make him use all of his senses, but it looked like a hard task. He was like a numb rag doll with lost eyes, but he lowkey thanked you didn't arrive earlier.

''Dabi...'' You muttered his name as he was sitting on the toilet

''What did I do wrong'' He asked, more to himself than to you, eyes fixated on a black spot of dye hair on the floor ''All I ever did... Was for him to watch me'' Dabi lifted an eyebrow. ''But for what. To become a fucked up mess, all beause his precious little creation came out perfect. And Touya? Let's get rid of him, he won't surpass All Might. It's just another failed child'' He laughed bitterly, but you could see his chin trembling. Was it pain? anger? did he want to cry?

His hand went to his hair again, and just when he started to tugging it, you held him. His head resting on your stomach as you caressed his hair in slow motions, leaving tender kisses on top of his head.

''What happened was unfair,'' You whispered ''And I know you didn't deserve all of that hell...I can't do much, I just... I just can be with you'' You could swear tears were rolling down your cheeks. It hurt you to see him in such a vulnerable state. To see what was behind his snarky attitude, and behind the feared villain. It hurt that you couldn't do anything for him other than giving him your embrace. ''Come, let's get you to bed'' You said, helping him stand up.

And when he did, his eyes were fixated on you, analyzing every detail, finding what to say.

''Is there something you need?'' Of course, mental peace. But then again, you could offer him simple things. And those simple things were what he needed.

"Love me, just fucking love me" his voice came out in a desperate whisper as he pulled you in towards him. The way he kissed you felt painful, but so needy for care, love, and appreciation. He wanted that, needed the reassurance of being useful. "Please" This time Dabi's voice came out in an almost unhearable mumble, pressing you against the bathroom wall.

His kiss was rough, messy, even a bit painful as you nodded against him, carefully holding his face between your hands. It was not a heated kiss, it was not like the times where the two of you were just horny, it was different. It felt sad. He was caging your body, not wanting to feel you away from him. He needed to feel wanted, he wanted you to love him as no one did. He wanted to feel something else than just pain. Dabi sighed in between the kiss, his eyes were still closed as you pulled him closer to you. It was tragic to see him like that, so needy for reassurance and love.

You got rid of your clothes, faster than ever. His large hand cupped your ass and made you jump so you could tangle your legs on his waist.

''Wait, your wounds'' You said referring to the staples that were ripping his skin before you healed them.

''It's fine'' He said as he walked you towards his bed, sitting with you on his lap.

You grinned against him, feeling his hard on through his boxers and through your panties, his hands were all over your back, enjoying the sensation of soft skin. Your skin. Dabi bit your neck, so then he could kiss you again, just like before. Teeth clashing, lips getting redder and redder, a messy kiss.  But none of you could care less.

Someway somehow you got rid of your clothes left, doing the same with his underwear. On a normal situation, foreplay was important. He'd go down on you, tease you, edge you, but now? Now there was no time for that. You just wanted to feel him, and he wanted to feel you too.

You lifted your hips enough to align his cock against your entrance, slowly going down just to adjust to his size. Dabi let out a grunt, gripping your hips strongly. You rested your forehead on his for brief seconds before starting riding him.

At a point, you didn't know if you were riding him, or if it was him sloppily pounding you, but that wasn't important. As he held your hips, you laid back a bit to support yourself with a hand on the mattress and lift your hips so Dabi could go deeper. The moans and grunts were filling the room, but rather than just horniness it was... Reassurance. Love. Passion. Comfort. He wanted to feel something other than pain, and you were helping him with it. The way he was gripping your flesh was not a sign of dominance, it was a way of telling you ''Don't go. Please don't go'' Dabi wanted you for him, for you to stay by his side. Because if it weren't for you, he was sure he would've lost his mind already.

Your mouth tasted like steel, and you didn't know if it was because he was kissing you too hard, or because one of the staples near his mouth had fallen. But then again, none of you cared. Dabi's hand landed on your nape so he could pull you closer, making his back fall into the bed as you went straight for his mouth. His free hand was securely wrapped around your waist as he thrusted fast and rough, wanting to feel. When you torso was completely over his, he wrapped both arms around your waist, moaning in your mouth, near your ear, everywhere.

''Shit, shit'' He said in a drowned voice ''I need you, I fucking need you'' Dabi whispered, even though he was having you all for himself, he needed you by his side.

''You've got me, you've got me. I'm not going anywhere'' Your voice came out in whimpers, and you couldn't resist the urge of kissing him again.

As your mouths were locked in a desperate and messy kiss, you felt your walls clenching around his cock, and just a few seconds later you could feel him throbbing inside you, that was it, that was the melting point you both were delirious for. Dabi's hand went to your nape again, and this time it was you the one who started grinding on him faster and harder, becoming a moaning mess.

Dabi sat one more time so he could hold you against him, forehead resting between your collarbones as he reached for his high, filling you up with no ounce of shame. Your hands tugged on his hair tenderly, going to his back, neck, and hair again when you came around him.

Seconds were endless, the two of you tangled together, being more intimate than ever. Dabi's breathing was irregular, he pressed a kiss on your chest, right above your breast before falling on the bed again, holding you tightly against his scarred body.

You gained distance to see his face, and there he was, all worn out. Maybe the pills did their effect together with the alcohol, maybe it was that relaxation moment after a breakdown, or maybe it was that delightful bliss after an orgasm. Or maybe, it was all together.

Dabi's eyes were looking tiny and helpless, and it looked as if he wanted to talk, but he was unsure of what to say. You caressed his white hair, combing it back to press your lips on his sweaty forehead.

''I know'' You whispered, peppering his face with tender kisses ''Let go, baby. You can rest now'' He simply nodded, and just like that, his eyes fell closed.

You stood up, whining a bit thanks to the remaining pain between your legs and on your body, his tight grip was leaving marks for sure. Shamelessly you grabbed a towel and one of his shirts to get a quick shower, you could clean the bathroom in the morning. You get back to his bedroom, and using a towel dipped in warm water, you made sure of cleaning him. The mess between his legs, and of course the remanents of blood on his torso. You tried to put him some clean clothes, but he was heavier than ever, even more now that he was practically unconscious due to many factors. But he was your boyfriend, the man you love with all his flaws, it wasn't an issue to sleep with him naked.

You covered him with the sheets, but you were sure it was going to be hard to sleep even though you felt exhausted. As you were semi-sitting on his bed, his head found its way next to your arm, leaning there, peacefully sleeping. And within a few minutes, you fell asleep with the side of your head on top of his.

Hours went by, and around three am Dabi woke up. Dizzy, disoriented, loving those first fifteen seconds. Those seconds in which you're not aware of anything, when it is ven hard to know where and who are you. But then, the memories hit him like a wall falling on his head. The way he hurt himself, the image of his father talking with his younger brother, you arriving. Making love to you. He calmed down when he saw you next to him, and Dabi couldn't believe how a bastard like him got so lucky. Well, at least he had one good thing.

''Dabi?'' You said with a raspy and lazy voice.

''Shit, didn't mean to wake you'' He said, rubbing his eyes.

''It's fine,'' You yawn ''How are you feeling?''

''Dizzy, and like shit but it has to go at some point'' He moved under the covers and furrowed his eyebrows. ''Did you cleaned me up?'' Dabi touched his torso, it wasn't sticky because of the blood, and he wasn't sticky down there either. But that was for other reasons.

''Of course, I was not sleeping with you all dirty'' You joked, making him huff.

His next movement surprised you, because he clung to you as he never did before. His leg got in between yours, making your right leg rest in between his. And truth to be told, you blushed a little at his naked form, but he didn't care. He was already vulnerable as fuck. Dabi rested his head on your chest, and he hugged you by your stomach.

''Your tits are nice'' He said in an attempt of breaking the ice, because he wasn't sure about how to talk about what happened earlier.

''My tits are nice'' You repeat raising your eyebrows, laughing at his shitty pick up line.  

''Listen, I...'' He remained silent for some seconds as you played with the shell of his scarred ear and part of his hair. ''Fuck''

''You don't need to talk about it, do it when you feel like to'' Your voice and words were his comforts ''I will listen any time, ok?'' You kissed his forehead.

You could feel the light change in the grip of his embrace, he hugged you a bit tighter, and you knew what he meant. He loosed his grip, and a sigh left his mouth before sleep took over him one more time, as you carried on with your ministrations, making him feel loved, wantede, and safe in your arms.

''Thank you'' Dabi said, and in that moment, you heard the tiny snores coming from his mouth.

''Always, Touya'' You felt the tears gathering again, and as you left another kiss on his hair, you fell asleep one more time, not even noticing the tiny tear running down your cheek.

[calumrose]

Okay so after much consideration I finally decided... 16,34,37 👀🥰love you lotsies

A fluffy request we love to see it! I... got carried away with this, but are we surprised by that? I think not. However, I hope you enjoy this soft little Luke moment which I created as per your request! (It was not supposed to get this long, I swear!) (Also, love you too! <3)

16. “Can you please just hold me?” / 34. “Why are you wearing my sweater?” “Because it smells like you.” / 37. “You’re just a softie.”

Word Count: 3.9k

You silently cursed yourself as you trudged down the hallway, the heel of your palm gently pressing against your eye as you tried to rid yourself of the lingering sleep that remained in your tired features. You wondered why you were awake so early, the tired ache in your bones remaining from your sleep as you made your way through the house. It must’ve only been 6am or so, the sun barely even beginning to rise from what you could see through the kitchen window as you entered the familiar warm communal space in your boyfriend’s home.

Correction: your home.

You were still getting used to saying that, finding yourself having to be reminded that what was once his home was now your home too.

Moving into Luke’s had been an adjustment for you over the recent weeks. You were so used to having a small collection of your things at his house for the times you would stay over before he asked you to move in; some spare sets of clothes tucked away in the bottom drawers in his closest, a hairbrush he had bought for you to keep at his house which inhabited the space on the bathroom counter between the toothbrush pot and the Luke’s favourite aftershave, and there was even a bottle of your shampoo in his shower that you swore was always that little bit lighter every time you came over, although he swore that he didn’t use it, but you could smell the sweet remnants of strawberries whenever he would lay with his head on your chest. But going from having only a few of your things at Luke’s to having everything being there, it was a lot to adjust to, a lot to take in.

Even weeks later, it took you a second or two to comprehend that it was your reality, that you were going from visiting Luke and simply ‘staying over’ to waking up next to him every morning without even a moment where you had to think about what time you’d have to go home later that day. You had gone from spending the minimum of a few hours in his company during every visit to spending every night wrapped in his arms, legs tangled beneath the soft sheets, with your fingertips tracing every smooth feature which graced his supple skin.

Bracing your palms against the edge of the sink, you gazed out at the dimly lit city. The golden lights were faint in their littering, each golden glow representing a home, a sanctuary, an individual life who lived in the world like you did. It amazed you how you were awake early enough to experience the silence which the city basked in during the early hours of the morning, how not even the sun was awake and yet you were. You were unsure of what caused you to wake, your eyes fluttering open to the faint silence which engulfed your shared bedroom, the only sound to be heard was that of the faint snores which arose from Petunia who slept at the bottom of the bed and the slow, rhythmic breaths which escaped the sleeping man who lay next to you.

It was an intimate moment you were able to experience, the house and city itself still sound asleep around you as you stood awake in the kitchen, the white noise of the kitchen humming behind you as you took a few steady breaths and took a moment. A moment for what exactly you were unsure of, but it felt needed; a few easy breaths inhaled before letting them go as the gentle glow of the kitchen lit casted a yellowish flame through your eyelids as you closed them.

Closing your eyes allowed for the faint sounds of the house to come alive, every soft hum, click, and grind travelled to your ears, the appliances of the home working away in the background as they kept the course of the house running smoothly behind the scenes. You listened to the hum of the refrigerator to your left, the gentle buzz so faint it sounded the wings of a honeybee when it would fly around the air during the summer; its little wings rubbing together to elicit such a delicate noise.

You were so lost in the sounds around you that you barely heard the ones which came from down the hall, your ears not picking up the noise of your bedroom door opening nor the sound of feet travelling along the wooden floors as the man of the house made his way to find you. You didn’t hear his soft chuckle as he spotted you, nor did you hear the soft click of his tongue as he entered the kitchen to come towards you. It wasn’t until you felt his warm arms slip around your waist, his chest pressing lightly against your back, that you registered the body now standing behind you, bringing you out of your little moment and back into your reality.

“What’re you doing up so early, hm?” Luke’s voice was quiet, face resting tucked away in the skin of your neck as he crossed his arms which were around you. Waking up without you next to him was a strange experience for Luke, one that he wasn’t too fond of. He liked the warmth which you brought to him; he liked the way you made him feel like there was nowhere else he would rather be than right next to you. So, when he awoke to find your side of the bed empty, he felt cold, the sheets no longer providing him the warmth which he desired to be wrapped up in, a warmth which he only seemed to find with you. “I thought we agreed no early mornings for at least a week after I got back?”

You couldn’t but smile as his lips brushed against your skin with every word that he spoke, the soft flesh so light against the skin of your neck, it was almost as ticklish as it was soothing. Everything about Luke was soothing; the way he held you, the way he spoke to you, the way he laughed, the way he smiled, everything he did brought a comfort and a sense of belonging to you which you didn’t realise you could ever need.

Recalling the agreement that the two of you had made a few days ago sprung to mind when he brought it up, your teeth breaking through your smile to nip at your bottom lip through your chuckle at memory of the deal that was settled upon, you responded, “Define ‘early’, babe.”

“Any time before noon.” He was quick with his rebuttal, eyes laying closed as he tucked his face further into your skin, his lips curling into a pout as he pressed a small chaste kiss to the column on your neck, leaving a small puddle of heat where his lips would touch for you to enjoy as the feeling lingered for a few extra seconds when he removed his lips.

You could hear how tired he was by his voice, the sweet voice of his being laced with sleep, the rasp evident in the way of which he spoke, each word slipping past his lips like a soft breath, a gravely sound curling around each syllable like the most beautiful symphony you could bear witness to. The way he held you also told you how tired he was, the gentle yet secure grip which his arms kept on you, the gentleness of his fingertips as they grazed your sides, it all was significant in the way Luke held you when he was so close to falling asleep again.

“Come on, you, I’m taking you back to bed,” He spoke softly against your skin, fingertips pinching lightly at your sides where they had slipped and nestled beneath the sweater which adorned your body – his sweater to be precise. “The bed’s cold without you, so I need you to come and keep me warm.”

You didn’t offer an argument as he took a step back, gently tugging on your waist as he pulled you along with him, making you join him on the venture back through the house towards your shared bedroom. His hands didn’t leave your skin as you returned to bed, palms sliding against your waist before running down your arms and finding your hands and the two of you climbed back under the cooling sheets and got comfortable in bed once again.

As you climbed into bed, Luke’s eyes cascaded down your frame, the familiar grey item of clothing adorning your skin catching his attention, causing a small smirk to the spring to his lips as he recognised it. Luke knew not to be surprised at your nimble fingers, knowing you always had your way of borrowing his clothes without his knowledge, temporarily claiming them whenever you so desired. It wasn’t as if he minded, nor would he ever argue or tell you that you couldn’t wear his clothes. Instead, he encouraged it, subtly leaving clothes at home in the hopes that you would wear them around the house when he was there.

“Babe, why are you wearing my sweater?” Luke chuckled, leaning back with his head resting against his pillow, left arm curled so it lay behind his head. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed it when you had been standing in the kitchen, his eyes only focusing on you instead of the clothing which you wore, his tired eyes too concerned with how you looked as you stood there when he found you in his conquest for your warmth. “You know I love when you borrow my clothes, love, but it’s already warm in here, are you not too hot with that on?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound soft as it vibrated in your chest, as you shook your head, answering his question, “I thought you said it was cold and that’s why you wanted me to come back to bed, huh? Or was that just a fib in order to get me back here for a cuddle?”

“It wasn’t a fib! I said the bed was cold, which it is. I didn’t say the room was cold,” Luke laughed out loud, amused at the playful glare which you shot him as you reached down to pull the sheets further up the bed, clutching them between your fingers as you pulled them up to your waist before you lay yourself down against the soft, plush mattress.

“Uh huh.” You playfully rolled your eyes as his attempt of an excuse, shaking your head as you tutted under your breath.

“I just don’t want you to get too warm, love, that’s all. I would hate for my girl to be uncomfortable, you know?” Luke pulled you closer to him as he spoke, arm slipping beneath you as he tucked you against his chest.

“I’m not going to get too warm, don’t worry,” You assured, leaning up and pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, feeling the light scruff of his beard against your lips, the prickly hairs tingly against your skin. “And if you want to know the real reason why I’m wearing it is because it’s soft and very cosy, and because it smells like you. But that’s just a bonus when I wear any of your clothes.”

“So, that’s why my Coca Cola shirt is nowhere to be seen?” Luke shot you a knowing look, his lips curling into a smile as the slightly blush on your cheeks at the subtle accusation, “I don’t suppose you’ve got anything to say about that, my love?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You cast your eyes away from him, as if looking behind you, avoiding his targeting eyes.

“Of course, you don’t.” Luke teasingly scoffed, tightening his grip on you briefly as he pulled you even closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead as the two of you got comfortable within the crisp sheets that adorned your bed.

Situating yourselves came like second nature, the two of you pressing against one another, your head resting on his chest, one hand reaching across and resting against his waist, forearm limply laying across his warm stomach, while your legs found their familiar way to tangle with his long ones, his warm skin igniting a small fire in your stomach as you cuddled in close.

You weren’t quite sure what you were staring at as the minutes passed by, your mind focusing on the feeling of Luke’s hand on your back, on the way which his fingers grazed against your clothed spine, stopping momentarily as they lingered on the skin at the back of your neck, calloused pads leaving artistic swirls in their midst before they began their journey back to the bottom of your spine. There wasn’t really anything particular for your eyes to fixate on, your eyelids lazily fluttering as you focused on the feeling of Luke’s touch, the warmth of his chest against your cheek, along with the gentle thump of his heartbeat which you could hear in your ear, the sensation and sound capturing your attention with the simplest of ease.

The time ticked on as the two of you lay in bed together, limbs entangled, and breaths soft and light as you held one another close. You could sense the sun beginning to rise, your eyes catching the ever-growing glimmer of golden light which crept in through the bottom of the curtains which was closed against the window. The thought of pulling yourself from the warmth of your bed again was the last thing you found yourself desiring, even more so due to the established warmth you found yourself cosying up to as Luke’s arms held you close.

The inability to fall back asleep was growing to irritate you a bit, your eyes not having the urge to flutter closed and allow your mind and body to sleep in a dreamy state of relaxation and restfulness unlike Luke who had fallen back asleep within minutes with you pressed against him. You wondered how someone could so easily slip back into the realm of sleep, how they could so easily just close their eyes and drift off after already having woken up earlier that morning.

Shifting slightly in place, you turned onto your stomach, resting your arms beneath your chin as you lay on Luke’s chest, eyes gazing up at him. His head was tilted to the side, his sleeping expression in full view to you as he dreamt soundly. He looked so at peace when he slept, as if all the troubles and concerns which circled his mind had vanished in the moment where he closed his eyes. The tension in his brows was nowhere in sight, nor was the tightness in his shoulders, the only thing able to be seen in Luke as he slept was sheer relaxation, a blissful sight which you treasured.

“Luke…” You spoke quietly, your voice almost as soft as a whisper in the dimly lit bedroom. You bent one of your wrists, turning your hand out so your fingertips met his bare chest. Glancing down, eyes watching your own fingers as they began to dance across his bare skin, nails lightly dragging against the soft expanse of his chest, brushing over the light hair which inhabited his chest. He felt warm against your fingertips, the faintest of thumps echoing against the tip of your index finger as his heart beat steadily beneath where you lay. “Baby, are you awake?”

Luke let the softest grumble slip through his lips, the sound vibrating through his chest beneath you, the gentle buzz tickling the skin of your arms from where you rested against him. You knew he was asleep, your touch and your words only rousing him and slowly waking him again much to his distaste. You should have felt guilty, if not awful, about waking him, but you selfishly had to admit to yourself that you missed him, having had to go a week without him next to you, resulting in you wanting to spend every moment when you were awake with him awake next to you, making the most of every passing hour, minute, and second which you got to spend together in your home.

Your home… Yeah, you still weren’t quite used to saying that.

“Luke, baby…” You whispered again, slowly dragging your nail down his chest with the softest of touches, selfishly hoping that it would drag him ever so slightly further out of his sleep, waking him up just that little bit more. “Wake up.”

“Why?” Luke bluntly answered the question, although you could see the beginning of a smile threatening to curl his lips. His eyes remained closed; head still tilted to the side as his hand remained resting in its place on your lower back. “Love, I’m asleep, why do I need to wake up?”

“Because I miss you.” You pouted, puffing out your cheeks.

“I’m right here, you don’t have to miss me when I’m beside you.”

“Can you please just hold me, then?” You kept pouting as the question fell from your lips, already preparing for the – without a doubt – puzzled response you could count on from Luke as he registered your question, and from the expression that was twisting upon his sleepy face, you could see the cogs in his head already registering exactly what you had asked of him.

You watched as he tilted his head downwards a little, grumbling quietly as he brought his free hand up, curling his index finger and he rubbed his eye momentarily before opening the blue orbs and meeting your gaze, his voice even deeper than before due to having just woken up as he counteracted your question, “Baby, I’m already holding you. Somehow, I don’t think I can hold you even more than when I’m already holding you, ‘M not quite sure it’s humanly possible.”

He had a point; Luke was already holding you and had been holding you from the moment he woke up and found you standing in the kitchen. How was he supposed to hold you any more than what he already was? You were practically laying on top of him, his hand resting on your back with his arm wrapped around your waist and your legs trapped between his underneath the white duvet. He couldn’t hold you even more if he tried.

Peeling one of your arms from beneath your chin, you tried to hide the playful smirk which was threatening to break out. You weren’t sure what had come over you in the early morning, going from being so in tune with the sounds around you to simply being so content with being held, to now turning slightly mischievous and teasing as you began to desire Luke’s attention in the early hours when you couldn’t fall back to sleep.

You reached down behind you, keeping your eyes on Luke’s heavy ones, watching how every blink was slow, as if his lids were weighted, each flutter of his lashes seeming to take all of the energy which he could muster. Blindly, your fingers trailed against Luke’s arm, feeling the warm skin as it sent a wave of heat to your palm, fingers curling around his wrist as you found it. With a gentle grip, you applied pressure to his wrist, beginning to pull on it, ultimately prying the limp limb from where it rested against your spine, causing it to lose contact with you as it fell against the sheet beneath you.

Luke’s brow furrowed as he tiredly watched you, blue eyes catching the growing curls of a smirk on the corners of your lips, silently allowing for you to do what you set out to do, not being entirely certain what you were planning as he felt the heel of his hand along with his fingertips fall against the sheet of the bed with a muffled thump.

“You’re not holding me anymore,” You stuck out your tongue briefly, the action quick like a practiced reflex, as your laughter broke out as you pulled the muscle back into your mouth. “So, can you hold me now?”

Luke’s head fell back against the soft pillow behind him, his tired, breathy laughter sounding as he lifted his hand and rubbed his sleep-ridden eyes again while shaking his head with the smallest of motions. His laughter caused his chest to shake, each vibration causing you to shake with it, causing your own laughter to continue as you pressed your chin against the back of your hand as you found your position from before, gazing up at him.

“You’re a nightmare, you know that?” Luke spoke the words through his laugh, shaking his head as he tilted his head, so his eyes met yours again, a smile gracing his lips as he caught sight of you in the early morning once again. “Remind me why we’re together when this is the kind of torment you put me through?”

“Because you’re just a softie and you love me,” You smiled as you pushed yourself up from his chest, pulling yourself further up the bed a little so you came to lay directly opposite him, faces aligned as you could look at one another without either of you gaining a crook in your neck. “Or at least I’d hope you do.”

“Trust me, sweetheart, I definitely love you.” Leaning forward, he pressed a soft kiss to your lips, his hand which previously rested against your back coming up to settled on your side, fingers beginning to twist against the fabric of his sweatshirt which adorned your skin, subtly tugging on the clothing as a quiet notion for you to come closer to him.

“Even when I wake you up in the morning and annoy you?”

“Especially then. There is nobody else I would rather be woken up and pestered by than my favourite girl.” Luke’s eyes were growing heavy again, sleep calling once more as he lay in bed with you.

“Don’t let Piggy hear you say that, I think she’s still under the impression that she’s the favourite in this house.” You teased him, moving closer and adjusting yourself beneath the covers as you curled up against his chest again, hand coming up to cup his jaw, thumb resting comfortably against the apple of his cheek, the scratch of his scruff tickling your palm and fingers. He nuzzled into your palm, pressing a soft, tired kiss to the skin of your wrist before leaning in and pressing another to your lips and then a small one to the tip of your nose, eyes fluttering tiredly as he fought against the growing yawn that was threatening to tumble out of his chest and spill into the open air.

“She’ll forgive me if I give her a bone, I don’t think I’ve got anything to worry about.” Luke smirked, finally allowing for his eyes to close as sleep slowly began to take over once again, his body slumping as he felt your warm hand against his cheek, the motion of your thumb gliding against his skin causing him to doze off peacefully like it always did.

“You’re a true Casanova, Luke. You certainly know how to make a woman swoon.” You rolled your eyes teasingly, nipping your tongue between your teeth as you watched him slowly begin to fall back into the restful state of sleep, his shoulders beginning to rise and fall slowly with each breath.  

“You’re the one who made me swoon, baby, as you do every day.”

---

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[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Fated Part 2

Ares x reader

Word Count: 1230

Summary: Ares is hurt, and you are pissed.

When you arrived, Hera was nowhere to be found, but Thanatos was already waiting outside the bedroom door.

“You’re not taking him, little brother,” you warned icily.

He looked sad as he replied, “That has yet to be decided. You and I can quarrel about secrets later. You being with him will strengthen his spirit. Go.”

You kept your eyes trained on him as you walked past to enter the bedroom, but he didn’t so much as twitch from his post. The sight inside the spacious bedroom, however, was one that you knew instantly would haunt you until the end of time.

Hera stood next to the bed, a piece normally piled with comfortable red and golden throws that was now covered only in the stark white sheets that served to highlight how Ares’ normally beautifully dark complexion was a sickly grey color.

Apollo, the god of healing, was speaking to her softly not noticing your entrance. “There isn’t anything more I can do for him,” he was saying. “Now, we just have to give him time to see if he pulls through. Though with Thanatos lingering outside the way he is . . .” His tone made it abundantly clear what he thought of Than.

“Do not speak of my brother in such a way,” you ordered. “If there’s nothing more for you to do, then leave.” You’d already had a low opinion of this Olympian based on what Ares let slip about the event that drove him to Thrace in the first place; this commentary certainly wasn’t helping endear him to you.

His golden eyes--so disturbingly similar to your family’s trademark color yet so violently different in the type of glow--snapped over to you, shining brightly with his anger. “And who are--”

“She’s right,” Hera interrupted, clearly wanting to calm the brewing fight. “Ares would not want us here longer than necessary. He will be well cared for in her hands.”

“And who exactly is she?”

“The wife of Lord Zeus’s only legitimate heir,” was her lofty reply. Normally, you’d hate to hear the scorn in Hera’s voice as she talked down on Zeus’ other children, but right now you just wanted them out.

Clearly flabbergasted, Apollo finally stormed out without a word.

“Watch over him,” was Hera’s command before she, too, left.

Which left you alone and finally able to get a good look at the prone form on the bed.

As you’d noticed before, his skin had taken on a grey edge to it. Even the war paint-like streak around his eyes--already bone white normally--looked somehow paler. His armor was missing, presumably to dress his wounds, and you didn’t care enough presently to locate it. In fact, all of his usual clothing was missing; the only thing covering him from the waist down was that white sheet. You assumed that meant he had no injuries where he was covered since it would have just gotten in the way of healing him.

The thing that drew your attention after that initial scan was the line of burn-like marks diagonally across his chest, each in the shape of a link in a chain, all an angry red that almost matched the color of his eyes. An alarmingly human color on a god of Olympus. Still, the wounds at least didn’t seem to be open or infected. Apollo’s work, no doubt.

His breath was shallow as you gently brushed his light colored hair out of his face. “What happened to you, my love?”

“According to Hermes, giants. They caught him and bound him in an urn for the last thirteen months.” At some point, Thanatos had apparently entered.

Your hand delicately traced the shape of your husband’s face. You said nothing.

“The Olympians are frightened. They now know exactly what it will take to kill a god.”

“Will this?” Your voice was so painfully close to cracking you squeezed your eyes shut for a moment upon hearing it. “Kill him, that is?” Tears threatened to well up in your eyes, but you blinked them back; crying could wait until you were alone.

A gentle, cool hand rested on your shoulder. “Even I don’t know what our sisters have planned.” Thanatos hesitated. “I should have noticed. He and I see each other frequently, and still I failed him in a way he would never have failed me.”

“I am his wife, Than, and I didn’t notice. Your crime is no greater than my own.”

“Then perhaps it is no one’s fault,” he mused. “If you have not already thought of it, I’d recommend sticking to nectar to nourish him since ambrosia may prove too much for his current state.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, sister. I must take my leave; I have mortals to collect. I . . . pray I won’t need to return.” There was another pause. “And congratulations on your marriage. For what it’s worth, I’m happy to hear that Fate worked itself out in that regard.” A bell tolled behind you immediately after that, signaling his departure. 

“Thank you,” you repeated in the silence that followed.

And so began your vigil.

Your first action once you were able to will yourself away from his side even for a moment was to drag one of the room’s couches over to the bedside so you wouldn’t be horribly uncomfortable. Then you went hunting for his most prized belongings: his armor and swords. Fortunately, they were right where they were supposed to be--in the armory. Likely, they transported themselves back home while he was trapped judging from the dried giant blood caked on them and the fact that his family would never have such care for his things.

You gathered them in your arms, unflinching in the face of the seething rage the pieces emitted. “I know,” you murmured as you gathered the tools you’d need to clean and sharpen them. They calmed somewhat upon recognizing your presence. “I’m going to take care of you,” you continued. “Revenge will be yours soon enough.”

His breastplate, the most sentient piece, would need to be cleaned first. It would have to go to Hephaestus soon to replace the various torn clasps--you absolutely did not let your mind linger on how they got that way--but for now you could rid it of the blood and mud. Cleaning each piece to its original beauty, to Ares’ standards was a task reminiscent of particularly vengeful gods, but you were glad for the work. It kept your hands busy in the breaks between carefully dripping nectar into your husband’s mouth, made the days pass by faster it seemed. Your mouth never stopped moving as your regaled both Ares and the items of every passing thought that crossed your mind as you worked.

After that came the swords he normally kept strapped to his back. Still you talked. As you cleaned. As you sharpened. As you gazed longingly at his slack face. Thankfully this time passed without visits from either the Olympians or Thanatos. Your brother’s absence specifically, you took as a good sign.

Your voice was beginning to go rough from use by the time you started tending to his main weapon, the sword with the vicious curve and an edge stained red with the blood of those that’d fallen to it.

Your grip tightened on the hilt when an equally rough voice said, “When is the last time you slept, my love?”

[poptod]

In the Heart of Atlas (Rami Malek x Reader)

Description: He doesn’t fear you––who thought such a simple thing would win your affections?

Notes: this is my first time writing for Rami himself! anyway, this is for the rami week. happy birthday rami!!! this is a bit of a strange story but i hope yall like it anyway. WC: 5.6k

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His body twitched slightly before his eyes opened, slow and dry across his grey irises. A deep dehydration had seized his bones, as though his blood was drudging through his veins and muscles, losing water by the second. Still, he sat up, his head a weight upon his shoulders.

To his surprise, he found himself in the middle of an empty parking lot, the highway beside him mostly vacant. He looked around, finding a large but abandoned mall to his right, the lights long shattered and broken. Tension welled in his brow as he tried to piece together just how he got here.

"Most people don't get knocked out after they get ejected from their bodies," said a voice from behind him. He whirled around, scratching his pants on the rough pavement.

"Who are you?" He asked, scanning you.

For the most part, you looked normal. The only thing that stuck out was the massive katana strapped to your back and the darkness swarming around your eyes. He could barely see your face beneath the hood of your black sweatshirt, but that didn't matter all too much to him––there were more pressing, more important questions that required answers.

"Demons and angels call me (Y/N), but people call me the Reaper," you said as you offered him your hand.

He gingerly raised his hand to accept your help, faltering when your sleeve pulled back to reveal prominent bones and veins in the back of your hand. The bones poked out of the skin, glowing a faint white, while your veins remained a simple shade darker than your skin. Looking back up to you, he found no malice in what little expression he could see. With that he accepted your aid, pulling himself to his feet.

"The Reaper?"

"I go by a good many names. In the north alone I am called Gwyn ap Nudd, Cù Sith, the banshee, the Ankou, and more simply... death. Most of the time I have others collect souls, but.. you're an interesting case."

You reached forward, and though he instinctively flinched back, he soon regained control of himself and allowed you to cup his cheek. Even with that allowance, however, there was a decent amount of discomfort within him.

"I'm dead?"

"Not quite yet. That's where the interesting part comes in. Come––let's find a place away from the sun," you said, drifting past him and heading towards the abandoned mall.

Looking upwards, he found a blistering sun. He hadn't felt the heat, and looking back at the black pavement, he realized he hadn't felt that astonishing heat because he was, as you said, dead. No longer in his body. With that realization, he jogged back over to walk at your side.

"I'm a little confused, here. How did I die?" He asked.

"Again, not dead yet. Just out of your body. It's quite interesting, really," you said, opening the creaking door.

He entered gingerly, turning and waiting for you before wandering in any further. When he turned back to scan the building, he found instead a drawing room with a Victorian rug spread out across a hardwood floor, and red velvet couches filled to the brim with pillows and blankets. Paintings from all cultures covered the walls, nailed into place alongside maps of different eras. He hardly noticed his gaping mouth till you passed by and closed his jaw.

"Well... what happened to me?"

"Take a seat, Malek. I need to ask you some questions," you deflected, herding him to sit on one of the chaise lounges.

A clipboard materialized in your hands, a pen following as you sat down opposite of him.

"Now, what's your name?"

"You just said my name."

"And?" You said, quirking your brow.

He let out an exasperated sigh before answering with, "Rami Malek."

"What do you spend most of your time doing?"

"Work, mostly. I'm an actor."

"I'm aware. Most of your alternate reality personas look exactly like you. That usually only happens with actors," you said, scribbling down words with a harsh pressure on your pen. "You are given one million dollars. What do you do with it?"

"Um... I'd put it into my savings, let it collect interest until I die, and then donate it," he said after a moment's contemplation.

"Calculated. Nice. Significant others?"

"Not right now."

"Family members?"

"I've got a twin brother and an older sister. And my parents, of course."

"Are you religious?"

"Yes, sort of. My parents raised me Coptic Orthodox but I don't really interact with it much in my life."

"Is there a heaven and a hell?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" He asked.

"Answer the question, Malek."

"I don't think there's a heaven or hell."

"Good choice. Alright," you said, straightening your back after hunching over your clipboard. In a quick flash both the clipboard and pen were gone, and you were back on your feet. "Do you have any questions for me before we try to fix this dilemma?"

"Yes, lots," he chuckled humorlessly, watching you circle over to a liquor cabinet. "How did I die? Or – how did I get 'ejected' from my body?"

"Remember the movie you were just working on?"

"Yeah, James Bond."

"You tried to do your own stunts since your double was missing. You missed the catching net, landed on the ground, and your essence was accidentally absorbed by the earth. The earth decided you would be safer here––in Thailand."

"Thailand?? I have to finish filming. I can't be in Thailand," he said, jumping to his feet.

"Calm down, pretty boy. I'll take you to your body in due time, and from there we can decide how to move next. This is a rare opportunity for you," you said as you poured two glasses of sherry. "People don't usually get to see me. If they do, it's pretty much assured they won't interact with me. You're very lucky. I could also just reap you and get rid of the problem, but you're not supposed to die. Not yet."

"What, do I have something to do on earth yet?"

"Yes," you said, handing him the glass in your left hand. You sat back down, sipping from your own cup.

"Then what happens if people accidentally die?"

"The world goes on. We correct our calculations and figure out the fate of the earth again. It happens very rarely, thank everything. Our I.T. would be in hell if it happened a lot."

"What affect do I have on the world?"

"I'm not really allowed to tell you that," you said, eyeing him.

"Oh, sorry."

"I'm just kidding. I rule this universe. You're going to have a fan at one point who is very suicidal. They meet you on the street, get the will to live again, and their daughter will write a mystery novel that both furthers space-travel technology and surgical technology. Happy?" You took another sip from your cup.

"... I guess."

It was certainly, if anything, an interesting time to find out your entire existence was being protected by the embodiment of death just so a woman you didn't know could further technology just slightly. He didn't feel fantastic about it.

"It's not your only purpose, if you're worried about that," you said, noticing his fallen expression. "You inspire a lot of art and a lot of stories. Everything you do and inspire adds to the color of the world. Humans are one big organism and they can't seem to see that––I hope you, and others, will realize that soon."

"I hope we do as well," he said with a sigh, leaning back into the velvet. "I'm quite sick of people getting angry at each other all the time for useless shit."

"Yes, well..." you swirled the mixture in your cup, "the human condition, and all that."

"Were you ever once human?" He asked quietly.

"No. I am not truly a being. I am what you imagine me to be, a mirage of what you expect from death," you said in a low voice. "I will be here to kill God, and in the end of time I will be all that remains. The representation of all that ever existed, and its' inevitable demise."

"... comforting."

"Isn't it?" You said with a sardonic smile. "Are you ready to see your body yet?"

"I think so," he said. "What kinda state am I in?"

"I don't know. The state of destruction your physical form is in will dictate whether or not I can return you to yourself or take you into the unknown."

"Okay," he said, taking a deep breath in hopes of calming himself. "Take me to myself."

"Very well," you said as you stood, setting your cup aside and offering him your hand once more. He took it and rose to his feet.

In a single blink, and without warning, he was in a hospital––an American one, or at least one where the signs were all in English, and the nurses were speaking that same language. Fluorescent white light filled the room, mixed with the dreary daylight of a bright but cloudy day. The shades were open to the city outside, but what first caught his eye was the centerpiece of the room––him.

Gauze, linen, and casts covered more than half his body, cradling his leg, chest, head, and both arms. His eyes remained blissfully shut, not even fluttering from the bruises and cleaned scars circling his face.

"You look good," you said, unable to tear your eyes away from the body.

"Wow, thanks," he said sarcastically.

"I'm serious. You fell, like, 35 feet. Not a lot of people survive that, much less still have one of their legs."

"So does that mean I can go back to living?" He asked, sudden excitement filling his words.

"I suppose so. You've been out for a while, though, so be careful when you get back in. Listen to your doctors. Keep safe, and let professionals do stunts," you said.

He chuckled, turning to you before saying, "I thought Death would want me to die, not live."

"It doesn't matter. I will reap all. For now I can let society grow, let lives multiply to greater heights, as in the end you will all join my kingdom. I'm old as the universe. I can wait."

"Your kingdom?"

"Me. I carry the souls of the dead in my memory. They all live within me."

"And that's what happens when we die?"

"When you die, you become one with the universe. I become part of you just as much as you become part of me. Is that a comfort to you?"

"... yes, actually," he said softly, looking back to his body. "I think I'm ready to go back to living now."

"Very well, Malek. Take my hand," you said as you offered your see-through hand.

The moment he touched you, he noticed that he, too, became see through, and he wondered if that had always been happening and he simply hadn't noticed it. He had little time to think about it before you were leading him forward, taking him to the side of his hospital bed. From there you helped him into the bed, lining his soul up with his physical body, and telling him in a soft murmur to close his eyes.

The very next moment he remembered was opening his eyes to blistering hospital lights shining down on him. His memory of you was vague and blurred, but nonetheless present in a way that tested his image of the world, questioning if he was truly living his life.

Doctors, nurses, and friends rushed to his side once they noticed his consciousness, hurriedly asking questions and preparing tests on him. His bruised eye was swollen shut, but the other one could see alright, and it was a blessing to be able to see his mother above him. It took a good deal of time, but he returned to health and was luckily not disabled by the fall.

Years later the incident came to him in a dream, in a perfect clarity that he hadn't ever had as a waking person. He bolted awake, heavy breaths emphasizing the thin sheen of sweat that now covered his chest. You had explained to him the way the world worked––his purpose in life, the inevitability of humans and of the universe, and the beauty in that. The happy ending in that unavoidable death.

Never in any other time had he desired to see you again more than he did at that moment, stuck awake in the middle of a night plagued by rain and thunder. Wide eyes stared straight ahead, to the twisted sheets covering him, to the closet on the other side of his bedroom.

Shaken to his core, he slowly moved to his feet, the cold floor shocking him awake further. As he walked towards the kitchen, he attempted at calming himself with slow breaths. Once there he grabbed a glass of water, chugging the entire glass, and slamming it back down on the counter as though he'd done a shot, which it might as well have been this late at night.

Would it be possible to summon death? he thought hypothetically, before realizing the incredible stupidity of that statement. Who would want to summon death? Also, summoning death would probably involve putting himself in a dangerous situation, which you had specifically advised him against.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered to himself, leaning against the counter as he rubbed his face.

"His name is Yeshua, and he can't help you right now."

He jumped, spinning around in his kitchen to find you sitting on the counter across from him.

"Death!"

"People aren't usually that excited to see me, but yes," you said, looking down to scan your fingernails before looking back up at him with a smile.

"How did you know I was thinking about you?"

"You had one of my true forms in your thoughts. I remembered you from a little bit ago. How long has it been again?"

"11... maybe 12 years? I haven't thought all that much about the incident, but... I had a dream tonight. I remembered –"

"I know. You're not supposed to remember me while you're still living, so I had to come back and fix that," you said, jumping off the counter and approaching him with determined resolve.

"Wait, no!" He tried to back up, but he was already pressed against the kitchen island.

"We will meet again, quite shortly, you'll see," you said with a smile, a weak attempt to calm him as you raised your hand to his forehead.

"I don't want to forget you," he pleaded, fingers dug into his palm.

"That's awfully unfair to all the other people whose memory I had to fix. Makes their sacrifice a little silly if I allow you to go and tell the world how it'll all end just because you're pretty."

"I won't tell anyone. They'll think I'm crazy."

"You're a celebrity. Someone is going to believe you."

You pressed your thumb to his forehead, and in that moment he lost all control, leading him to make the first action he could think of, the one thing that might deter your work. He grabbed you by your sweatshirt, balling the material in his fists and pulling you till your chests met. With that he smashed his lips into yours, feeling your hand slip away as you weakened, shocked into stillness.

He wasn't quite sure whether you were actually enjoying yourself or if you were just shellshocked, but he continued to kiss and move against you for a moment before releasing you. When he let go of you and drew away, he watched your unmoving expression, staring at him with parted lips and wide eyes.

"What the fuck was that?"

"... a kiss?" He answered meekly.

"What does it do?"

"You don't know what a kiss is?"

"Malek, I have two trillion different planets that I reap from, all with multiple different societies and beliefs. I'm not going to memorize each of your customs."

"Oh," he said. He would have to devote some time, later on, to let the fact that there were aliens (and a lot of them) truly sink in. "It's a show of affection. It's kind of personal."

"So it is a gift," you said with deep concentration.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"What for?"

"I like you. You're knowledgeable, and kind, and... I think you're pretty," he admitted, almost sheepishly in his low, rough voice.

Flirting with what could essentially be labelled as an eldritch monstrosity was a tad difficult, especially since you were millions of years older than him. From that point of view, he felt more like a child speaking with you, admitting to some silly, meaningless crush.

"You think I'm pretty?" You asked, your voice high pitched and coming out in almost a squeak. He nearly gawked at your reaction.

"Of course I do. Do people not tell you that?"

"I don't really talk to consciousnesses much, Malek. And most people don't find my bipedal form very nice to look at," you said quietly, looking down to the floor with fidgeting fingers.

He reached forward, pulling off your sweatshirt's hood, and allowing the warm light of his kitchen to finally show him the whole of your face. The skin around your eyes still retained that mystical darkness, like the ink of space, surrounding the cosmos of your eyes. It was quite clear now that you were not human, which explained the reasoning of hiding the whole of your whole form. 'Bi-pedal,' you called it––you had to fit in with alien worlds as well as his human world, and thus hiding many parts of yourself was required.

Now he would be the first person, the first creature, the first consciousness, the first life, to see your entirety. No one else had thought to flirt with death, but apparently that was how to avoid it. Ironic, considering the earth phrase 'flirting with death'.

You had gone into such a fluster by his words and actions that you stuttered out instructions for him to stay safe, and promptly disappeared in a cloud of smoke. He wouldn't see you again for three years, which saddened him greatly, but he made sure to remind himself that ten years for him was the blink of an eye for you. 2 trillion planets with life on them needed your attention.

In 3 years he found himself victim of yet another incident. He had been sitting in a donut shop for a little while, enjoying himself on his phone, before another customer entered and began to make a fuss. The man started yelling and he rose to the occasion, stepping over and attempting to take some of the stress off the poor teenager working on the till. Before he knew what was happening, he had a gun in his face, staring down a dark barrel of metal.

"You move and I'll slit your fucking throat," you said, appearing in a flash with your katana pressed against the stranger's throat. "Your gun's on safety mode. It'll take more than one move for you to kill this guy. Want to take that chance?"

The man faltered, and with that you nodded to the cashier, who quickly dialed up the police.

"Put it down, Michael," you said. The man, apparently Michael, slowly looked to you with wide, horrified eyes.

Rami could almost laugh at the incident, but his heart was far too full of fearful adrenaline for him to smile, much less laugh. It all happened so fast. The little bout was won the moment Michael met your eyes. He set the gun on the floor, turning to you with contempt and raised hands.

You waited until the police arrived for the sake of the cashier, but before anyone could question you, you were off again with Rami on your tail. Disappearing in a puff in front of mortals would do you no well, thus you had to start off with walking––something he could certainly follow. 3 years since he'd last seen you––grey had pervaded his hair more and more, skin more freckled and imperfect. You remained as you always were, even 15 years ago.

"Met anyone interesting lately?" He asked when he caught up with you.

Ideas of what creatures you were meeting, the types of things you got yourself into had been a decent source of inspiration for his daydreams. Such was his interest in what you wouldn't tell him that he wrote a screenplay, directed it, and shown it to the world. People often commented on the creativity of his imagination, but he always believed you to be the true source of actual creativity.

Of course, he hadn't ever actually heard about anything that you did. It was purely what he hypothesized.

"I met creatures that reproduced by stringing together DNA by hand. They are new consciousnesses in the cosmos, only recently earned souls... or what you would call, self-awareness," you said, staring ahead to the empty streets lined with cars.

"That's what gives something a soul? Self-awareness?"

"Not quite that simple, but for the most part, yes."

"How long ago did humans earn souls, then?"

"Longer back than you'd imagine. Remember, it's represented as more than self-awareness. It's societies, too, and ants have societies. I can't quite remember, but it was back when you were living in the trees," you said, taking moments to pause and correctly recall the facts.

He continued to walk alongside you for a moment more, pondering upon that information.

"Anyway. That's enough questions from you. What the hell were you doing?!" You said once you were out of sight from the cops, balling his shirt in your fists and forcing him up against a wall. Rami spluttered.

"What the hell were you doing? Aren't you not supposed to interfere with that kind of shit?" He asked, rattled from the sudden movement, and feeling bruises already building in his back. His skin and muscles had become more prone to injury over the years.

"I can do whatever I want. I don't have to worry about losing my mortal body. You're still tethered to this plane!"

"Who cares if I die? Everyone has to at some point, and helping others seems like a good way to die," he said, trying to ignore the aching in his body.

"Don't you have a wife? Kids? Family or friends? You're really ready to leave that all behind at the drop of a hat?" You scanned him.

"I was helping others," he hissed. "And I don't have a wife. Or kids. I've had more important things on my mind."

You watched him for a little while, trying to gauge his thoughts from his eyes. Eventually you released him, letting him drop to the ground, and watching carefully as he brushed off his clothes.

"Why do you want me alive now if I'm going to die soon anyway?"

"You're not going to die soon –"

"Relative to your sense of time, I'm going to die very soon," he interrupted, satisfied when you had no rebuttal. "Why do this? It's not even helping me. I know I won't really disappear when I die."

"Yes, you will. Gods, I shouldn't have told you about anything," you sighed, rubbing your face tiredly. "You misunderstand the concept of death. You, as you are, will not survive. You will disappear. I will carry your memories, but I will not be you. You will not be inside me, your memories will. I'm like a library, not some sort of vacation resort. Are you getting this?"

The blank look on his face told you everything you needed to know.

"There is no heaven or hell and I am not a substitute for their nonexistence! When you die, that's it. You're gone. Forever."

"I became a soul on earth. What about that?"

"Because you weren't fully dead, just separated from your body, like astral projecting. You either return to your body or you really die within a year. And if you try to astral project for that long, even if you do return to your body, you'll lose more and more control of it because you can't remember what it's like to have a physical form. It’s complicated, just – just stop getting in dangerous situations!" You practically yelled, clasping his head in your hands and talking quite loudly right in his face.

"There are a lot of technicalities to death," he said, putting his hands over yours and gently leading them down.

"There are a lot of technicalities to life. Why would I be any different?"

"I know, I just – I guess I don't know. Death, I... is it.. you're the only... consciousness I've ever.. loved," he admitted with a broken voice, unsure of his every word.

Your eyes widened, and you almost stumbled backwards with your own surprise. He kept you from doing so by keeping his grip on your hands.

"You want to know if you can stay with me," you said in an instant, soft realization.

He nodded.

"I don't understand," you murmured, suddenly shy. "I've tried to erase your memory so many times. Why do I keep failing?"

"You said none of your other victims ever spoke with you. I remember you because you're unforgettable, Death. I couldn't let go of you."

No one had ever thought of wooing you. You'd met creatures who tried to seduce you, yes, or to pay you off, but never romantically seek after. This would be the first time in your 14 billion years of being alive that someone did this––spoke sweet words and used your name without fear. Without shame. As though you were something to be honored.

Living things fought you so valiantly, and you loved them for that. Their desire to stay alive, to continue existing even when existing was more painful than simply facing you, to thrive in environments you yourself would've given up in. People were terrified of you. They hated you. Rightfully so––you were an easy scapegoat, something to pin blame on, like the actions of Kings weren't what actually killed them, but were the fault of the one who had to clean up the mess of souls left in an army's wake.

People also romanticized you. Thought of you as something to beat. Something to find beauty in, bliss in that nonexistence. People who hated being alive, who found their worlds too dull, or their minds too plagued with thoughts they couldn't help. It was not a true love––it was a desire to escape what they believed to be an inescapable life.

But people did not honor you. You were not a thing to give gifts to. You were not some sort of god of death––you were death. The essence of it. The misery and grief left in the wake of a taken friend.

Tears welled in your eyes, burning a bright white that trailed down your face like melted silver. The streaks were clear against the shadowed skin of your eyes. Instantly Rami thought he had done something wrong, said something to upset you, but he had no chance to apologize before you disappeared in a puff of smoke. In your wake you had left two tiny little puddles of silver teardrops on the pavement, reflecting sunlight like a mirror.

Years later, when he died, he expected to see you. He crawled out of his body, leaving behind the prolonged ringing of the heart monitor, and drifting away from his family. Long had he expected this, awaited this almost eagerly. But when he died, he was met by a man named Jynq, who went on a long spiel about death and the true meaning of the universe.

"Where is Death?" He asked once Jynq gave him a moment to speak.

"I am Death," he said with a confused frown.

"No, you're one of it's workers. I want to see the real Death," Rami stated firmly.

Jynq's expression fell into seriousness, the polite exterior of a worker making way for his true personality.

"It's on the other side of the universe right now. Several planets have been having a war for a while now, and the deathcount has kept them there for many years now," Jynq answered truthfully.

"Can you take me to them?"

"How do you remember Death?" He rebutted instead.

"They spoke to me. On several occassions. They tried to wipe my memory but it didn't work," he explained.

"You spoke to Death on several occasions?" Jynq asked, his mouth falling open.

"... yes?"

"Alright. I'll take you to it, but the journey will take a while. I hope your soul is resilient," the reaper said.

"Doesn't it take a year for a soul outside the body to die out?"

"Hm. You really did talk to it. But yes," he offered his hand, which Rami took, and they began to ascend towards the heavens, "it takes a year for the average soul to die. This journey will take several years. Are you ready for that kind of commitment?"

"Yes."

There was no spaceship in which to find a home, nor any set spot for rest or food. Neither he nor Jynq required any food or water, and certainly not any sleep, so the method of travel was a long, straight line towards the edge of the universe, unbreaking and unmoving.

Cosmos passed him by, and he became a part of them, leaving behind parts of his essence in the form of star dust that trailed after him. The further and faster he travelled, the more of himself he left behind, till he became a translucent outline of who he used to be. Jynq remained the same, just as you did. He couldn't calculate just how much time had passed, but as more of it did, he got a sense that he was experiencing time at a much faster rate than he imagined. Still, he remained oblivious to how much time was left in the journey.

At times he would go through solar systems, beside stars with planets that certainly carried life. Worlds made of diamonds, suns bigger than the whole of his home solar system, clusters of stardust reforming into young stars. Each of these worlds was one you had met––one you had left your mark on, no matter how young or old.

Life on earth didn't seem quite real when he reached the warring planets. There was so much going on in the universe––things humans would never know about. Worlds full of people that would never be found.

Jynq stopped Rami on the moon of a green planet, keeping him there while he went to go find you. He took the opportunity to sit, to rest after years of drifting through space, and to wonder which thought of his many collected thoughts he should first tell you.

"How in all the fucking WORLDS alive do you keep managing to endanger yourself, even after you die?!" You screamed, appearing in front of him in a millisecond and grasping his face tight again. "Are you insane or something?! Like clinically insane??"

"You've clearly never met someone who's in love with you," he chuckled, taking your hands and, again, gently pulling them away from their tight clutch on his face.

"Ohh, Malek," you said, anger falling away to the aching sorrow in your tone. "Look at you. You're so thin... does it hurt?"

"I feel weak, but I also feel light. I am okay," he assured you. "I left a trail of myself all across the universe. I've given myself back to the stars. Now I want to give what remains of me to you, but I had to talk to you again. Just once more."

"You speak like you’re old," you said with a weak laugh.

"I am old."

"How old do humans live to be?"

"The oldest was around 120 years, I think."

"Oh. Well, then I guess you're a little old. Not to me though," you said, flipping his sheer hands and taking them in yours.

"I'm old enough that I have accepted my own fate. I'm ready for you, Death," he said, his smile only visible in the bits of glittering stardust that made up the frame of his face.

Your smile fell.

"No," you said.

"... no?"

"No. I'm not going to do it," you stated.

"Can you do that? Like, legally?" He asked, quirking a brow.

"Who's going to stop me? I'm Death."

"Good point."

"I just wish I could heal you," you murmured, reaching up to stroke his cheek only to have your thumb fall through his face.

"I don't mind it," he said softly.

"Hmm," you said, taking a moment to think critically. "I think I know how to help you."

You found him a home in the heart of a star––Atlas, a part of the Pleiades that shone bright beside its' sister, Pleione. The intense pressure was lost on both of you as you entered, making your way to the heart, where the elements of matter and life were formed in overbearing heat. As was the nature of space, the center of Atlas was dead silent, leaving you and Rami in a white, detail-less expanse.

Slowly, over the years, parts of his body returned to him, building off the star-lit frame of his soul. As you suspected, the workers of the dead and afterlife were extremely dissatisfied with you, but could do nothing. You were older than all of them, and you decided you could allow yourself this one indulgence––this one moment of straying from the rules that Gods had so often broken.

They allowed you this one comfort: a home in the heart of Atlas, in the arms of a man who had given himself to the world, and then to the universe. The one Death who had taken so much from the universe, who would eventually take everything in the universe, wrapped in the embrace of the one who had given every part of himself to the world he lived in.

[remsmoonlight]

— title : calming the waters

— word count : 2.3 k words

— pairing : rick grimes x reader

— summary : the switch from surviving on the road to living in a cookie cut neighbourhood hasn’t been easy on anyone, especially the leader of your group, you leave it to yourself to remind him it’s not all on his shoulders

— warnings : only brief descriptions of blood and violence .. usual stuff for twd

note: only at the end did i realise i left the opportunity for smut but im too tired to continue damn

Life in Alexandria has so far been strange to adjust to, you continue to find yourself waking up regularly through the night. Your body has relied so long on a broken sleep cycle it simply cannot switch off the switch as easily as you wish for it, and wish for it you do every night before bed. However, life refuses to heed to your desires, preferring to disregard them completely. Your family finds it amusing to tease you about the dark circles under your eyes, that is after you have had anything with caffeine in to rattle your system into a state of alertness.

How the residents have made it this far agitates you to no end, while you and your family have suffered tragedy and loss at the hands of people like the Governor, to the people at Terminus while they sat sheltered and safe from the horrors of this new world crawls under your skin. The thought scratching inside of you, they’ve never known pain as you have, the realisation comes as one of the sons of the Monroe family accosted you the moment you set out of the door.

“ ⏤ she keeps going on about this pasta maker. I’m telling you, she never stops. “

“ she never stops, huh? “ you ask, placing yourself on the porch step with your head lazily resting in your hands. You felt as soon as he began speaking to you it was going to be a conversation you would not be interested in.

The you from twenty five minutes ago happens to be correct.

This all began because Rick thought it appropriate to let you sleep a while longer, and while you do feel more rested than you have in the longest time you can remember, you can feel irritation tickling the back of your neck intensely. Oh, I’m going to kill him when I see him. A silent thought interrupts you rudely, you almost shake your head to be rid of it and focus back on Spencer.

“ yeah, she’s not someone you wanna be caught right now by. She can talk your ears off for days. “ he informs with a chuckle, completely unaware of your blasé attitude or uncaring for it.

“ you know, I can really imagine that. “

Every inch of you is buzzing with an uncomfortable energy, you don’t want to integrate with their community just yet, preferring to feel around and understand the dynamics of how everything works. When society fell into the flames from humanity’s last fight with the walkers, you were lucky enough to have been able to seek safety with your group back in Atlanta at the quarry, and these have been the same people you have spent time with, shared your meals with, everything done has been with them. Quiet town life has been a memory of a past life that has faded into nothing more than a grey blur, shrouded in fog. To live here? It’s like learning how to ride a bicycle after many years of letting it gather dust. Your ways are not perfect, but they’re perfect for you. For your own pace and peace of mind.

“ has my mom given you a job yet? “

“ uh, yeah actually she has. I used to be a preschool teacher before everything went to hell. “ you explain to him, your memories of the children you used to teach had been painful until Judith. The little girl had been what you needed to confront your past that you had been so quick to push away in order to survive. You can’t count how many times you’d come close to thinking about their little faces, and if they’d survived the initial chaos, refusing to even put a face to a possible death. You’d spent many days and many hours getting to know their audacious and bold personalities, it cut you deep to even imagine the days they were supposed to have, the lives they should have been promised extinguished so prematurely as if they had been no more than a flame of a candle burning in the night.

“ well, those classes are really small. You won’t have your hands full. I suppose you’ll probably be helping with the afternoon classes, we’ve got more teenagers here. “

“ mhm, I thought as much. “ your words are a small acknowledgement, though it deterred him little.

Spencer keeps talking and talking, every once in a while you mutter an ‘ yeah ‘ or an ‘ mhm ‘ and even at points humming in response. It’s obvious he means well and is trying to get to know you all but it’s just a simple clash of cultures, it’s why you’re unable to cut the conversation short so rudely. Even during the apocalypse being respectful hasn’t been wiped away.

Yet.

“ hi, Spencer! “ the sugary sweet tone of Carol interrupted the interaction as she greets Spencer and yourself, the broad smile ignites her features.

Although, you know her better to know this is not one born of genuine emotion to see the man.

“ I was hoping to borrow my friend here. Rick’s looking for them. “

Recognition lights his features up, his eyes widen in understanding her words. Never have you been more thankful for the older woman than currently, if there’s one thing Carol can be, is a miracle maker. Spencer backs away with little to say, bidding a goodbye to both of you.

“ Carol, thank you. “ you breathe, your hands move up to scratch your scalp as tension eased away into the open air. “ I thought he was never going to leave. “

“ yeah, I thought you were in trouble. I thought you were ready to kill him. “

“ believe me, if he spoke for two more minutes I was coming close to getting very creative with one of those blunt dinner knives in there. “ you speak, a short giggle plummeting from your lips at the thought.

“ he’s at the gate ⏤ Rick, that is. If you want him. “

A few more words of light hearted humour are exchanged between you, just little things. You have known Carol for a long time, one of the few people to continue to see her as a human after losing Sophia, yes she was in mourning, but she was still human. You never tiptoed around her, you offered her support as best you could and for that she continues to be grateful. Even in the prison, you became closer, as time passed on she took up something of a parental role in your life. Though you were old enough at the time to not need one, you accepted it. A slice of normality granted to you for what reason you have never found out, but one you wouldn’t seek out either, for some things happen without cause or reason, a mystery of life.

Turning around a corner, you’d realised you took a wrong turn around one of the houses, your sense of direction would have been your downfall had you not found the people you now call your family. Admittedly, you’d not spent much time exploring the vast environment that is home to these large homes, you still dedicated some time to mapping all the twists and turns. However, not even that has aided you. Despite this, you find a silver lining to getting lost.. you have been able to shake off whatever blades of irritation that sorely wished to cling to your being for longer, you wanted nothing more than to approach Rick without anything that could set him off.

Though few words have been shared between you both about how you all feel about being in Alexandria, it doesn’t mean you haven’t noticed a tension building its blocks within Rick. Knowing all he has been through, you’re worried that he will reduce himself to being no more than a caged animal, biding his time to break free. It’s why you’re searching him out, a discussion is sorely needed before anything should happen, chaos has a way of trailing your family like a puppy following its master.

“ there you are. “

Rick lays his sights on you in the distance, waiting for you to move closer before saying a word. You would go so far as to say it has been one of the few instances of genuine contentment as his features relax from the lines of strain it held not even a few moments previously. Your hands move straight to your hips, standing a few metres away from him.

“ oh, you were actually looking for me? “ eyebrows raise ever so slightly, you thought Carol had been simply nudging you in his direction.

“ just to check the perimeter. “

“ and you need me for that ? “ you question him as your hands move to rest on your hips, a knowing smile lifting your expression as you observe him.

“ ‘course I do. “ Rick’s tone matches yours, it’s been a while since you’ve heard even the faintest hint of amusement associated with the intense male. It’s alien in a sense, though you’re welcoming of it.

Few words are exchanged with the Alexandrian who has been tasked with guarding the gate, exchanging the barest of information you realise as you watch Rick. You hope that even an hour outside the walls of the town is enough to soothe even the slightest of the negative energy that surrounds his being. Your situation is not perfect, and it’s inverted to what you had been experiencing previously, but you believe in your heart that this has to work. The thought of your family not being able to survive yet another bout of the outside world terrifies you to your core, the ice that is your fear erupting from your centre at the idea.

“ is there a real reason why you wanted me out here? “

“ it’s been a while since it was just us, gettin’ hard to breathe in there. “

“ Rick, you know I’m always here if you need it. I hate to see you carry everything on your shoulders the way you do. “

The hardness that had embedded itself into his face slowly eases at your words and thanks you for your support, he reaches out in between the distance that separates you to slip his fingers between yours. A comfort warms you in a way that no heat could at the action, you’re unable to stop the laugh that bursts free with a splutter. Even back on the road, and he was at his wits end, he was never this affectionate. It’s not something you hold against him though, there were many more things on his mind that required more attention.

“ somethin’ funny? “ he questions you immediately.

“ seeing this side of you, it’s just a bit weird. A good kind of weird, though. “ you assure, continuing to walk over the overgrown branches. “ you’re doing okay? Like, really? “

“ just hard to get used to. These people have just been lucky. “

You nod in understanding, it’s been your first thought every morning since walking through that gate with months of dirt and grime that had accumulated, clinging to every inch of your skin. While blood from the dead dried into your skin, becoming part of you, they lathered themselves in floral perfumes and sprays. As much as you want to allow the venom to pool within you, to form a monster born of hate ⏤ you can’t.

In this world you can’t be driven by such emotions, to aim them at innocent people. Had you been in their position, would it be such an easy position to leave this protected bubble? A piece of the previous world left untouched by the cold, ghostly grip of the dead.

“ we can’t hold it against them. “

“ they’re weak, they could get one of ours killed. “ he quietly grumbles in response, his head shaking at the thought. They’d lost too much already, and he would be damned if he lost any more members of his family, especially now they’d reached an element of safety.

“ or they might not? “ you counter his statement, your eyes pleading as you stop where you stand, your hands still connected.

“ we can’t deal in maybes, we deal in certainties. “

“ what are you suggesting, Rick? That we take over? “ you ask, your brows dropping lower. You’d seen enough death and violence to last you a lifetime, you’d had enough for now. You can’t confirm if you have enough energy for another fight. Too much has been lost.

“ if it comes to it. “

“ this is their home now, our home. They’re not bad people. “ you argue lightly, not wishing for a heated disagreement out there. Any walker around would be attracted by the noise and then the smell of the living, you’ve begun to get used to not having to slaughter walkers every day.

“ no, but they’re unprepared. “

“ so were we at some point! “ inch by inch, you close the distance. You rest your grip on his forearms, trying to calm him no matter how useless it may or may not be. “ Rick, you’re trying to create a problem. I get this is an adjustment and if anything does happen, we’ll have you back. We will fight, but for the sake of safety.. we have somewhere to actually live. “

Against his better judgement he nods, just to put a stop to the conversation. He’d wanted to spend some time alone with you that held no prying eyes from Alexandrians, nor the entertained gazes of your group.

“ let’s just see how things go, and try not to keep things bottled up. It never works out. “

“ I’m not sure you want me to share my deep, dark secrets. “ he asserts with a playful inkling hidden poorly within his words.

A smirk lines itself into your features, you’re feeling the energy from Rick and you can’t deny that it feels good. You lift your chin higher, inching your lips closer to his, the warm glow beginning to burn brighter ⏤ a silent dare in the form of a quiet whisper on your tongue. “ try me. “